There was no security at the front desk, no receptionist, nothing. The entire forayer was empty. It looked even more empty by all the big, glass windows that corporations like her’s called walls. The only sound was of the whispering fountain. The spout made splashing noises against the basin, as though it hadn’t been refilled. Greta had only been gone for a week. She wondered if she had missed a building wide memo. Were they fumigating or something?
The elevator still worked. When Greta pressed the button to go up it took an agonizing amount of time for the elevator doors to open. She could feel the silence pressing down on her, like a pillow over her face. She felt so very alone. Though this building was in pristine condition, something felt wrong. More wrong, that is, than the fact that it was kept clean by underpaid illegal immigrants. Greta pressed the elevator button and her finger felt wet, bloody. Instead of standing in an open forayer, she saw her self in an abattoir. Blood masked the windows like sacred stained glass. Steel contraptions hung from the ceiling, begging to capture her. With each drip from the fountain she could hear the drip of the dilapidated building, of leaky fluids and viscera. It was dark and derelict. Dangerous… she was not alone. She should turn around. Go home.
The door slid open. Greta breathed and the building returned to normal. Still, she could hear the dripping of viscera. And though she would never acknowledge it, her finger was wet from where she touched the button. She quickly wiped it without looking.