of a hand on my shoulder, but that was impossible because my back was against the wall. There could be no one there.
But even as I screamed at the doc in my head, I said nothing aloud, because I needed proof. I needed proof in this nightmare. Tangible, verifiable proof that I could see with my own eyes, so I wouldn’t have to hear the words I still considered untrue. It was necessary, I told myself. It was the only way.
Doc touched the button on the front of the TV, and there was an electrical snap. A small shower of sparks fell from the back of the TV to the floor, hissing as they hit the cold concrete. The doc jerked his hand away and stared dumbfounded at the TV. A smell of burning plastic permeated the room. “Goddamn wiring,” he muttered. “Told them a thousand times to get this fixed. Not in the budget, my ass.” His phone rang. “Yeah? No, the TV shorted and damn near shocked me! The what? The camera went out?” He frowned. “That’s not hooked up to any of the wiring, is it? That’s odd. How the hell…. No. Just give me a moment.” He snapped the phone shut and reached up carefully toward the TV again, which had already stopped smoking. He tapped the power button quickly, as if thinking he would still be shocked. Nothing happened. He pressed the button and held it down. Nothing.
“Benji, I’m sorry. I don’t know what the hell happened. Looks like the monitor is dead. This building has had the same wiring since the fifties. I guess there was a surge somewhere.”
And now I would never know if my father was truly gone. This was my only chance to see and it had been taken from me. I would have to take it from the words of others that he was gone, and there would always be that little voice in my head that said ‘what if?’ What if they were all lying? What if this whole thing was one big hoax? Big Eddie wouldn’t leave me. He told me he wouldn’t. He told me he’d be back in the afternoon. He promised.
“Open the door,” I said.
Doc’s eyes widened. “What?”
“The TV won’t work. Your camera doesn’t work. Open the door. I want to see for myself.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think—”
“I’m not asking you to think,” I snarled at him. I immediately felt guilty at the way he recoiled, but it did nothing to stop me. “Open the door, Doc.”
“Your father wouldn’t want this,” he said. “He wouldn’t want this for you.”
My eyes started to burn. “If he’s gone, what does it matter?” I said hoarsely. “What does it matter what he would have wanted?”
“It will always matter,” the doc argued.
I shook my head. “You have to have this for your reports. I have to have this for my sanity. Open the door.”
He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he was going to refuse. I thought I was going to have to push my way past him and bust through the door myself. I would be careful—Doc was getting older and I didn’t want to hurt him. But not even he would stand in my way. The sinking feeling I’d had in my stomach for the past two days was swiftly turning into a black hole, and I had to stop it or let it consume me completely. I didn’t know which option was safer. I wasn’t sure if it mattered.
Doc closed his eyes and his lips moved as he muttered to himself, and it took me a minute to realize what he was doing. Out of all the things he could have done, the fact that he seemed to be praying was the most unexpected. I felt sick at my anger, but it did nothing to quell it. I let him have his moment, let him say whatever he wanted to whomever he was saying it to. The buzzing of the lights grew louder, like a hive of angry wasps.
Doc finished his prayer and opened his eyes again. There was still doubt there, but it was resigned. He knew I would not back away from this. Not now. He didn’t even ask me if I was sure again. I almost wished he had.
He turned to the windowless green door that had started to take on a menacing shape. Maybe they were telling the truth, I thought nervously, starting to fall into the black hole.