Silverio and Saligia had some sort of altercation during the commercial break. Something to do with the man who had replaced Hal, the director.

The ease at which they had replaced the man I had strangled surprised me. Shouldn’t a director be more important? It seemed I didn’t know too much about the world of television production.

Because I heard members of the crew grumbling about Hal’s failure to come to work, I assumed his body had not been discovered. I wondered if it was still there on the floor behind Door Number One. Maybe the body had already been transported to wherever things go when placed inside those little rooms. I’d know soon enough. About the body, that is.

But at the moment, I had no clue.

I was expecting to catch the mild aroma of decomposition. Three days should account for something. But they did keep it rather chilly in the studio. Also, I had seen a rubber gasket running along the inner edge of the doors. He could still be in there.

I would just have to wait until the end of the show when that door was pulled open. I only wish I could see better. My seat was off to the side, and I wasn’t certain I’d have a clear view when the door was finally opened. I looked around and realized that most people wouldn’t be able to see the floor of those closets or pods or whatever they were. Well, the contestant as he or she entered would get a glorious eyeful. Perhaps some of my fellow contestants, lucky enough to be seated in the more elevated back row, would catch a glimpse. That new director, Morris was his name, should have a wonderful view from up in the booth. And, no doubt about it, the unmanned camera—Camera Three, they called it—which was mounted on a high tripod, and captured the entire set, it would be able to look right down into both pods. Would it be too much to hope that the new man in the booth would switch to that camera at the right time?

Nothing to do but wait. Wait for that wild reveal.

I never imagined television could be this exciting.

Finally, I felt more in control than since I arrived here. I knew something no one else around me did. And I needed that small purchase—that meager sense of agency. The last two days had revealed nothing useful to me. I explored every room of the 28th and 29th floor. I confess, I’m not technologically savvy, so I was all prepared to squander an entire night trying to navigate around in any computer I encountered. I shouldn’t have worried. I saw none. Not a single computer. I did, however, find a row of filing cabinets in Dr. Hetzel’s office. Every drawer was locked—there were dozens, and not one of them was labeled. I balked at the thought of the tedious work using a paperclip or similar item to pick each lock as I searched for something useful. I decided to leave them, at least for the time being.

Though it wasn’t easy turning my back on those cabinets and the information they might contain. I had a strong feeling they could provide some insight on the terrifying transformation I had experienced when I tried to escape the other night on the elevator.

Atop those filing cabinets was a large old model chunky television set. When I turned it on, I could find no stations. Well, there was one. But all it had was a static slate, black with white letters.

Serpientes y Escaleras, 7-7:30 pm, Monday through Friday. Airing on WSAN, Serving San Antonio’s Broadcast Region.

Only one television channel? Broadcasting only one show for thirty minutes five days a week? Odd. But I now knew something important. I knew where I was. San Antonio, Texas.

Next, I tried to get to the 30th floor. I could find no stairs leading up, which seemed strange. So, with great nervousness, I tried the elevator. It went all the way up. Stopped. And nothing happened. I looked up toward the metal grate in the ceiling, thinking maybe that girl was somehow keeping the doors closed. But I didn’t see anyone up there. I tapped at the button again for the 30th floor. Nothing happened. The number 30 was lit green on the display panel. Then I saw a small red light flashing further down the panel. Beside the light was the printed instruction to Use Key. The one I stole from Michael would be no use. The lock needed a tubular key.

I returned to the 28th floor. I had no desire to try going down again.

Last night, feeling a gnawing of paranoia rising, I seriously considered returning to the studio and disposing of that body. Trust me, disposing of a corpse was no easy task, and in all honesty I wasn’t sure how I would have managed to do it without the ability to leave the building. Fortunately, I pushed that nervousness away by reminding myself that my plan was for people to discover Hal’s body. I hoped to use the ensuing panic advantageously—I just didn’t yet know how. I needed to remain prepared, vigilant, agile.

Once the show began, I actually hoped I would be chosen. I so wanted to be right there on stage when things blew up. But, once again, I was passed over.

So, I leaned back in my chair and followed the instructions of the flashing sign, periodically cheering and applauding, all the while pretending to be entertained.

As the show progressed, my growing sense of anticipation shut out everything else. I had no interest in the activity of the show itself. The stories from the lives of the contestants had never seemed particularly interesting, even less so now that I knew an unexpected surprise would soon be revealed. Besides, I already knew who was going to win.

I’d learned last week that Saligia had a tell. When she began to favor one of the seated contestants over the other, she would walk in front of him or her and smile down benevolently before she moved around behind and did her theatrical waving of hands above the contestant’s head.

Before the clock ran out, Saligia would convey to Silverio her final confirmation who the should be the winner. Ever so subtly, her fingers would brush across his or her neck, just at the upper anchor of the sternocleidomastoid. I’d even seen Silverio nod to her once, indicating he had seen her signal.

No one else notice it. And I was convinced that the crew—at least for the most part—had no idea the show was rigged.

Idiots.

There. She did it. Saligia touched the back of the woman’s neck. What was her name? Oh, yes. Susan. So, Susan would soon be catching sight of Hal.

Now, things would get interesting.

Only a few minutes on the clock before the end of the show. I focused my attention on Door Number One.

I suddenly realized that the hum I heard every night at that point near the end of the show wasn’t feedback from the sound system. No. It came from the back of the stage. From those doors. A low frequency, just at the edge of human hearing. I felt it in my chest. It would begin about five minutes before the show ended, and continue for maybe five minutes after the show ended.

I knew that hum! It came to me immediately. I had heard that hum just before I found myself sitting naked in that dark room two weeks ago. The portals. That inexplicable manner in which all of us, the contestants, came into and out of this place.

My heart sank. Did that mean Hal’s body had just been swept away? Or would that happen once Susan stepped inside to join him and the door was closed behind them?

Either way, I was about to learn something about the doors.

And there! Just as I knew. Silverio pushed a button and Susan’s place on the big lighted board turned into the image of a ladder. A ladder leading to the topmost square. The eye in the triangle. The winner of tonight’s show.

Sy was madly playing his piano. The applause signed flashed and stuttered. We in the audience applauded with a kind of robotic gusto. Rose took Susan to Door Number One. Michael led the male contestant to Door Number Two. Rose and Michael, in unison, opened the doors, grinning out to the audience and the TV cameras.

The contestants, as was almost always the case, stepped into the pods in a befuddled daze. I craned my neck, but couldn’t see the floor of the little room behind Door Number One. But, there! Susan blinked. She brought her hand to her nose. Scrunched up her face. And she looked down. The doors were being pushed closed by Rose and Michael.

There was no mistaking the expression of horror on Susan’s face. And everyone in the studio had to have heard her shrill scream of terror.

I know I did!

The doors slammed. The screaming stopped. And the crowd continued clapping, Sy kept playing, and on the video monitor mounted up on the wall, the credits began to scroll slowly.

I looked up to the booth. The new director—Morris—he had seen something behind that door. He was on his feet, leaning as far forward as possible. He appeared quite troubled.

I looked back to the stage. Rose was shaken. The scream, clearly she had heard it; though, because she never turned away from the camera, she had not seen the corpse. And Saligia, she was affected as well. She held her head in her hands. Was she in Susan’s mind? Did she see through the woman’s eyes? That psychic stuff?

After my recent experiences, I placed less importance in critical, skeptical reasoning than any time in my life. Or, lives. Besides, I wanted them afraid, pushed off balance. Throw some healthy chaos into this pristine and clinical world. Let whoever had caught sight—be it with their eyes or some psychic powers—of Hal’s broken body begin looking over their shoulders, afraid there was a murderer in their midsts.

And what about Susan and her grisly companion inside that little room? Did Door Number One truly lead to another place? A place that had just received a terrified contestant and a slightly decomposed corpse of a director? Would word be sent back to the people here?

I was curious. Curious and impatient.

Silverio Moreno began moving his fingers more softly across the keys. He spoke energetically into his microphone.

“And there you have it! Another exciting episode of Serpientes y Escaleras. Join us tomorrow when you’ll meet two new players!”

The credits had almost finished rolling. Moreno increased the tempo of his playing as he spoke with breathless rapidity.

“Serpientes y Escaleras is a wholly owned property of both Silver and Brown Productions and the licensing entity, the Network, neither of which are responsible for the opinions or actions expressed on this show.”

He caught his breath before adding in a low, firm tone: “Good night, all!”

The credits ended. The monitor went blank. And Silverio Moreno stood back from his electric piano clasping his hands in front of his chest. As the droning sustain of his final chord hung a moment in the air before decaying, he stared off into space with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Annnnnd, we are out,” said Myra, the woman with the clipboard. “Wow! Great show everyone. Awesome energy!”

I would not disagree. And I felt a vague swell of pride in my pivotal role in the Monday broadcast of Serpientes y Escaleras. The home viewers no doubt enjoyed the unexpected ending with that unsettling scream. And maybe, just maybe, they caught a quick glimpse of an uncertain something waiting behind Door Number One to accompany that lovely and perfect scream of unfiltered existential terror from that wretched woman as she was sent off to meet her fate.

Now, it was just a question of waiting.

Those people who had clearly been aware something was going on—the new director, Rose, Saligia, probably others—they would soon begin to compare notes. Their secure and smug world would now become corrupted and unstable. I would remain vigilant, awaiting whatever opportunity that might arise which I could exploit.