Into Thin Air
by Sophie Bridgers
“How can I help you?” Tai asked, plastering a smile onto her pale face and hoping that she sounded pleasant.
“Yes…um,” a small, disheveled woman answered, eyeing the candy display built into the concessions counter. “Aren’t York Bites and Junior Mints the same thing?”
Tai glanced nervously at her manager. Ms. Rosing gave her a quick nod. “Yes, they’re basically the same. Would you like the York Bites then?”
“Well, let me see…I wonder which one has more.” The woman squatted down, squinting at the two cardboard boxes.
Tai rolled her eyes at the woman’s indecision. Luckily there wasn’t a line. In fact, the lobby was deserted. Light from the sinking afternoon sun glistened in the treetops across the street, but inside the dimly lit theater, a drowsy gloom hung in the air.
“I think I’ll have the Junior Mints.”
“Good choice,” Tai responded, trying to sound sincere. “That’ll be $3.25.”
The woman handed Tai the money and hurried up the stairs.
“Good. You were patient,” Ms. Rosing said from behind Tai. “But always remember to say ‘Enjoy your movie.’ We want them to think we care, right?”
Tai turned around, nodding. Ms. Rosing was a petite woman with a cloud of short, curly white hair. Wrinkles creased her cheeks, and lines radiated from the corners of her eyes, deepening with her smile.
“Well, I think you should be fine on your own. I’ll get Kendra to do maintenance with you tomorrow night. Frank’s in his office if you need anything. Have a good evening.”
Ms. Rosing pushed her way out of the concession stand, moving toward the double-doored entrance.
“Good-night,” Tai called after her as Ms. Rosing stepped outside into the early evening breeze.
Tai stood alone in the lobby. She sighed, leaning against the counter, twirling a platinum lock of hair around her finger. The twang of a guitar and muffled singing wafted out from the downstairs auditorium.
“I’m stuck at Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin’ on…” Tai sang softly to herself as her eyes traced the curly-cue pattern crawling across the carpeted floor.
~
“Bathroom duty’s the worst,” Kendra complained from the next stall. She and Tai were hunched over black toilets in the ladies’ room. It was around 11:30, and the last show of the evening had just finished. “It’s kinda creepy being here alone at night.”
“Frank’s still here isn’t he?” Tai asked, sitting back on her heels and tossing her bangs out of her face.
“Naw. He heads home early on Sundays.”
Tai looked around the bathroom. It was cramped with only three stalls. The single florescent light magnified the color of the walls, causing an eerie, blue glow to envelope the tiny room. Tai looked at her hands; even they seemed to be a tint of blue. The gurgling of pipes sent a shiver up her spine, and she shook her head, refocusing on her work.
“I guess it kinda does give you the creeps.”
“Some people say its haunted,” Kendra said, standing up and peering over the stall’s uncomfortably, short 5-foot tall dividers.
Tai craned her neck upward so that she could see Kendra’s excited face. “Don’t tell me you believe in ghost stories,” she laughed.
“ ‘Course not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy ‘em, right?”
Tai rolled her eyes, smiling, and continued to scrub.
“Years ago some girl disappeared during a movie here.”
“No way.”
“No really. Ron told me, and he’s been working here for years.”
“You’re telling me she just disappeared?” Tai asked in disbelief, still scrubbing. “How?”
“Nobody knows. She came to the theater with her mom and then, during the movie…poof! She was gone! Into thin air.”
Tai stopped, thinking to herself. “She couldn’t have just disappeared.”
“I mean she was probably kidnapped or something, but nobody ever found her. They say her ghost still haunts the theater.”
Tai was silent. Her arms prickled with goose bumps.
“You’re not scared are you?” Kendra teased.
“Don’t be silly,” Tai said, standing up. She shrugged, “It’s just a story.”
~
“Thank you, and enjoy your movie,” Tai said, smiling as a young couple each wearing Cal sweatshirts headed into the downstairs theater.
“Good job,” Ms. Rosing murmured as they walked away. “I think your training is complete.”
“I’m getting the hang of it.”
It was Friday evening, almost a week after Kendra had told Tai about the girl who had disappeared. For some reason the story had stuck in her mind, like an annoying song she couldn’t shake loose. Tai looked tentatively at Ms. Rosing. The old woman’s back was turned as she filled a bag with popcorn. The heavy smell of butter, which always overwhelmed the lobby, hit Tai in a fresh wave. “Ms. Rosing?”
“Hmmm,” she answered, turning around.
“Have you ever heard of a girl who disappeared here?”
Ms. Rosing raised her eyebrows, amused. “Kendra’s been telling her ghost stories again?”
Tai nodded.
“You shouldn’t bother yourself with tall tales, Tai. All they do is make us nervous,” she said, patting Tai’s shoulder. “Did you get Kendra to show you the projection room yet?”
Tai shook her head.
“You really should. It’s fascinating to see what’s going on behind the scenes,” Ms. Rosing winked, fiddling with her key ring. “Here, you can borrow my key and take a peek before you go home tonight.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that. Are you heading out?”
“Yes, dear. These long days are tiring for an old woman like me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye,” Tai said, turning to face the line of customers trickling in. “How can I help you?”
~
Tai climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor auditorium, the key to the projection room clenched in her hand. Her shift had just ended, and she could hear Ron explaining prices to a confused customer below. Tai reached the landing, and quietly pulled the door of the theater open. The theater was dark except for the screen, which illuminated the faces of the audience. The movie hadn’t started yet, but previews blared from the screen.
“I will kill ya. I’m ready at any time…and I’ll do it from a sittin’ position.”
Chuckles rippled across the audience as Tai moved quietly toward the curtain that lined the wall next to the screen. She pushed the heavy curtain aside, revealing the door to the projection room for the 1st floor theater. She unlocked the door and slipped inside, disappearing from sight.
A muffled whirring filled Tai’s ears. The source of the noise, the projection machine, stood on the left, absorbing most of the width of the fairly long but narrow room. Its light shone through a square window halfway down the wall, projecting the film into the downstairs auditorium. To the right of the machine, reels of film spun on a tiered structure. The film moved as if part of an assembly line, uncoiling from the bottom layer and sliding above the floor into the machine. Another strip of film filed out of the top of the machine, moving above Tai’s head and recoiling on the top tier of the structure. Tai carefully leaned forward between the strips of film. Peeking through the window, she could see the rising and falling silhouettes of the audience below.
Tai moved back into the center of the room. Dry wall splotched with paint surrounded her on all sides. She walked over to a wooden desk cluttered with curling reels of old film. Tai shuffled through them, dust painting the palms of her hands. She picked one out and held it up to the light. The Last Kiss suddenly became visible in the dark film, shining in pale green letters.
Tai glanced at her watch. 6:30. She turned quickly and moved back to the desk, but a cord, snaking across the floor, caught her left foot, and she plunged forward, grabbing the air blindly. Her hand closed around a strip of film on the desk, and she tumbled to the floor pulling the pile of reels along with her.
“Shit,” she whispered, wincing as she pushed herself to a sitting position. She rubbed her elbow, looking glumly at the mess of film around her. She stood up slowly, using the desk for support. As she bent over to pick up the pile of film, she stopped suddenly. Wedged between the desk and the wall, was a black and white photograph. Tai reached for the wrinkled picture. The white border was fading into a murky yellow, and the image had lost its clarity, as if it were hiding behind a gray fog. A laughing man leaned against a projection machine not much different from the one that was buzzing past Tai’s left shoulder. A cap, cocked on his head, pushed a tangle of dark hair into his eyes, and stubble shaded his smiling cheeks. Suspenders hung from his broad shoulders, while his arm hung on those of a young, pig-tailed girl standing next to him. A chill tickled the back of Tai’s neck. The girl wore a short, flower-print dress and bows at the ends of her neat braids. She hugged a curly-haired teddy bear to her chest and stared back at Tai with a broad, gap-toothed grin.
~
Later that night, Tai tapped her fingers anxiously on her desk, waiting for her computer to connect to the Internet. The photograph lay next to her mouse. Tai flipped it over; she couldn’t help feeling that the young girl was watching her. A message was scrawled in fading ink on the back of the photo: For my good friend, Will. From, Robert. Tai couldn’t believe that she had missed this earlier but became distracted by the web page that appeared on her screen. She hastily opened Google, but then her fingers hesitated. She thought a moment, then quickly typed in: “Elmwood Theater” and “Missing child.” There were over 10,000 responses. Tai sighed, resting her chin in her hands. Her eyes scanned the page, but stopped on the description of a newspaper article from the 1940’s. She clicked on the link.
Girl Disappears from Elmwood Theater. The headline shouted at Tai from the page in bold letters. Her heart skipped a beat as she read the first few lines of the article: On April 7th, 8-year-old Emily Roy-Jennings disappeared while at the movies with her mother. Although she has not yet been found, police believe that she is still alive. Authorities, as of now, have not arrested anyone, but suspects include Elmwood theater projectionist William Harris…
Tai’s breath quickened. William…Will. She grabbed the limp photo from her desk and studied the young man she assumed to be William Harris. He wasn’t gripping the little girl next to him; his hand rested affectionately on her shoulder. They looked like friends.
Tai scrolled down the article, coming across a picture in the middle. Emily Roy-Jennings grinned back at her. Two braids framed her round face. A purse-lipped woman with hollow cheeks stood to Emily’s right, and a tall man with a bushy mustache winked at the camera on her left. Below, a caption read: Emily Roy-Jennings with her father and mother, Robert Jennings and Elaine Roy, ex-wife of Mr. Jennings. Tai swallowed hard, staring back and forth between the young girl clutched in her hand and the one on her screen.
~
The following Sunday, Tai and Kendra huddled over the photo and article in the lobby adjacent to the ladies’ restroom.
“No way. This is too weird,” Kendra said, shaking her head. “I mean, I thought it was just some story Ron was telling to scare me. I didn’t know it was true.”
“Well, I don’t think the part about her ghost haunting the theater is true, but she really did disappear. Creepy, huh?”
Kendra nodded. “I wonder how it happened?”
“The article says that she was probably kidnapped, but I don’t think this William Harris guy did it. He looks so nice in this picture.”
“Yep. Way too cute to be some perverted psycho,” Kendra agreed.
Tai rested her head against the wall and stared up at a rectangular hole in the yellow ceiling. “Ever wonder what’s up there?”
“Up where?” Kendra followed Tai’s gaze. She looked at her incredulously. “You mean where the old heating grate used to be?”
Tai nodded.
“Someone’s turning into quite the little detective.”
Tai shrugged. “I’m just curious.”
“Well, Miss Nosy, why don’t we scrub these toilets first, and then you can snoop around wherever you want.”
~
“I have to talk to Frank before I leave,” Tai lied to Ron after her shift ended the next night. She headed up the stairs, leaving Ron alone, whistling to himself in the empty lobby.
The door to Frank’s office was closed, but a sliver of light stretched across the floor. He was still here. Tai would have to be quick and quiet. She pulled the door to the ladies’ room open and stuck her head inside.
“Hello? Anyone in here?” she called out softly. No one answered, and Tai didn’t see any feet below the doors of the stalls. She sighed in relief and dashed the two feet across the hall to the supply closet. She fumbled with her keys. Finally she found the right one and forced it into the lock. Tai grabbed a flashlight and dragged a stepladder out of the small, musty room. When she was satisfied that no one was coming, she carried the ladder and flashlight into the bathroom lobby.
Tai unfolded the ladder underneath the hole that had caught her attention the night before. She stepped onto it, steadying herself against the wall with her fingertips. Once on the top step, she turned on her flashlight and peered into the hole. The pale circle of light spread across what seemed to be an attic. Tai propped her arms on either side of the hole and pulled herself into the hidden space above the ceiling. She crawled forward on her hands and knees, tentatively feeling the wood in front of her to make sure that it was stable. She smiled, imagining what Frank’s face would look like if she crashed through the ceiling and landed in his office.
Tai sat back on her heels and let her flashlight survey the room. Slanting beams hung over her head and twisted nails made her duck closer to the floor. Sparkling cobwebs wove a pattern between the beams, and Tai shuddered at the thought of spiders sneaking up her jeans. She inched forward. Suddenly her hand brushed against something fuzzy and she jumped back, barely missing the jagged ceiling. She shined the flashlight toward the spot. A black button gleamed back at her from a pile of matted fur. Slowly, she reached her hand out and picked up the pile. Tai realized that she was looking into the squished face of a very weathered, one-eyed teddy bear.
~
Back home, Tai again found herself sitting in front of her computer. To her right lay the slouched, exhausted teddy, the yellowing photo, and the crisp, white article. On her computer, an article from 1945 stretched across the screen:
Grieving Mother Drinks Herself to Death
On March 17th, Elaine Roy was found dead in her apartment, almost a year after the mysterious disappearance of her only daughter, Emily Roy-Jennings. She was found lying on her couch unconscious with several empty liquor bottles littering her parlor floor. She was rushed to the hospital, but died in the ambulance. Cause of death is believed to be alcohol poisoning, although many others claim it was grief. Her neighbors reported that they had noticed signs of alcohol abuse during the three years Ms. Roy lived in the building. She moved into the apartment after her divorce from Robert Jennings who no longer lives in Berkeley…
Tai studied the picture in the first article, staring at the severe woman with the boney cheeks. She was such a contrast from the jolly-looking Mr. Jennings. Tai noticed that Emily’s slender hand was tucked securely into her father’s larger one, while her other hung limply at her side, inches away from, but not touching, her mother’s fingers.
~
Later that week, both Tai and Ms. Rosing worked concessions. “Fresh Hot Popcorn” glowed behind them in neon-orange florescent letters, framing their smiling, pleasant faces.
“Would you like butter with that?” Tai asked a sweater-vested old man cheerfully.
“No, I’m too old for that,” the man replied to Tai.
“You’re never too old for buttered popcorn.”
The man chuckled.
“That will be fifteen dollars,” Tai heard Ms. Rosing say to another customer.
The tide of people died down and silence replaced the buzz of the previously bustling lobby. Tai filled a cup with fizzing diet coke, while Ms. Rosing dove enthusiastically into her gardening magazine.
“Ms. Rosing?” Tai asked shyly.
“Yes,” she answered, still flipping the pages of her magazine.
“Remember that story I told you about? You know the one about the girl who disappeared?”
As Ms. Rosing looked up, a spark flew across her eyes. She smiled. “I thought I told you not to worry about those ghost stories.”
“You did, but you see…I don’t think it’s a ghost story.”
Ms. Rosing closed her magazine and stared at Tai. “Really?” she asked skeptically.
Tai nodded.
“Let’s hear it, then,” Ms. Rosing said, pressing her lips together. Tai knew that she was trying not to laugh.
“Well,” Tai began. “I mean she didn’t really disappear. I think she ran away.”
“How do you even know this girl existed?”
“You know that hole in the ceiling of the ladies’ room lobby? I found a teddy-
bear up there and I think that’s where she hid.”
“Hid? Hid from who?” Now Ms. Rosing wasn’t even trying to conceal her amusement.
“I’m serious. You see I found this photograph in the projection room of the old projectionist and this little girl. So, then I went online and found this article that said a little girl had been kidnapped. But it turns out her mother was an alcoholic and I think that she actually ran away from her mother so that she could be with her fa…” Tai trailed off. Ms. Rosing didn’t seem to be listening. Her eyes were directed at Tai, but her gaze seemed to move right through her. “Ms. Rosing? Ms. Rosing, are you okay?”
Ms. Rosing shook her head as if awaking from a daze and then nodded slowly. “Yes dear, I’m fine. I’m fine.” Then she grabbed Tai’s hand and asked in a
softer voice: “You wouldn’t still happen to have that photograph, would you, dear?”
Tai nodded and pulled the photograph out of her purse. Ms. Rosing reached for it gingerly, as if touching it would cause it to disintegrate in her hands. She held it in front of her, her hand shaking slightly.
“The man,” Tai said quietly, “is William Harris, the old projectionist. He worked here during the 40’s, and that’s the little girl who disappeared. He looks too nice to be a kidnapper. Doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he always was a very nice man,” Ms. Rosing murmured more to herself than to Tai.
“You knew him?”
“Yes, yes. I knew him very well. ” Ms. Rosing looked up. Tears blurred the edges of her eyes, and a broad, familiar, toothy grin spread across her cheeks.