Chapter 10

As though it was new to him, as though he did not take the trip several times a day, the sight beyond the fire door always managed to make his heart sink and his expression crumple. That would be when his eyes would widen, or narrow, depending on which emotion was stronger that day, while they took in the seemingly unending stretch of the next set of stairs. Twenty-seven. And the passage got narrower. The lack of windows made it seem darker. Random artwork that was either complete junk, or lost masterpieces, as those things tended to be, lined the walls with silver-headed screws twisted through their frames. Smells stuck in that particular staircase: boiled potatoes, cheap meat, and dirty laundry. They were the ‘stairs that must be counted,’ lest one begin to believe they would go on forever and give up hope at the midway point.