Peddlers wearing Santa hats were on every corner, selling anything from cheap, knock-off toys (like an Avengers set that included Shrek instead of the Hulk) to bootleg DVDs and CDs to... life insurance? Adam squinted to get a better look outside the bus window. That's what the sign hanging around the peddler's neck said: 'Seguro e Vida.'

"How's that possible?" he whispered to himself.

While stores had their Christmas windows and Guaco's greatest hits dominated all radio stations, he couldn't recall such a dismal holiday season. Not even the oil strike in December 2002 sucked our souls like this. Long faces and empty pockets left no room for get-togethers. Besides, the country is almost deserted by this point. The last time he'd read an article about the current exodus to Colombia, 70,000 Venezuelans were crossing the border every day to escape the crisis.

But that's not a solution, he thought. Not good enough for Bianca and Dario. An unwilling tear escaped his eye and slid to his mouth. I failed them. It was too late to meet Zhang's deadline, a plumber had robbed him, and he had almost died of a fever last night. Don't forget; I'm about to find out if I need to pad my bedroom walls.

After arriving at his bus stop, Adam walked past the Contemporary Art Museum of Caracas, expecting he'd have to scout the flux of coming and going faces for Vera, but, except for three kids practicing parkour, that entire area seemed like a quarantine zone.

And she said to meet her on the sixty-second floor anyhow.

Beyond the Museum's entrance, the east building rose high. The brutal construction towered over him, its reinforced glass panels, and its concrete-and-steel structure stood strong (despite the 2004 fire).

"It's been over a decade since that happened, and they still haven't fixed it," he scoffed. "That's Venezuela for you."

While the day was hot and the sky couldn't have been bluer, the tower's entrails were dim like cold tunnels. Once he left behind the smaller gardens that sprinkled with green the grayness of the one entrance available, every color seemed to have disappeared, washed off by the poor lighting inside. The dripping leaks in the ceiling and the puddles on the floor didn't help either.

A lone security guard stopped Adam as he headed to the mezzanine, but soon the man's focus shifted towards the same kids from before, who were now somersaulting and recording themselves on their phones near the stairs.

This is it. Too good an opportunity to pass up, Adam hurried to the elevator, only to wait impatiently several long seconds for it to arrive. Once inside it, he found himself locked with his own reflection repeated countless times on the polished metal walls. A glass iron maiden, he thought. With skeletal cheeks and dark circles around his eyes that stood out even more against his pale skin, embarrassment knotted his stomach. What would Vera think of him? What would she say when the reanimated corpse of her friend came to greet her?

He pushed the top button several times before realizing this hellish contraption would only take him as far as the thirty-third floor. And, as if this realization had been bad enough, the damn thing gave sudden tremors all the way up.

"Come on," he said himself. The lambent luminescence above him, combined with the unsettling wobbling of the elevator, made him feel like he was trapped in a little capsule struggling to get out of earth's atmosphere. "Breath."

Oxygen had a hard time reaching his lungs, however. He knew something was not right—just a hunch. Adam couldn't explain it, but after these last few days, he had learned to trust that icy feeling in his guts more than his own brain. What if doors remained closed? I don't have a cellphone with me. Would he be imprisoned there forever? Not seeing or hearing or touching anyone else ever again? Maybe that's why the security guard tried to stop you. To keep you from entering this metal casket pulled by strings. The throbbing in his head came back, and it was vengeful. You'll stay here, unable to help your sister or your brother! Powerless to —

The doors opened, and he stepped out. A woman in a red coverall suit was retching in an enormous blue trash can near him. The splashing sound of her vomit against the bottom of the black plastic bin bag was nauseating.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"What do you want?" she said without raising her head.

"I'm supposed to meet a friend."

She eyed him with a touch of scorn. The woman was in her mid-forties and had most likely been a knockout in her youth, although not anymore. She had mean, small eyes; her hair, plastered with sweat, had white streaks through it, and her dark skin failed to conceal her pastiness.

"There's nothing above us."

Adam looked around. The place was clean, well-lit, and all the metal door frames shone brightly against the brown walls.

"But she—"

"Was wrong!"

"Let him go upstairs," said a man wearing horned-rim glasses, stepping out of a conference room. He was dressed in an olive-green chemise and blue jeans.

He works for them. I'm sure. Adam knew there were government offices on the lower floors, but nothing this high up. For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn he'd seen that guy before. There's something about his smirk that creeps me out.

"Thanks," said Adam, walking towards where they pointed, eager to leave before they changed their minds. After a right turn, the hallway led to an exit sign. Oh hell! He cursed his luck. He would have to ascend the staircase to the summit of the east tower. Putting one foot in front of the other, he began his reluctant climb. Thirteen stairs passed. And then thirteen more. His legs burned. Will this ever end? He stopped, panting. Had he gone up at all? Someone had locked the doors, and they hadn't bothered to number the landings again, so it was impossible to tell.

"Why am I doing this?" He sat for a minute on the steps. "I bet the people downstairs are having a good laugh at my expense."

Was Vera even there? Had he heard her well? It made no sense! Everyone knew the upper half of this building was barren, nothing but charcoal walls, exposed skeletal pipes, and raw holes in the flooring, everything scorched by fire.

Adam got back up and carried on. A wheelbarrow, a masonry trowel, and a small radio by the entrance to the next level caught his attention.

"I heard the government planned to remodel the fifty-something floor, so..." He pulled the collar of his sweatshirt and blew air to his chest. "Ten more to go?"

He wanted to ask someone if this was the case, but no one was around and, since the wires from the ceiling hanging like the insides of a disemboweled body were making him nervous, he decided not to wait for a construction worker to appear and clear his doubts.

"Better, just keep going."

Finally, with both feet pointing at the last door on the previous level, he refused to move forward. Paralyzed by anxiety, those last inches seemed more daunting that all the steps behind him did. If he'd worried about his appearance before, it was nothing compared to how self-conscious he was about it now.

"Can't go back." After the second knock, half-expecting she wouldn't be there, someone opened the door. "I am sorry. I made a mistake," he said, incapable of hiding his disappointment.

"Wow! So no hug?" the woman asked.

Adam's heart dropped. What had happened to her?

"Vera?"