she moves across the apartment and out of sight, leaving the TV tuned to some sports channel. It was the only sign that there was ever life on the twelfth floor. In the silence of the morning I stood by the window of our hotel room and gazed at the building opposite

The girls were asleep on the bed behind me and the sound of a hotel sound asleep was barely enough to break my vigil –some giggly couple returning from a late night joint, the rattle of room service in a distant room, and the indefinable hum of downtown Manhattan, not the roar of traffic from primetime TV, not a honk of an irate horn, just a hum, like something starting to happen but hesitating at the get go

That girl was in the room, I was sure of it, the only apartment in the entire building that had a light on, even if it was the some sports show or other. Every other window was dark, but not hers. She was always there at three AM, and she always moved the same way, from left to right. TV, through to the kitchen and then nothing. It was the same routine every night and I knew how she moved

A moment’s silence

and then she was there again, in front of the TV, standing there with her hair tied back, and an expression on her face like the whole world was about to crumble in her hand and she had no means to stop it. She stood in silence, looking across to the hotel, starting not at me, but at the building itself. The girls were on the bed behind me and the sound of a hotel sound asleep was barely enough to break my vigil

Not a noise from them

Nor from the girl in the apartment, who walked across to the kitten and then was no longer there. Not vanished or snuffed out, just nothing. She was always there at three AM, and she always moved the same way, from left to right. She never saw me watching her, and never looked up

Behind me the hotel shivered, but the girls on the bed said nothing

she stood by the TV, not looking at it, but away, as if it wasn’t even there. I swear it was left on all night, like some kind of background noise to maintain the semblance of a city, when the only noise was that of a hot Manhattan night. Forget the TV shows, there were no night clubs here to break the calm. It was night in a city that slept, screw Frank, he was only a tourist

In my hotel room not even a breath pierced the silence. The girls were on the bed behind me and the sound of a hotel sound asleep was barely enough to break my vigil. My hand rested hard against the glass, leaving fingerprints from my touch, each one a rounded reminder of my moment in this room. I was not afraid of leaving fingerprints. The evidence was irrelevant. It was the girl, who moved across the room that mattered

She was always there at three AM, and she always moved the same way, from left to right. Her hair was a bob, but brushed back. White blouse, tight to the neck. Long dark skirt. She was from a different city. Displaced by appearance and action. That hip downtown apartment was never built that way

And the room held its breath while the tap in the bathroom dripped a single tear of water into a stained sink

her gait was fluent, well worn, enacted over and over into an endless reprise. The TV was off now, but she hadn’t reached for the remote. She stood again, looking out to the opposite building, and then she turned and walked, across the room, pausing to open a door that wasn’t there and then into the open plan kitchen with the thick thick worktops and the stainless German appliances

She didn’t see them. She was in another place, when the building was a sweatshop, manufacturing garment for the very rich, well richer than her. The girls were on the bed behind me and the sound of a hotel sound asleep was barely enough to break my vigil. Not a sigh disturbed the moment. Just the girl in the other building, gone to nothing, repeating her final walk before she left. She was always there at three AM, and she always moved the same way, from left to right. A repeated image of her as she was

And the hotel room was as silent as

the girl didn’t see me staring at her, my hand hard on the glass. Dawn was going to break at any moment, and change the light. The room would awaken and she would be gone, while I stood at the window and watched her walk across the expensive downtown apartment, which was once a factory for ready made garments. The open planned apartment was not where she was. This girl walked through tables and chairs, they were irrelevant to her, through a knocked through door, and into the kitchen

The girls were on the bed behind me and the sound of a hotel sound asleep was barely enough to break my vigil. Morning wouldn’t break it, nor the maid as she found us, me laid out beside them, blade still in my hand, note on the dresser explaining something to her. Giving her some peace of mind. It wasn’t her fault, but someone had to open the door

There in the other building, the girl disappeared, into a long vanished fire escape. She was always there at three AM, and she always moved the same way, from left to right. Repeating her last seconds before jumping twelve storeys to tarmac, or cobbles as it was

While here, in the dark, my hotel room was silent, with not a breath to break the peace