~1.9~

The intercom was answered with a single word, its one syllable somehow packed with extra terseness: “Yes?”

Nick realized he hadn’t been given a name, and had no reason to believe the person who owned the voice–gender made indistinct with static–had been told he was coming.

“Mama sent me,” he said, finally. He was buzzed in.

A uniformed maintenance man trundled a carpet cleaner out of the elevator as he stepped in. The floor was slightly damp, and there was a strong smell of shampoo. Well, Heathcliff Tower was certainly clean.

He was met at the apartment door by a tall, thin woman in a short black dress, of the shapeless, A-frame flapper style.

“Come in,” she said. He gained nothing from her tone or expression.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping past her. “My name’s Nick… Nick Brown.”

“Wow,” she said.

“What, have you heard of me?” Nick asked.

“No,” she said. “My name is Wow. Madame Wow, to my clients… but I don’t guess that’s you.”

“Madame… you’re some kind of a medium?” he asked.

“No, I run a brothel out of my upstairs room,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What the hell did you come here for, if you don’t know what I do?”

“Touché,” he said. There was a girl, who looked a bit younger than Karrie… maybe fourteen or fifteen years old… sitting at the table and eating a bowl of milk and cereal. She had bright green hair, and was wearing several layers of dirty clothes. “She yours?” he asked, gesturing towards her.

“If she’s anybody‘s,” Wow said.

“That’s kind of why I’m here,” Nick said nervously, taking this as his opening. “See, I have a daughter, too.”

“She’s not my daughter,” Wow said. “She’s my sister.”

“Big sister,” the green-haired girl said.

“By five minutes,” Wow said.

“She’s your twin?” Nick asked, dubiously.

“Yes, but she hasn‘t been quite the same since the house fell on her,” Wow said. “She doesn’t always remember the little things, like aging.”