Basement Level Two

…

It’s dark but the humid air traps the heat.

My arms ache and I can feel fatigue

pressing behind my eyes.

The lift doors open onto the basement carpark,

and I step out with two heavy shopping bags,

moving under a bare light fitting that buzzes faintly.

I squint. The concrete pillars

are pockmarked and lettered, and the worn white arrows

point to the exit but not my car. I walk through hard light

and fractured shadows. Droning fans push air

through ceiling ducts, the sound reverberating through the space.

My footsteps echo before

the drone absorbs them, and

they are gone.

…

I am halfway across the carpark

before I notice a parked car with its engine idling,

brake lights illuminating the concrete, and I think I hear

a short, muffled sob but it’s covered

by the drone coming from the ducts, so

I’m not sure.

I turn just enough to see a rigid figure

in the driver’s seat with both hands

on the wheel, and the engine cuts out.

The hands haven’t moved.

Their face is obscured by light reflected

off the windscreen.

I pretend not to notice, and instead

look toward my car.

…

I load the boot and walk to the driver’s side.

The figure is still there, but I can’t read the posture—

the glare blocks my sight.

I try not to stare. I get into my car and start the engine.

When I look up, one of the figure’s hands has moved—

held close to the chest, I think—

the other is still on the wheel.

I put the car into gear and move to the ramp.

I drive upward, but the figure, too still,

stays with me.

I don’t look back.

…