Chapter 1

The snow tapped lightly at the window. Perhaps it wanted in from the cold, Janice thought, the thread of sleep still tugging at her eyelids. She saw the frost building on the glass, heavier and heavier, fearing that the outside world might crash in on her and suddenly she grew incredibly thankful she didn’t have to be out there with the falling snow, hopelessly tapping to be in a warm room with a fireplace, under a thick blanket that, though it itched her skin, made her feel instantly secure beneath its wooly weight. The night slipped away into that dangerous but exciting limbo between consciousness and the sudden realization that a new day begins. Her mind went over what that day held for her once the warm embrace of the sun gently shook her from sleep. Surely, there were errands, appointments, something, anything to do, though she could not see them. Perhaps if she made a list, enumerating every task, but she could not bring herself to care. Rather, the rapidly building snow was the only thing of importance. But why? It had snowed before, had snowed harder, longer, hell, there has even been hail. Snow on steroids, as she had come to think of it. Once she was beamed in the head with a piece of hail the size of a marble. Look closely, and one could see the welt on her right shoulder where the hailstone pierced through the jacket of her Chanel pantsuit. So why was this snow such a surprise, a revelation? Why bother, she thought, trying to push the idea out of her head to finally put her thoughts at ease so that she might rest finally after a long day of sabotage and intrigue. After all, being the top Karry Fay distributor in all of upstate New York takes no small amount of bribery, coercing and obtrusive sexual favors. Yet her powerful position afforded her this chic little number in the heart of Midtown, amidst the crackling sound of life all around her. All that meant nothing, though, for that damned snow. The buildings beyond it seemed like they were in a different country all together. The large man with the laps of fat about his waist who wore women’s clothes after a grueling day at the office, to whom Janice had once sold a tube of Pucker Up Plum when she was just starting out, now lived in some remote area of Siberia, his window drawn closed. Janice wondered what he would be wearing tonight. Last night was a bit of a letdown, a man his size couldn’t pull off a wrap dress. He should have known that by now. She had hoped he would redeem himself with another vintage Balenciaga, but she had not seen him tonight. And next to him, the furious old woman with the extensive fur collection, whose apartment looked almost directly into hers. Where was she tonight, all dolled up with nowhere to go and no one to take her. Watching her made Janice feel the type of loneliness that seems familiar, if a bit of a ways down the line. She knew in 50 or 60 years she’d be that woman. And she too would be furious at having been left all alone to die in such a big, uncaring city. She must be, like, what, 90, Janice considered as she rolled her tired eyes over to the next apartment, the one with the tired single mother and the toddler who never seemed to grow or stop crying. But what’s that? He’s asleep, for once. And her window’s open, though the light is off in the kitchen. Then, like a flash of lightning, the kitchen is illuminated, for a short two or three seconds, and the young woman is running from one side of the room to the other. A large shadowy figure pursues her and the light goes out again. There is no scream, there is no baby crying, there is nothing at all in the heart of midtown. Not even a car horn, only the sound of the snow lightly tapping against the window. Thinking it was all just a dream, Janice’s eyes finally close and she enters limbo, unsure of what she saw, but ill at ease nonetheless.