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Pavel widened his eyes. “You also knew where she lived?”
“The commute from Harlem to Westchester County varied from 30 minutes to an hour by Metro-North Railroad.” M wiped the chalk dust off his hands. “She had a small, cozy place, with curtains that reminded me of her dresses. That afternoon, I watched her through the kitchen window.”
Pressure built in my chest.
“Felicity saw me, of course and. . .”
I was on the edge of my seat. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” M shrugged. “I have no idea. I just know that a substitute teacher took her place for the rest of the year and her absence was. . .a loud, echoing silence. The magic was gone.”
But, what happened to Felicity?
“I tried to find her,” M continued after a moment, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I visited her house repeatedly, but it seemed abandoned. Her car was never there. The curtains that reminded me of her dresses were perpetually drawn. It was as if she had evaporated into thin air.”
Pavel exhaled sharply. “Did you ask about her at school?”
M shook his head. “No, I didn’t want to draw attention. A grown man asking about a teacher who he was supposed to be assessing. . .that would not be ethical.”
I blinked again.
“I have published a lot of books of poetry talking about our love, and every book I dedicated to her.” M’s eyes watered. “I wonder if she has bought them. . .read them. . .does she think about me at night when she is alone in her bed. . .does she touch herself to my face? My voice?”
I had no idea what to say. In fact, I now understood why Lunita did not want us to bring her name up.
It was hard to watch him suffer over this impossible love.
If anything, Felicity was probably a good twenty to thirty years older than him and had probably remembered M as a very troubled young student that she could never help.
Pavel went over to me and whispered, “It is time to go, Kazimir.”
“Okay.” I looked at the white board of the building, hoping to memorize it for my mouse.
I had to admit that it was a pretty clear sketch. For a few seconds, I focused on the little blocks representing the stairs.
Wait a minute.
A crucial detail caught my attention, a part of the building’s anatomy I had encountered firsthand. My gaze drifted to the blank space beyond, to where I expected the other staircase I saw earlier.
“Something is missing on your map.” I turned to M with confusion laced in my voice. “There’s a staircase, leading up from the hallway. It goes to another level. Why isn’t that on your drawing?”
“The staircase from the basement?”
“No.” I went over to the board and let my finger hover over the area. “There are a set of stairs right here that goes up to the next level.”
M glanced at the spot. “There are no stairs.”
“I saw them.”
His voice held an unsettling conviction. “I have searched every place in this building for many years. There is no other level.”
His denial sent a shiver down my spine.
“But, I saw the stairs.”
M’s bottom lip quivered. “You did?”
“Yes.”
