A Shard of Glass

Chapter 8 - A Roommate

I chase after the interviewer into the lobby. 

Standing in the lobby waiting for us is the rude lady from the last time I came to the Shard.

Her eyes meet mine as we draw closer to her and her pupils dilate in recognition.

"It's not possible," she mumbles.

"What's not possible, Judy?" the interviewer asks.

"Nothing." She shakes her head and easily falls into step with him, her heels tapping with every step on.

I rush after them keeping as close to the interviewer's side as I dare. He mutters to himself as we powerwalk the length of the room.

"Three and a half minutes. Bloody exceptional."

Judy inhales sharply and turns to look down at him. "Was there a mistake, Mr Cappelle?" She asks as if I am not right behind her. "Three and a half minutes isn't a reasonable result."

Mr Cappelle stops abruptly and I nearly walk straight into the back of him. He ignores me and looks the receptionist in the eye. "No mistake, Judy. The most exceptional result I have ever seen."

So that was the trial? What were they testing for? How quickly my anxiety set in? How was three and a half minutes a good thing?

But I have more questions.

"How did you know I was in the vent?" I ask curiously to either of them.

Mr Cappelle coughs uncomfortably and the pink in his cheeks grows more prominent.

"There are cameras in every room in the Glass Shard," Judy states with a shrug, "Mr Cappelle was watching." Even though she is responding to me she doesn't so much as glance my way.

Mr Cappelle spins on his heel and continues, bobbing up and down jovially with each step he takes. We stop in front of two doors that open to reveal another small white box. I am hesitant to enter another small room in this labyrinth, but I don't have much choice. I follow Mr Cappelle and Judy inside. 

Unlike the last white room, this one has carpet. It is so soft beneath my feet. I wonder if this is what clouds feel like. My muddy footprints have made dark indents in the fluffy rug contrasting against the white of the fur. I look up at the wall and jump back in horror. There is a mirror covering most of the back wall. I can see Judy and Mr Cappelle and between them is an unfamiliar face with features indistinguishable from the mud. I don't look anything like what I remember. I barely have time to register that it is me when the floor starts to go up, leaving my stomach somewhere below the floor. We ascend at a rapid pace making my stomach lurch. I hold tightly onto the rail until my knuckles turn white and look deep into the eyes staring back at me from the mirror until the movement stops. 

Mr Cappelle looks at me in worry. "Are you ok Ebon? You look ill."

I am not quite up to answering, so I just nod.

A bell sounds and the doors fall away. The screen on the wall has the number 23 on it. Did we just travel up 23 floors? It couldn't have been more than a few seconds! No wonder I feel terrible.

Stepping out onto the 23rd floor it feels as though we have entered another world from the sterile white one we left in the lobby. The floor is still tiled, but the tiles are grey and shaped in strange forms as though they have been cut directly from a rock. The eastern walls are still covered with floor-to-ceiling windows, but the other walls are a deep grey with old framed images of Darlington and Harlem from long before the floods. The pictures are raised from the wall and backlit with a warm light. But they aren't what draws my eyes. Every few meters along the hallway sits a ceramic pot filled with soil and different types of plants. I walk over to the closest one and crouch down to touch it. Its large leaves are waxy on the top and the most beautiful shade of green. In the center of the leaves stands a tall white flower that wraps around a soft yellow cone. I dare not touch the flower but I breathe in. The scent is so sweet it is intoxicating.