Looking out the window made everything seem so quiet and peaceful, like staring at a beautiful painting. Warner savored the living detail of people running around...where were they all going? Over here he could see a little boy clutching his mother’s hand, excitedly rushing to catch the best spot to see the penguins at the Central Park Zoo. Over there he saw an old man arguing with an old woman as they walked down 59th Street. From the looks of it, she was in tears and doing her best to find any refuge away from the old man’s verbal abuse. Further down he could make out a couple looking to hire a horse-drawn carriage around the park. Their public display of affection made Warner feel uncomfortable despite being so far away. Watching them kiss only reminded him of home.

“I suppose everything looks peaceful from the 20th floor of the Plaza Hotel.” he thought. He was always the guy who could see the big picture; even the flaws of the grotesque helped to compose a well-textured canvas, accentuating those parts that were dazzling in their imagery. All one needed was to take a step back and look.

Warner had checked in at the Plaza Hotel a week ago, under the cover of night and surrounded by guards. He previously insisted at least one guard remain posted in front of his room, but since he had his own personal elevator as an entryway, he let it go. It seemed for once that Secretary Bradley was correct, nobody knew he was here.

But here, time seemed to be standing still. Between contemplation at the window and waiting to receive the final word from the President, Warner was already feeling claustrophobic. Despite occupying in luxury at the Plaza’s 1500 sq ft penthouse suite, all he wanted was to go home.

“You know that’s not possible.” he immediately responded to himself. “Well, if it’s not possible, then get me to my new home, fuck!” he barked out loud to no one.

Impatiently, he picked up his phone and dialed Bradley’s office.

“Bradley, it’s me again. Any new word?”

“None yet, Mr. Mott. As I mentioned previously, you will be the first to hear from me as soon as I hear anything.”

“What the fuck is taking so long?” Warner interrupted. “How long does it take to figure out a goddamn relocation site? He knows I can’t go outside, right? He does know a mob will fucking kill me the moment anyone knows it’s me here - especially in a luxury suite. Everyone will know you’re protecting me. It’s to everyone’s advantage that I get out of here as soon as possible.”

“We know, Mr. Mott. Trust me, we are all doing what we can to secure a location.” the secretary offered in a de-escalating tone. “But you do understand, a person of your notoriety is not easily hidden away. Moreover, we’d like to make sure that you’re happy wherever you land. The president himself wants to make sure you are comfortable and well taken care of.”

“Spare me.” Warner retaliated. “The president just wants to save his own ass. Remind him that saving mine will preserve his.”

“Is that all, Mr. Mott? I will pass the message along.”

“Fine.” Warner poured every sour ounce of distaste and disdain when saying the word. It was everything but fine. “Fucking bitch of a reporter.”

No time to think about this now. There was lots of preparation left on his part to do; papers to read, money to shift, blah blah blah. But the work wasn’t going to do itself while he continued to obsess over the scandal.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he repeated to himself. “It wasn’t my fault.”

Instinctively, he began to look for the vodka. Finding it, he drank straight from the bottle. “10 am be damned,” he said unsteadily. After splashing water on his face at the marble wet bar, Warner sat down on the plush blue couch. Moments passed and he found himself back at the window, staring absently at the bustle of the city.

Here, a troop of girl scouts came bobbing and skipping down the street towards 6th Avenue. Their brown uniforms and skirts flooding his mind with memories of his own daughter. Warner could almost imagine their excited squeals when seeing the park horses.

“Sophie did love horses,” he said softly.

Looking in the opposite direction, Warner could almost catch a glimpse of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He’d never been to New York City except on business, and he regretted never taking the time to visit.

“If only I was stuck at the Met instead of this opulent detention cell.” he laughed to himself sarcastically.

Flying in disarray near the suite window, a flock of birds interrupted his thoughts. As he wondered where the birds came from, a strong morning wind began to blow.

“I didn’t realize it was going to storm.” he thought to himself.

That’s when he caught his first sight of her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old woman pushing her cart towards the corner of 5th Avenue. She walked with a crooked stride and what looked like permanently hunched shoulders so that her elbows fell instinctually back against the sides of her body. Her grasping hands hanging down, she pushed her cart slowly. She wasn’t just filthy; what looked like a manky brown coat, at closer inspection, appeared to be more like a layer of matted and oily feathers, brown and gray.

The old woman turned around slowly fixing on Warner. A broad sickly smile crept across the old crone’s face. Her teeth looked like long sharp daggers, her crusted lips curling the smile into something like a dog baring its fangs.

“At who? At me? What the fuck is that? What IS that?” Warner panicked.

The thing then began to open its mouth. Wider and wider, the thing unhinged its jaw like a box, so that its head could continue to open flat, revealing rows of descending sharp teeth down the creature’s throat. Its lamplit eyes were shining straight into his, holding his gaze so that it was impossible to look away.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” he heard a rasping voice say. He had a hard time determining if the voice was real or only in his head.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” the words slithered out again.

Warner screamed, or imagined he screamed. He could not tell if any sound was coming out of his mouth. The moment seemed like an eternity. He could not tear his eyes from the creature. And then…

Warner woke up with a jolt.

“Good fucking god!” he said relieved. “Fucking nightmares, man.” His hands were still shaking. “That felt so real.” he sighed to himself, sitting up and running both of his hands over his head. He could feel the sweat, then looked down at his hands in unbelief. “Geez. It felt real but goddamn.” he laughed.

His thoughts were soon interrupted by the telephone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Mott. I have Secretary Bradley, please hold.” the assistant intoned. “Go ahead, Mr. Secretary. Mr. Mott is on the line.”

“Hello, Warner. My assistant tells me you’ve been trying to reach me.”

Warner shook off what felt like an infantile fear, feeling the heaviness of his circumstances all over again. “Well, yes. Any new news? What’s happening?”

“Nothing regarding your relocation since the last time. However, the situation seem to be escalating. Have you read the papers today? The reporter is no longer just mentioning your name. I’m afraid things have become a lot more complicated. It may take a little more time.”

“More time?! How much more time?” Warner was clenching his teeth now.

“Undetermined. For now, the president says you’re safe where you are. Do not leave or step foot outside your room. All room service will be limited to the same server for your own safety. Fewer eyes seeing you is better. She’s being paid extra to cater to you 24-hours.”

Warner could feel the anger rising into his throat. He couldn’t utter a response other than to breathe heavily in frustration.

Bradley spoke with slow enunciation, “Warner, get a hold of yourself. It is not as though you’re in the worst of places. There are others in far more horrible locations than you. Sit tight and I will call you when we’re ready to move you. Until then, do not call me again. Good evening.” Bradley hung up.

Warner threw the telephone across the room, sat down at the dining room table, then pounded the surface with both fists so hard that his hands throbbed and ached.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” There was nothing he could do. His leg was nervous with jittery energy and wouldn’t stop rocking. Warner took a deep breath. Exhaled. Then another. After a few minutes, he raised his palm to his forehead.

“Good evening? What time is it?” he wondered out loud. The clock read 5:41 pm. Had he been asleep all day? The last thing he could remember was...he couldn’t remember. Looking out the window? No, that was the dream. The girl scouts? The PDA couple? Was that all part of the dream too? He couldn’t tell. Standing, Warner decided to relieve his stress by watching TV and grabbing something to eat. Against his better judgment, he put on the news.

“The scandal. That’s all anyone can fucking talk about. Of course.”

Warner picked up his phone and dialed for the waitress to bring him food. When he was finished, he proceeded to run through his routine; first unlocking his side of the elevator doors, followed by clearing the table of any used plates to be taken away, then standing back at the window looking outside. Since he checked in, this had been his regular behavior when the servicewoman needed to enter his suite. He never faced her. One, because he feared she would recognize him and alert others. Two, because he held laborers like this to be beneath him. He didn’t despise them. He simply found them unworthy of his time or attention. It was enough to observe them behind a window from afar, it was another thing to be in contact with them face to face.

Hearing the elevator ding, he could hear the attendant pushing the cart with his food. She offered him her pleasantries and courtesies, but Warner paid her little mind. Barely bringing himself to acknowledge her attempt to gain a tip, as he was engrossed in watching two teenaged boys shoving and picking a fight with one another in the park below.

When she left Warner sat down and began to focus his attention on the news:

“This is Darla Sanger for Eyewitness News 7. We are live at Central Park right now. Many are gathering together for a candlelight vigil in memory of all those that began to die to the Osiris Plague just eleven years ago. Since then the world is mending and healing, but we are still far from forgetting the eight long years of quarantine, failed vaccines, and the loss of roughly 60% of the planet’s population. Most of those dying in areas with higher temperatures and temperate climates, such as those along the equator in Africa, South America, and Indonesia. Authorities around the world are still cautiously reclaiming locations closer to the equator, attempting to ensure any bodies found are properly cremated, and that the Osiris Plague does not spread again.”

“In addition to grief, tempers are high at the vigil after news broke that the president ignored advice on a plan that might have been able to spare billions of lives. NPR’s Linda Carlson recently reported that an advisor to President MacArthur, William Warner Mott…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Warner switched the TV channel. He didn’t feel hungry anymore, but sat there with his eyes shut in front of his cloche-covered meal. Anyone looking from the outside would have thought Warner was praying.

Warner was never the praying type.

Instead, he found himself unexpectedly distracted by thoughts of home. Various details came screaming back to him. He could recall the paths of cracks in his garden walkways or the rich smell of the jasmine in the spring evening air. Warner wished he could go back one last time. He wished he could hear his children playing and laughing. He wished he could see that excited expression on his wife’s face whenever he came home. All of the things he ignored while he had them, like a petulant child that suddenly wants a toy he dismissed all day until he realized he could not have it anymore.

He was too late. He wasn’t able to reach her in time. News traveled too quickly. She feared for Sophie’s life, expecting to rejoin with Warner at a later time when their daughter was out in the clear and better. She never doubted anything. Why would she? Violet was informed and kept up with the news. She felt it a duty considering her husband was a politician and feared she might say something foolish to embarrass him. She loved her husband and worked unrelentingly not to chide him for staying away from home so much.

Sophie began to become disoriented and confused in her speech, followed by the fever, followed by the loss of motor functions - all the telltale signs of the virus - Violet knew she could not wait for Warner. She had tried to get a hold of him for several days in the midst of the worst of it. But when President Buchanan died of the virus himself, only a year into his term, then former Vice-President MacArthur leaned heavily on Warner’s assistance and advice – and had ever since. After finishing Buchanan’s term and finishing his own first, the new Osiris vaccine was almost ready to be announced and MacArthur won the election for a second time. Despite the condition of his own daughter by that point, Warner told himself he was sacrificing for the greater good.

“The big picture stuff.” he reminded himself frequently. “My work at helping the president find a cure will trickle down towards Sophie getting a cure that much sooner.”

The president made it impossible to leave his side and Warner considered it his duty to remain close at hand. Then the idea came, and then the world public announcement. It didn’t occur to Warner to alert Violet as to the truth. Then they were all gone. He knew he would never see them again.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” the sound slid out slowly.

The hair on the back of Warner’s neck stood erect. Did he just imagine that? He opened his eyes and stood up, looking around back and forth. It was dark now. None of the lights were on.

“How long was I sitting there thinking?” He looked at the clock. It was 11:45 pm now. “How in the world was I sitting there for so long?”

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

This time Warner turned off the TV. Maybe it was some noise on the TV he was confused about, or the wind? Looking around and finding nothing, he could swear he could hear a clinking sound coming from his food. Returning to the table, he quickly snatched the dome from the plate. Warner immediately began to wretch. The chicken dinner the room service waitress had brought him was now nothing but dried bones with bits of rancid meat stuck on them. What was left over in the carcass was crawling with bloated maggots and flies.

Warner heaved on the floor in the dark, dropping the cloche with a ringing clash next to him.

“She brought me rotten fucking food?” he thought incredulously in between violent dry heaves.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

Warner froze. He definitely heard it this time. His hand attempting to steady his stomach, Warner willed himself to get it together. He lumbered to his place by the window. Nothing. He could see the city lights. He could see three police cars racing down 59th, sirens blaring.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

There it was. The gargoyle.

A strong wind began to blow. He had not noticed the rain outside, or even heard the thunder and lightning. “There are no gargoyles on this building.” he said out loud absentmindedly. No, not a gargoyle. But something sat on the ledge just outside his window. Warner could just see its outline. Its back was facing towards him. His heart was pounding as the lightning from the storm revealed the familiar hunched shoulders, hands hanging down along its side, and black midnight feathers obscuring itself against the darkened sky.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” the thing breathed at him.

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” Warner countered. “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault!!”

Between flashes of lightning Warner could see the thing turning around and got the distinct feeling the thing was moving closer and closer to his window. Frozen in fear, the thing’s lamplit eyes were fixed on him. Again, it made that hideous grinning expression, its daggerlike teeth gleaming wildly. He never saw it move, but at the same time he could see it stalking towards him; a predator about to devour its prey.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” it whispered with a deafening shrill voice.

Warner was horrified. Before letting the thing speak any more, he bolted for the bedroom, his shaking hands fumbling the dresser drawer. Groping in the dark, Warner’s hand found what he was looking for: a colt revolver. It had been passed down to him over the generations, but Warner doubted it had ever faced anything like this. Loading the bullets and pocketing a handful, Warner returned to the window overlooking the shadowy darkness.

When the lightning flashed across the sky, the thing could be seen with its mouth gaped open, slightly turning its head to the side so as to keep its eyes on Warner. The creature’s face so haggard with hunger insatiable, Warner could smell the foul putrid breath and nearly gagged again. The thing began to raise its wings, howling like the shrieking wind.

Holding himself steady, Warner raised the revolver and shouted a warlike cry while emptying the gun at the old crone’s silhouetted form.

Both 6mm layers of plate glass shattered, but did not crash down the window like Warner expected. Instead, he could see six holes running through the glass surrounded by splintering branches extending away from their place of impact and flowering across the entire pane. Trembling, Warner attempted to reload his weapon as quickly as he could. But when he looked up to fire again, there was nothing to be seen.

The thing was gone. Had he imagined it? He slowly sat down against the wall opposite to the bullet riddled window. “What just happened?” Shock slowly claimed all of Warner’s senses. He felt paralyzed, lost in thought. He did not remember passing out.

Hours later, still dark, Warner awoke to his phone ringing. “Hello?”

“Mr. Mott, this is Secretary Bradley. We need you packed and ready to be smuggled out of New York in the next hour. There’s no time to explain but you must leave as soon as possible. A driver has already been sent and will bring you to the safehouse. Once there, we’ll fly you out and figure what the next step is. I’m sorry I cannot tell you more but this message comes straight to you from the president.”

“What’s going on? What time is it?” Warner asked disoriented.

“We do not have time to explain. Get yourself ready and make sure you eat something before you go. It will be a long trip and there will be nothing for you except what you take now.”

The secretary hung up, and Warner looked dumbfounded at the window. He hadn’t imagined it. He really did it. It wasn’t a dream. The window was still shattered. It wasn’t a dream. Was he going crazy?

No time to think about that now. Creature or not, he needed to get out of here. He realized that he didn’t care for any explanation anyway. Every fiber of his being shouted to run away from that place. Warner longed for fresh air, the sun on his face, a nice cool breeze, and the fresh smells of freedom. He looked forward to the leaving everything behind now, so that he could mourn his loved ones and live the rest of his life at peace.

The buzzing of the elevator interrupted his train of thought. “I didn’t order anything,” he thought to himself. “Maybe they ordered it for me?”

Walking to the entry way, Warner cautiously called out. The familiar voice of the room service lady calmed him a bit.

“I was told to bring you something to eat, Mr. Mott. I am sorry if I woke you.” The pleasant voice offered. “Your side of the elevator is still locked, Mr. Mott. As soon as you unlock it, I can leave your food for you.”

“Aah it’s okay. Would you mind just leaving it there?” Warner cheeped.

A pause that felt like an eternity.

“I’m afraid I’m really not supposed to leave carts of food on the elevator, sir. I could lose my job.” Warner could hear her slight Brooklyn accent. He had never noticed it before.

Something in the pit of his stomach was telling him not to unlock those doors. Yet he realized how foolish he must have seemed. How was he going to explain shooting the window? Would a birdlike monster-creature really imitate a Brooklyn accent just to set his mind at ease before devouring him? The thought was ridiculous.

“Right, right. One moment.” Warner held his breath while he unlocked the doors. When they opened, they saw each other’s faces for the first time. She was a beautiful, late twenty-something year old woman. She had a shapely hourglass figure, but the black and red Plaza Hotel uniform she wore sat like a sack so that it was difficult to discern the contours of her body. Her face was lit by her pretty gray eyes and alluring long eyelashes. Her luscious blond hair cascading past her shoulders.

Warner felt stunned, then awkwardly backed away to let the woman in. She set the plate down then took the soiled leftovers from before. When he looked at it, the food was neither spoiled nor rotten, only untouched. Beginning to feel lightheaded, Warner thanked the woman who stood with her hand out in an expecting gesture.

“Oh…right. Give me a moment.” Looking around he couldn’t find his wallet. As he strode past the table, Warner accidentally knocked into the new covered tray of food. When it fell to the ground, he could see the maggots squirming everywhere and immediately jumped back.

A sound like a guttural growl, deep in the throat, began to grow from behind him. Slowly Warner turned around, eyes open wide. Already her lamplit eyes were glowing at him. Thick black and red feathers covered her body, greasy and foul with a profuse stench of corruption. On her hands were the razor-sharp talons. She leered at him with her teeth. Then its jaw unhinged, and the mouth began to open slowly. Staring down the throat of the beast, his ears were ringing.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO??? CONFESSSSSSSS.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Warner shouted back in desperation.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???”

“I’m innocent! I didn’t do anything, I swear. I saved millions of lives.”

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO??? CONFESSSSSSSS.”

Warner was unable to tear his eyes away. Falling on his knees, his nostrils became filled with the smell of the creature’s repulsive breath, hot against his face. There was nothing he could do. This was the end.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO??? CONFESSSSSSSS NNNOOOWW!”

“It was my idea. I convinced the president.” Tears streamed down Warner’s face. “I told him that the possibility of saving the world…against a certainty of saving what would be left of the human race after the virus…convinced him he could not risk it. He needed to see the bigger picture. The difficult decision needed to be made!”

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” The thing dripped hateful drops from its eyes, almost in mockery of Warner’s whimpering words. Its mouth was open so wide he could see down the thing’s throat, its eyes still fixed, its wings beginning to spread.

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???” it began a crooked shuffle towards him. Warner still on knees, began to speak faster.

“We knew…we knew temperate climates and warm weather helped spread the virus. We knew the cold freeze slowed it down.”

“CONFESSSSSS!”

“It was my idea. I convinced the president to tell the everyone warm weather was good for killing the virus. I told him if we announced to the public to head south. To tell the world to head towards warmth and the equator…there was…there was no way everyone would do that. But we knew many would. The plan was…” he cried. “…when they reached those warmer areas, the virus would go hyper and eventually kill off the entire population nearby.”

“WHAAAAT DID YOU DOOOOOO???”

“Without…any one to feed off, the virus would eventually die. No host, no virus. That was our hope. The world was too far gone to get yet another failed vaccine, or so I thought. How was I supposed to know? I was trying to save us all!” Warner’s shouts turned to sobs. The thing was right in front of him now.

“She left before I could warn her. She left and took our children. My family. They’re dead because of my lie. Everyone is dead because of me.”

“CONFESSSSSS!” he could hear the thing’s words thundering in his ears, now that it was this close. Yet it’s mouth never moved.

“I can’t do this.” Warner agonized while bowing over, fists curled tightly.

“DIIIIIEEEEEE!” the thing responded. “DIIIIIEEEEEE!”

Warner looked up, face to face with that barbed gaping pit of black. The creature covered Warner with its wings, as if swallowing him whole. It was the last thing Warner Mott ever knew.

The scene drew early morning crowds all around, so that the police needed to set up a border to keep people back. His broken body lay in the middle of the street.

“Looks like he jumped.” Officer Ridley said, sipping his coffee.

“Yup. Twenty-first floor.” Officer Jackson responded. “Goddamn guy shot through the plate glass then jumped through. Not that anybody should care. This was the fucker everybody was looking for. The guy on the news. You know? Seems the president was trying to protect him. Had the guy staying here at the Plaza while the world was hunting him down. They’re expecting to arrest MacArthur now too. Did you hear?”

The coroner’s report would rule William Warner Mott’s death a suicide. Doctors would assume Mott jumped because he couldn’t live with his conscience over everything he’d done. The guilt like a cancer, eating away at his life, like a harpy devouring her villainous victim till nothing but decay and rot are left behind.