"Is he gone?" she asked from above.

"Yes."

"I'm finished with my business. Come up if you want to use the telephone." I could see her now. She was dressed in the black robe again with her hair pinned up like before. "Do you think you can navigate the stairs?"

I nodded. I could only see her from the chest up because of the rail but it looked like her robe was open.

"Consider it physical therapy. Doctor’s orders."

I smiled as I got up. There was no light in the stairwell except for the dim colored rays that passed through a large round stained glass window high above in the exterior stone wall on the left. She peeked around the corner at the top when I was halfway up. Her robe was closed.

"Can you see?"

"Not really, but I'm going slow enough that I'll be okay."

"I don't have electricity up here. There wasn't any when I bought the place and it just seemed natural to keep it that way."

I could see there was some form of soft light in the room behind her. "What do you use, candles?"

"Sometimes. Come inside," she said, taking my left hand, helping me up. I looked back down the stairwell as I followed her in. The steps at the bottom were barely visible and reminded me of the stairs in the warehouse two nights earlier. "You can sit on the bed. The phone cord reaches that far," she said, motioning to the black, bedspread covered king-sized bed.

The high headboard and low footboard were a maze of vines and leaves reproduced in black wrought iron. A red, white, and black Persian rug blanketed most of the hardwood floor. Two old brass oil lanterns lit the room from their perch on the large ornately carved wooden bureau across from the bed. A life-sized, carved stone bust stood next to the mirror in the center of the bureau. It was a woman smiling. Her hair flowed wildly down onto her shoulders as though a strong breeze had just overtaken her. A crudely made necklace of hammered silver plates and leather straps hung around her delicate stone neck. I walked around and sat on the far edge of the bed nearest to the railing where I had seen her standing.

"Here we go." She brought out a 1940s style chrome plated rotary phone. "Help yourself," she said, placing it on the bed, "I'd let you use the portable phone but it doesn't work inside these stone walls. I'm going to ready a fresh dressing for your foot. I'll be back up in a bit."