"They can't catch you as long as you stay away from the streets," the man in the dark uniform says to José. He gives him a thin smile. José doesn't respond. He knows what is next already. The man knows it, too. He shrugs. Then he steps back and disappears, leaving José alone again with the silence and his questions. And with the noises from above. He can hear people walk there, opening doors, closing doors, without even giving a second thought. An office, probably. Or maybe a hotel. Common ground most likely. He imagines the escalator, the way the figures in the display skip the thirteen and move from twelve straight to fourteen, like in most buildings.

Only that in this building, there is something in between those even places. A floor with a room that has no door. The only connection to the rest of the world is a single window in the wall. José opens it just enough to get a glimpse of the outside, to get an idea of where exactly he might be. There is a roof opposite of him. A dove is sitting there, spreading its wings. Behind it, another building, blocking the view. On the street, cars passing. Some pedestrians, too. No signs visible, no shops that might give a hint, no street name.

The houses are in bad shape. In the one the dove is sitting on, some of the windows are shattered, some are sealed with old newspapers. José wonders if there is anyone living behind the fading words.

A movement between the shades answers his question. If I had a rope, I could clip myself to it and leap to the other side, José thinks. Enter through the empty window frames. Talk to the one who is hiding there. Maybe he knows the answers. Or maybe he is in the same situation, but never made the step. Simply staid there, staid away from the streets.

He considers his options, knowing already that he isn't prepared to take the risk. His thoughts return to the rope. If he had one, he could get to the roof and go on from there in the night, avoiding the streets. No one would see him, no one but the doves.

The only problem with this plan is the if. He doesn't have a rope. He doesn't have a flashlight either. He doesn't even have a lighter. Then man in the uniform left him with nothing but the one sentence of advice.

Suddenly a ray of light breaks through the blinds, filling the room with warm light. José doesn't know how to take it. It makes him feel vulnerable. If the sun can find him so easily, what about them. And what if the man in the dark uniform hadn't told the truth. What if they could catch him anywhere, street or not.

"I guess there is only one way to find it out, isn't there," he says to his shadow, to the shadow behind the old newspapers. He waits until the dove is gone. Then he leaps out of the window.

_________

Dorothee Lang's work has appeared in numerous places, most notably elsewhere in this issue of CautionaryTale.