Shirtwaist Ghosts Chapter 2

2

Months later, Allen surveyed El Paso’s most luxurious corporate apartments with a panoramic view of the downtown area. The price tag covered rent, utilities and once-a-week maid service. Initial marketing proved successful and half the apartments were already leased. He was a success. Again.

Allen moved from his parents to the apartment decorated in warm, earth tones. The kitchen gleamed with immaculate, granite counters, light-brown wood cabinets and stainless steel appliances.

The plunk of a cork leaving a bottle of Veramonte wine from Chile, echoed throughout the apartment. He poured himself a glass in celebration of moving out of his parent’s house for the second time in his life, and, he promised, the last. He glided into the living room, the wine halfway to his lips, when the glass slipped from his fingers.

The torsos of at least a dozen women milled around back and forth over the hard wood floor and across the hemp rug.
Allen jumped back, his feet slipping out from underneath him. Pain shot down his leg when he landed hard on his right hip. As the sensation subsided, he remembered why he was on the floor. He scuttled back into the kitchen, kicking the door shut as he passed.

He used the counter to haul himself upright, poured another full glass of wine and downed it before limping to peak through the door again. A CD of the Paul Whiteman jazz orchestra played softly in the background. No bodies. He opened the door wider. Fantastic, he thought, I’m a successful nut.

A clerk was at his desk working on an account when a shadow passed by the window in front of him. His mouth dropped open as a body fell trailing flames. Shouts, screams, and yells from outside punctuated the fall of each person. He stood, hypnotized, as woman after woman plunged to the street below. Two girls fell, holding hands.