CHAPTER 15

114 BURKHOUSER

Ephraim was wearing his best suit. It was new. He didn’t exactly remember buying this suit any more than the one he’d worn to Fiona’s, but he did have a floating memory of a store and a salesman. And on-the-spot alterations, a pretty penny paid to make the suit fit like a glove without waiting.

How does a man forget being fitted for a suit just a handful of hours earlier?

But that was the question, wasn’t it? He was untethered. His mind had nowhere to call home. He needed an anchor. He needed answers. Which was why he was here; he wanted to get those answers and recover his sanity.

Ephraim took a few extra-long breaths, closed his eyes, then opened them again. 

He looked at Chez Luis. He looked at Blumen. The flower shop was closed, but the restaurant was open. There was even a cluster of people waiting outside the door, dressed to the nines. 

He needed to get to the bottom of whatever was happening. So what if the invitation was strange? Ephraim was a man grasping at every last straw.

He looked at the two buildings, and at the space between them.

114 Burkhouser.

Which just so happened to be an alley between a French restaurant and a flower shop. He’d bought the suit to stay invisible. This was a posh part of town, and even Blumen (according to the Chttr reviews) was absurdly expensive. 

Ephraim peeked through the window of the flower shop, then quietly knocked. Nobody answered. Nobody moved inside. So he went to Chez Luis, glad he’d dressed the part while pushing through a knot of fashionable diners waiting outside. The hostess told him the dining room was fully booked and that maybe Ephraim should have made a reservation at least a week in advance. She also looked Ephraim up and down, seeming to cast aspersions on his new suit. 

“I was hoping to get in tonight,” Ephraim tried. 

“I’m sorry, sir. We have absolutely nothing open.” 

“I’d …” He lowered his voice. “I’d like to borrow an egg.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Ephraim went back outside. Then he rattled the flower shop door to make sure it was locked, which it still was. 

Finally, he stared into the alleyway. There was nothing down it except for trashcans and dumpsters. 

Except there was also a door behind a pile of bags. 

Ephraim looked both ways, up and down the street. Then, deciding he was alone enough to slip away, he ducked into the mouth of the alley. 

It was small and smelled awful. He kept looking back, sure that someone from the street would see him and declare him a well-dressed bum. But nobody saw, cared, or said a thing. 

The alley was narrower at the back, dead-ending into a brick wall. It was a claustrophobic sort of space. Already Ephraim wondered if he wanted to be here. What if someone was hiding in those bags, using them for warmth? What if that someone had a knife? Or a gun?

But there was nobody when Ephraim, wincing at the smell, plucked the bags away from a slim metal door. 

Feeling stranger than ever, Ephraim knocked. 

Nothing happened. 

He looked around. Knocked harder. 

He gave the thing a once-over, figuring he could at least try the knob. Why not? He’d bought new duds and everything, and now he was polluted with trash. 

But there was no knob. 

Ephraim walked back a few steps, sighing. What had been the point of this? What had he thought would happen? 

He looked at the door. It was silent and still. Half-hidden, until a moment ago, behind a pile of rubbish. There was no number or any marking at all. It was just an anonymous nothing at the end of a dead alley. 

Ephraim stepped forward. 

Feeling like an absolute idiot, he scoffed at his idiocy, saying those words as if they were wet with sarcasm, “I want to borrow an egg. Fucking hell.” 

Behind him, with a light clang, the door opened.