Vivian

(Author's note: Please excuse the inclusion of AI-generated art with this piece. This was created fairly early in the public adoption of generative AI, and I hadn't yet understood the impact and consequences of using it. I've chosen to give myself some grace and leave the art attached to the stories they were generated for, as they were an earnest part of my creative process at that time.)

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. She could never look for long; Vivian was only occasionally invited to play in the Architect's apartment. Such performances were intimate and she had to throw all focus into her craft to keep from melting beneath the scrutinous gaze of her audience. The only glances she could spare to the window came as Vivian prepared to play or prepared to leave.

A brief glance was enough to take in the scene, an empty street leading to a nearly-empty skyline, but the sight was so rare Vivian was never satisfied. It was more than a sight. It was a suggestion. The unbroken road stretching into the distance teased perspective. Minuscule, indistinct silhouettes on the horizon were proof of something "other". There was a world outside the walls that stretched wide like an open hand. Once, as she provided the ambiance for a small brunch attended by the Directors, light flooded in from that window and touched her neck and back. The light was warm on her skin and couldn't possibly be electric.

-

But today she was playing the piano in the lobby with several rooms between herself and the window. Long ago, the lobby of this residential complex was plain, utilitarian, and a place dozens of feet traveled each day. No one could have told you the color of the walls because who would have stopped to notice? Now, no one could tell you the original hues of the room because there was no one alive who remembered. The lobby was painted a creamy ecru with gold accents, gently warmed by incandescent lights. A very old but meticulously maintained oriental rug added a certain depth to the space. The Architect's apartment was tucked away behind the wall at Vivian's back like a vault where all the natural light in existence was locked away.

Every year before the weather turned cold the Directors held a reception to congratulate themselves on another floor completed and announce the plans for the next. Vivian could understand the sense of accomplishment that comes with completing a project on time, but what investment they had in the 75th floor, the 76th floor, or any other floor was beyond her. These rich men and their families had their pick of the lower levels. Redistribution was something they orchestrated, not something they feared.

This was the third such reception for which she had performed. The plans for the next expansion were always nearly identical to the year before, but the crowd cheered for them all the same.

Once in a while the Architect would introduce her to a curious guest to whom Vivian gave rehearsed answers. How old? 15. (She was 17.) Where did she learn to play? She was self-taught. (She learned from her father.) Who designed her dress? Modestly, Vivian would say she didn't know. (The Architect had mentioned it once, but she hadn't bothered to remember.) A few short answers, a "thank you", and a short bow, and then she returned her fingers to the instrument. Vivian was here to be heard, not seen. When the time came, she stood and gave a final bow to the remaining guests and quietly left.

She stepped into the hall and saw Hans waiting for the elevator. He was leaning against the wall and picking at a spot of peeling paper. They smiled and nodded to each other. It was another 40 seconds before the elevator arrived. Vivian noticed the smells of the kitchen clinging to his clothes, and was privately aware that she herself smelled dusty. She had tried to beat the dust out of her dress that morning, but there was simply nowhere for the dust to go. The musty, enclosed nature of apartment life rendered certain cleaning efforts all but futile.

The elevator finally arrived and they boarded the dim carriage. A single flickering bulb illuminated a wall of numbered buttons. This being an elevator from the early days, the numbers only went up to 18, skipping the number 13. It would take a second elevator to get Vivian home, and a third for Hans. The young man punched the highest numbered button. Some piece of the machinery groaned in response as they began the slow, creaky ascent.

When the door had closed Hans produced a large hunk of brioche bread from his apron pocket. He ripped it in two and handed some to Vivian. She thanked him and took a big bite. It was buttery and luxurious. She couldn't help but say "mmm".

"Learn anything interesting?" Hans was too busy running to and from the upstairs kitchen to pick up any gossip. It would have been nice if the Architect could give them a small lift or at least a ramp, but the single flight of stairs was "perfectly serviceable", and Hans was "perfectly capable" of making the short trip dozens of times a day.

"No. Same old, same old. One of the Directors proposed giving the residents more time to prepare for redistribution this year, but I doubt they'll follow through." Not that it would do much good — people were used to living out of boxes by now.

She looked at his face. He was lost in thought while chewing his bread and hadn't really heard her answer.

"I've got something," he said finally. "It's on our way. I'll show you." Vivian nearly gasped at his serious tone. She had seen him like this before, but very rarely. She didn't ask questions; she trusted him.

-

The 18th floor hallway is where things began to feel dingy. Above the Directors' district was a commercial district, and above that was an industrial floor. The 18th floor was something of a buffer zone between that and the first residential district. There wasn't much there and nobody maintained it unless there was a problem. Generations ago, this floor housed utility closets, laundry facilities, and other common areas whose purposes were lost to time. Now it was just one leg of a commute between elevators. Sometimes kids would claim one of the rooms as a hangout spot, or a hookup spot, for the teens. Other than that, no one gave any thought to the 18th.

Vivian and Hans were completely alone and their steps echoed in the emptiness. It was eerie. The hallway continued a little way past the elevator to the higher floors. At its end, there was a turn that was nearly imperceptible until you were standing in front of it. Once in front of it, you would see dead end in the form of an alcove about 6 feet deep. Nothing to see but the same yellowing wall and scuffed wood floor.

Hans approached the back wall of the alcove and carefully peeled back a piece of wallpaper at his eye level. Vivian drew closer and felt a cool draft of air crawling its way through the crumbling concrete of a failing, hastily constructed exterior wall. She stood on her toes and pressed her wide eyes to the opening. The sky was getting dark, as she understood it did in the evening. Against that murky backdrop she could see a metal railing. She looked to Hans.

"It's called a fire escape," Hans whispered. He glanced back to the hall to make sure they were alone. "It has stairs. It goes all the way down."

"How can you tell?"

Hans smirked. "I can't, but my information is good."

"Go on."

"Grandad went into construction real young, right? Think about it, 70 years ago, you still could see the ground while you were working up top."

Vivian let go of the breath she had been holding. "Your grandad is senile, Hans."

"Yes, exactly! Nobody listens to what he's saying, but he's not crazy, Viv. His mind is just stuck somewhere nobody else can remember."

She closed her eyes. "Okay, 'fire escape'. An emergency passageway or something?"

"Mhm, Grandad was going on about how they started building above the existing structure but nobody extended the fire escape. He watched an older guy confront the Architect, I mean the first one, about what they would do without a fire escape, but, well... I mean, he didn't finish the story but..."

Vivian understood. Questioning management never ends well. "So there would have been a door here..."

"... and they took it out and closed it off like the other exits. Only I guess by the time they got to 18 they started slacking." Hans was patting the wallpaper back into place.

She smirked. "So 18 was always kind of a deserted shithole, huh." It wasn't that funny, but they laughed to break the tension.

-

It took 5 months to chip out a tunnel they could fit through. Hans worked in the kitchen most days. Vivian had less frequent employment, but she needed to keep up appearances by sticking to her routine during working hours. They put up a curtain across the alcove, far enough in so that no one could see until they were right there. They would work together as often as possible, one keeping lookout while the other dug. Sometimes they worked alone, but the knots in their stomachs tightened with each tiny "tick" of their tools.

There was one close call, and it happened a week before the project's completion. It was Vivian's turn to dig, and she was nearly waist-deep in the tunnel. Hans heard the elevator arrive from the lower floors. He listened. Almost immediately he heard the sound of a child running. The tiny, rapid steps slowed briefly as they rounded the corner before speeding towards the alcove. A parent's exhausted stomp and angry voice followed close behind.

There simply wasn't time to warn Vivian. With a silent prayer, Hans yanked Vivian by her hips out from the tunnel. He threw himself to the floor, sitting with his back covering the opening. When the little boy threw open the curtain he saw two "big kids" locked in a very convincing and passionate kiss. His mother saw them, too. She looked appalled and yanked the boy by his arm to the elevator. Hans saw nothing; he had closed his eyes out of fear. Because Hans was desperately facing her away from the intruders, Vivian's burning, wide-eyed face saw only wallpaper.

When the nearby elevator had departed the two stunned partners-in-crime rapidly moved themselves to opposite corners to recover. Hans put a hand over his eyes, still too afraid to open them.

"You absolutely can, and should, hit me in the face, as hard as you can."

Vivian rigidly stood up and blocked the tunnel's opening with the large box they had found early in their project.

"Let's just call it a day."

After taking a day to recover they were able to talk it out. Hans was still mortified, but Vivian told him to forget it. It had been quick thinking on his part and likely saved them from discovery. (But if it ever happened again, she would certainly take him up on the offer to pummel his face.)

The consequences of being discovered were somewhat unknown. Any stories they'd heard about crime and punishment in the complex, at least in their lifetimes, were little more than rumors. The Architect and the Directors weren't overtly threatening. They didn't have to be. The walls and floors themselves seemed to be watching. It was the building, more than the management, that demanded they keep the status quo. It loomed. It creaked. It moaned. It had corners and angles and shadows. The structure remembered the history its people forgot.

And now two teenagers had opened a wound in its flesh.

-

They hadn't planned to run away. The complex was all they'd ever known, and they couldn't bear to leave their families without a solid plan, or for that matter, without a good reason. They were growing up and starting to think about the cramped, isolated society around them. They started to notice. They started to question. But they were good kids surrounded by people who cared for them. The drive to see the outside world for themselves was strong, and maybe to see it was enough. Maybe the breath of fresh air would satisfy them.

One morning Vivian received a last-minute summons to perform at the Architect's apartment. It was annoying, but not unheard-of. She washed herself and put on her dress, then headed to the ground floor. Vivian could feel her heart beating as she entered the apartment. She tried to calm herself. It's just a job. It will be over soon. No one knows or cares anything about her. The calm didn't last. The Architect was alone when she entered his room.

"What's the occasion?" Vivian asked with a warm smile. Maybe she was early.

"Oh, no occasion," replied the aged, reedy voice. "I would like to hear you play."

Vivian gave a small bow and took her seat at the electronic keyboard in front of the window. She played something she knew well.

"That was beautiful," he said when she had finished. "Flawless, as always."

She thanked him.

"Will you join me for refreshment?" The Architect pressed a button on his table.

Moments later, Hans appeared with a cart bearing tea and sweets. The teens tried very hard not to look at each other. Vivian busied herself arranging her dress to take a seat at the table. Hans arranged the table, poured two cups of tea, bowed and left.

The Architect took a sip. "Vivian, have you had an opportunity to admire the view from my window?"

"Only briefly, sir."

"Mm!" he rose and motioned her to come to the window. "Please, have a look. Take your time."

She did. Vivian saw the sky, the sun, the road, the few irregular shapes on the horizon, and a few trees she had never seen before. They were only visible from an angle to someone close to the glass. She could also see her reflection. She looked herself in the eyes.

The Architect returned to his seat at the table. "What do you think?"

She answered earnestly. "It's lovely, and strange." Vivian took her seat and cautiously tasted the tea. It was milky. "What are those shapes in the distance? Other complexes?"

"They are nothing," he said flatly. They watched each other for a moment in silence. Vivian took a breath as if to speak, but he continued. "I am going to tell you something that no one here knows, not another living soul knows. There is nothing out there. The view inside the window is merely an illusion. It is a work of art."

Vivian cautiously rose again and returned to the window. She stared hard at the landscape. Nothing moved, but should anything be moving? Was there wind? Are there animals? It looked real. It looked serene and so, so real.

"The... the sun shines through this window, sometimes, while I play."

"That it does. There is a sky, and there is a sun in that sky that directs light into this room at a certain time of day. But it is not that sun, or that sky, that you see in that picture."

Now was not the time for Vivian to get lost in the implications of the window. She sensed that she was in some kind of danger. "That sounds like a heavy secret. Why tell me?"

She turned around to see the Architect standing behind her.

"Why? That would be one secret too many, my dear." He sighed. "I can't let you leave, Vivian. But I'm a reasonable man. So, congratulations. It seems you will be redistributed to the lower floors this year."

"Excuse me?"

"I cannot afford to leave such a sharp young thing to her own devices up there among the rabble. Do you understand?"

Vivian didn't want to understand. She forced a smile. Words began to fall out of her mouth rapidly. "That's very kind of you, sir, but I'm sorry, sir, my father... my father needs me." She started for the door. "I won't tell a soul about the window, I promise—"

The Architect blocked her way. "And how is your father?"

She was stunned. "He's well, sir."

"Are you sure?" he sneered.

Before she could answer, the man was shoved from behind by a serving cart. Hans grabbed Vivian by the arm and pointed to the elevator before jamming the door shut between the Architect and themselves.

They ran. Hans had held the elevator open with a chair. Once inside, he kicked the chair free and started mashing the button for the 18th floor.

"You have to go. Now."

"Go where?" Vivian was breathless. The elevator started to rise.

"Outside. Anywhere. Viv, I don't know what he wants with you, but he can't have it." He held her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

"My father—"

"I'll send him after you. I sent a runner; they should be on their way to 18 already."

The long ascent continued.

"And you?" Vivian asked quietly.

"I'll hold them off. Good thing there's only the two elevators, eh?" He chuckled nervously.

Vivian felt her stomach sink. "And after that?"

"No idea, but I'll manage."

"How?"

"I promise, I'll manage."

"We have no idea what they'll do to you!"

When the elevator door opened on the 18th floor, the peeling wallpaper saw two young people sharing a passionate kiss under a flickering light bulb.

"I'll hit you twice for that."

"It's a date." Hans nodded for her to go.

-

There was no time to think or look around. Despite living in a skyscraper, Vivian had never had to climb so many stairs, up or down. She focused on her feet as she moved.

Did the Architect tell her the truth about the window? Vivian felt sure he had to be lying. There was a sun and a sky, after all. She knew that. If it was true, if there was nothing outside, if there was no empty road with strange shapes on the horizon, then she would walk. She and her father would pick a direction and walk into the nothingness until they found something. Anything.

When she reached the bottom Vivian fell on her hands and knees. She allowed her body to shake from the effort and adrenaline. She raised her eyes and expected to see a whole lot of nothing.

Towers. Skyscrapers. Complexes. Impossibly tall and numerous. The building from which she'd escaped was surrounded by structures just like it. Tons upon tons of concrete with no windows or doors that she could see from where she knelt.

She looked up. Somewhere far above she could hear someone descending the fire escape. Hopefully it was her father, but it would be a few minutes before she would know for sure.

Emotionally numb, Vivan collapsed and rolled onto her back. There was the sky, thick with brown clouds. Behind the clouds, Vivian could see the sun.