Once Saraub arrived, the tenants lined the fourteenth-floor hallway and began to cheer. Loretta stamped her feet. “It’s started!” she cried. Nude Arthur tucked his needle behind his ear. Elaine Alexander slammed her fists against her stomach. Benjamin Borrell tore his hair. Evvie Waugh thought about heaven. “It’s time!” they all shouted. “It’s time! It’s time! It’s time!” Francis Galton revealed what he’d done to improve on his artwork: a face without skin.
One by one, every living tenant of The Breviary followed Saraub’s path, and crawled, walked, and hobbled down the throat of 14B. Their bodies had become hunched and their eyes black. They clapped and laughed and cried with delight, as Audrey struck his shoulder once more with her rebar.
Seven generations, trapped in this building. No air, no grass, no sky or sun. They did not care what happened next, so long as it led to an end.
The red ants climbed. Up the steps, through the cracks, vents, and floors. They swarmed 14B, until the floors and walls were red.
47
What You Love Is the Same as What You Hate
A crowd had arrived. The apartment turned red, just like when Clara lived there. The stained-glass blackbirds got loose from the glass and flew circles around the door, in an ever-tightening gyre. The entire building rattled. The floor beneath her cracked, and the ceiling cracked, too. The door throbbed within its frame, and The Breviary trembled with delight.
Saraub lifted his casted arm in defense. His promises and his bullshit, oh, how she hated him. She swung again. Missed as he rolled, double casts flailing, onto his side. The door opened a crack. Her heart swelled: she was such an excellent engineer. But of course, if anyone understood functional chaos, it was the daughter of Betty Lucas.
She drew back the rebar. Saraub’s big eyes were cow-like and stupid. Too shocked to react. That’s why she was a survivor, and he wasn’t. She lifted the pole once more.
“Stop,” he groaned. “It’s not you. It’s the building.”
She tightened her fingers and struck again. This time, the bottom of his foot, just to frighten him, because his voice was so familiar. He crawled, using his hips to propel himself backward. Only, the hall was filled with the tenants and ants. Clapping and screaming. His skin was so smooth. Had he shaved for her? Did he know she’d once been a ballerina, or that before Betty went mad, Audrey’s best friend’s father had owned a Dairy Queen? Did he know that during Betty’s final AWOL, she’d gotten beaten to unconsciousness in the back of an Omaha dive bar? Or that Audrey had committed her against her will? On the day she wheeled her into Ward C, she’d told her that the hospital was an airport and that they were going on a vacation to Paris. Did he know the kind of coldhearted bitch she could be, when she had to be?
A tear rolled down the side of her face. “I don’t want to kill you. But I have to. It’s better this way, trust me.”
Behind them, the door opened about a half inch. The space made a vacuum that sucked the light from the room. The ants swarmed. They filled the cracks until the room lightened again.
“Audrey, stop,” he pleaded as she followed him down the hall.
The thing inside her squirmed, whispering words of sweetness in her mother’s voice. We girls stick together. No one comes between. Do you know what he did to Jayne? He touched her ass. You saw, didn’t you, Lamb? It wasn’t your lamp that hurt her feelings so bad. It was the guilt, because she was afraid to tell you. That’s why he left you. He raped her, Lamb. It’s his fault she’s dead.
“No,” she muttered. “Impossible”
Schermerhorn was at her other ear. He’ll be fine, darling. It’s better this way. Don’t worry your little head. You’re one of us, and he doesn’t make the cut.
The door groaned. Along the walls, ancestors of The Breviary watched. And there was baby Deirdre on the floor. Unresponsive, mute. Vacant. She peered up at Audrey with black eyes. “Finish it.”
Soon, they were all chanting, even the tenants. “Finish it. Finish it. Finish it.”
She could hear their thoughts. They were too far gone to think in words. All was the color red, of madness and murder and frugal love.
She hoisted the rebar.
“Audrey. Think! You’ll go to jail. You’ll lose everything,” Saraub cried as he crawled toward the turret window. Blackbirds struck his exposed skin as they