Free Ghosts of Infinity: and Nine More Stories of the Supernatural by Lara Saguisag, April Yap Page B

immediately, a thin, tubular, silver garbage can caught his eye. It seemed vaguely out of place, as if it had just been placed there a minute ago, just before he arrived. He stared at it for a moment, right thumb still holding the button, and entertained the suspicion that it was not there at all when he and his wife went to work that morning.
    The silver garbage bin was about three feet tall, covered by a receptacle for cigarette butts, and had a circular opening just beneath. He was sure he had never seen it before, because if he had, he would have remembered to have put out his morning cigarette on the receptacle, and not into the potted plant, just before he marched into the elevator.
    He peered to his right again, saw the plant, and noticed the brightness of the hallway lights. Somehow, he felt a sense of relief, thinking that well-lit areas were a bane to criminals everywhere. With this small satisfaction, he ignored his wish to go down to reception to ask Jimmy about the stupid trash can.
    His right thumb released the button.
    Quickly, noiselessly, looking to his right and left and right and left again, you can never be too sure, he said to himself, Dante slid out of the elevator, still unconvinced that he was all alone on the seventh floor. He walked briskly, every step a difficult effort to conceal the sound of his feet pounding on the hard concrete floor. If there was somebody here, he thought, that person better not know about me.
    As he approached their unit, almost running on tiptoe as he did so, all the lights in the hallway went out.
    A strange and powerful feeling almost swept him away; his heart was pounding as he thought of being alone on the seventh floor with the lights out. There was nothing to be afraid of, he said to himself, more of a consolation than a confirmation of his faith, it was not logical to be afraid during this time. He hoped that it was just a temporary power problem, one that the building’s generators would be able to solve.
    He wanted to call Jimmy. He wanted to tell him that it was not necessary to have told him that he was all alone on the floor because he didn’t need to know that. He wanted to tell Jimmy that it was perfectly natural for someone to stay on a whole floor, a whole damn floor, alone. Next time, he said, just one more time, and he would tell Jimmy off. He would give him a piece of his mind.
    Dante stood there calmly in the darkness while berating Jimmy in his mind. From afar, through a window down the hall, he could see the flickering lights of the metropolis but these were not bright enough to guide himself by.
    He dug his hands through his pockets to get to his lighter. There were car and apartment keys, a parking ticket, some coins, but no lighter. “Fuck,” he said, almost out loud, suddenly remembering that he left the disposable Bic lighter on top of his desk, “fuck,” he said, blaming himself for such stupidity. There was nothing else to do but to wait. He didn’t want to go around the hall, a bit afraid of his reaction should he happen to run into somebody.
    Slowly, he went towards his right and grappled for the wall.
    Not long after, when he heard the whirr of generators, the lights went back on and he allowed himself a nervous smile. He got off from the wall and arranged his composure. He smoothened the wrinkles of his barong.
    This was enough excitement for one night, Dante was telling himself, as he urgently doubled over to their apartment, like a man trying to run away from an avid pursuer. The very moment he got to their door, he thrust his key into the doorknob and forcefully pushed it open. He turned on the lights, made a cursory examination of the place, and let out a sigh of relief.
    He was home.
    He found their apartment just the way they left it, newspapers on the couch, remote control on the sidetable, makeup kit by the mirror. The utter familiarity of it gave him some solace; a restful, soothing sensation that everything, after all, would