Authors: Matt Stephens
Vincent went to the nearest filing cabinet and pulled the top drawer open. Something inside it screeched like a rabid animal at being disturbed, and both Gill and Vincent jumped back with a girlish squeal as the drawer slipped shut again.
The two friends had a moment of silence.
"So. Lunch?" Gill said finally.
"Lunch." Vincent agreed, and they both fled the Archives Room.
~oo00oo~
Vincent had mostly gone along with the Lunch idea to get Gill away from the records before he noticed something; but he was glad he'd come. Grabbing lunch with Gill, like he did every day, had given the day a dose of normality that it so desperately needed.
It finally dawned on Vincent. The world hadn't changed,
he
had. Gill was proof of that. He was still talking like he always did, still griping about the results on yesterday's horse races. He bought a pack of menthols from the vending machine like he always did.
The difference wasn't his world, it was him. He had changed. He was suddenly aware of everything.
"...at the very least I had to get off the full tar. I mean forget what they do to your lungs; they make everything you eat taste like..."
The old woman feeding the birds in the plaza, a million odd pigeons gathered around her. The kid sitting on the curb, fiddling with the storm drain. His eyes noticed all of them now.
Are they more than they seem?
Vincent thought to himself.
Hiding in plain sight?
"...told him that didn't make any sense, but you know what Bookies are like. Hey? You okay?"
Vincent was startled out of his observations. "What?"
"Vincent, what's wrong? You've been off with the pixies all day." Gill laughed. "Everything all right?"
Vincent shook his head. "Fine, just fine."
Lunch was a sandwich stall at the entrance to the subway. It was close to their office, the prices were cheap and the sandwiches were good enough that they didn't care enough to go elsewhere.
They left the stall, Vincent glancing back at the station entrance despite himself, and they sat on a bench to each.
"...steered me wrong before, and you've floated me a loan when I needed it, so I figured I'd return the favor. You in or out?"
Vincent suddenly refocused. "Sorry; what?"
Gill sighed hard. "Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"
Vincent bit his lip. "Um... no." He changed the subject quickly. "But you were saying something?"
"I got a hot tip and..."
Vincent rolled his eyes, having heard it all before.
"...
and
I want you to come along." Gill persisted. "The race is tomorrow morning. Kindled Fire at six to one odds. Come on, it's a sure thing!"
"You gamble too much Gill, and I'm not helping you do it anymore."
"What is this aversion you have to free money?" Gill taunted him.
Vincent noticed a boy with a dirty face slip out of a narrow alley and snatch a pigeon. The boy was wearing a set of flight goggles on top of his head, and was barefoot. The pigeon didn't seem to have a problem with being carried, and the boy vanished back into the alley instantly.
His pet? Carrier pigeons? Tonight's dinner?
Vincent wondered.
How is it possible nobody ever notices any of this?
He noticed a homeless woman holding out a paper cup to people passing by. "Spare change?" She croaked out. She had lines in her face, etched in black dirt and grime. It was hard to tell how old she was. Her eyes were red, and she was wearing many layers.
Gill followed his gaze. "Mm. They shouldn't let people like that wander around this part of town. Who knows what they'd get up to?"
Vincent was floored for a moment. "What do you mean ‘this part of town'?"
"You know what I mean. I have as much sympathy for the Homeless as you do, but if they need a place to sleep, they can go to the bloody shelters, get themselves a hot meal. They won't find it here. And if they come here, somebody will make trouble for them. People around here don't like being hassled for money." Gill drained his coffee. "We better get back. Coming?"
Vincent bit his lip. "I'm… going to get a coffee myself. You head back."
Gill nodded. "Last chance? Kindled Fire, six to one?"
"No deal."
Gill scoffed. "Just remember, I gave you the choice."
Gill headed off and Vincent bought a coffee and another sandwich from the sandwich stall, making his way toward the woman.
"Spare some change, Mr McCall?" The woman held out her cup to him.
Vincent put some money in her paper cup, and offered her the sandwich too; not at all surprised she knew his name.
"Yum, roast beef." She seemed very pleased with that as she took a bite. "You don't remember me, do you?" The woman said after a moment, her voice suddenly a lot more aware and alert than a moment before.
Vincent grimaced around his coffee and looked down. "You're her then? The one out the front of my apartment building."
She tipped her hat to him coyly. "Wotcha, at your service."
"Wotcha." Vincent repeated. "As in 'Watcher.' Because you... watch."
She cackled. "We all have our parts to play. The ones that came from the Upside pick their own when they find their place; because the only thing we really bring with us is our name."
Vincent glanced over. "Then you... and Keeper and Archivist..."
"Are all from your world, yeah." Wotcha took a bite big enough to puff her cheeks out, and she went silent a moment as she chewed.
"You're not worried about... I don't know, being noticed?"
Wotcha just looked at him like he'd just drooled on his shirt. "Please. Nobody notices."
"Nobody notices homeless people, but... Well..."
"One having a conversation with a 'normal' person gets seen?" Wotcha grinned. "Let's find out, shall we?"
"How?" Vincent asked curiously, but she was already moving.
She walked out into the sidewalk and started screaming at the top of her lungs. "EVERYONE! Listen to me! THERE'S A SECRET WORLD LIVING UNDER YOUR FEET! A WHOLE SECRET CITY!" Wotcha started grabbing people at random as they passed by. "I'm telling the truth! They're everywhere! Right under your feet! A WHOLE CITY!"
Vincent felt his jaw drop open. Sure enough, nobody was stopping, nobody was listening, nobody was even making eye contact. Further along the street in both directions people were noticing, and crossing to the opposite side of the street without hesitation, turning around and walking the other way.
Wotcha didn't try to hold on to any of them, moving on before any of them could fight back or break free. After several seconds of this, she lost interest and returned to Vincent's side and took the last of his coffee from him. "Thanks for the sandwich."
"That's my coffee." Vincent pointed out.
"But you only bought it so you'd have an excuse to stay here when your friend went back to work. You didn't want it, you just wanted to see if I was homeless, or Lostkind." Wotcha grinned and toasted him with the cup. "Waste not, want not."
Vincent grinned and went back to work.
~oo00oo~
Six hours later, he was still staring at the offer from Keist on his computer screen.
They are down there illegally. The Underside is a deathtrap... Wouldn't it be better to have the place discovered? There are kids down there, living so deep there is no way it could be healthy for them... Wouldn't it be better if they rejoined the surface? Nobody lives that far underground that long because they're afraid of the sun.
Vincent looked at the lantern Yasi had left him. Something special, admittedly...
He thought of Wotcha. He had seen her for the first time. He had treated her like a person for the first time. She had been on his doorstep for a week, and he only looked in her direction when he knew about what was down there... if the whole world found out about it, maybe the Underside would be closed... but maybe it wouldn't; maybe it would just make people realize as he had; make them
notice
things, as he had…
Keeper's voice came back to him.
"If you won't help us, there's nobody else who can. And all this, will be remembered. And being remembered is the worst thing that could happen to us."
No.
Vincent decided finally, and began typing.
The place is... magical. I can't just let it die.
~oo00oo~
To
: Keist Telecommunications
CC
: New York City Planners Office
Re
: Fibre-Optics Approval Still Pending
Dear Sir,
The original plan to lay the Fibre-Optic through the underground, but now defunct steam pipes are not as cost effective as first thought. The pipes are only convenient in their locations, networked through five boroughs.
With the added costs of reactivating the network distributors, and replacing all the hardware to protect your Fibre-Optics, plus the inevitable corroded pipes in various locations around the city, maintenance costs will be far higher than previously thought.
Also, it should be considered that the steam pipe network is still active in some places and non-existent in other, newer neighborhoods and buildings.
It is the opinion of the NYC Planners Office that a newer network is far more affordable. Adding your Fibre-Optics to existing pipes still in city-wide use is far more practical for your company, and your investors.
~oo00oo~
That's it Vincent.
He told himself.
Do it quickly, don't think about it.
Davidson tapped on the frame of his cubicle, the wedding ring making a loud clinking sound. "Hey. You still here?"
Vincent stood up automatically. "Yessir. Just finishing up the proposal for Keist Telecommunications."
"Already?" Davidson seemed impressed. "They only came to us two days ago. You got it done that fast?"
Vincent only shrugged, but inwardly he kept the reason to himself. He got through it because he'd started with the conclusion he wanted and found the evidence, instead of actually weighing the options.
"Well, good work." Davidson said finally.
"Sir?" Vincent called before his boss could leave. "Can I ask... why did they even bother to come to us?"
Davidson smirked. "Noticed that, did you?"
"The whole plan makes no sense." Vincent said simply. "They want to protect communications, why not start with the cell towers? Or the regular phone lines? Fibre-Optic is usually for cable TV and Internet, and there's no reason to make it go underground."
"Truth is... I don't know. Maybe there's more to it than we know about, maybe somebody read the idea in a sci-fi novel somewhere and figured money was no object."
Just then, Vincent's phone rang.
Davidson nodded and stepped back. "Get some sleep McCall, it's getting late."
Vincent answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Vincent McCall, you poor dumb loser!" Gill shouted cheerfully. "Kindled Fire! Six to one! What did I tell you!?"
Vincent pulled the phone away from his ear. "Gill, are you drunk?"
"God, I ho'p so, or I've wasted an awful loot of money on schotch!" Gill shouted. "Listen, the Barten'r says I can't drive. I tried showing him my license, but he won' belie' me, so I can't getim to gimme my keys back. Can you come'n get me? I'd take a cab, but I can't remember where I live."
Vincent snorted. "I'll be right there. How much did you win?"
"Ooh, a bundle, I've been showing it off all night. These people love me. Right?" A cheer came through the phone. "Yeah, they love me. All you gotta do is wave a big wad of money around and everyone wants to be your friend."
Vincent stood up quickly. "On my way." He knew where Gill would be. There were only a few bars that close to the track.
He glanced out the window as he headed for the elevator to check the weather, and when he noticed Wotcha across the street.
Biting his lip, he grabbed a pen and a post-it note off the nearest desk and scribbled down a note.
~oo00oo~
He waved down a cab as soon as he left the office. He asked the cabbie to hold on a moment, and went over to Wotcha.
"Spare change mister?" She grinned at him.
Vincent pulled out a fifty dollar bill with a post-it note attached and put it in her cup. He went back to the cab without a word.
Wotcha smiled at the note and vanished into the darkness without looking back at him.
~oo00oo~
"Come on; make it interesting at least." Dorcan challenged.
Yasi smirked, but didn't turn. "Three in the centre... blindfolded."