The young man - the room's only occupant - waved his hand at her and took a drag of the cigarette wedged between his index and middle finger. He then dropped it and stamped it out with the toe of his heavy black boot. He looked at her curiously. "Don't worry about it." She was surprised to hear him speak in English. She sighed. She was American; merely living in Vienna until her mother's job here was done. He came closer to her - so close that he was standing right over her. He looked down at her almost condescendingly. "Do you know who I am?"
She glanced up at him timidly. "Yes."
"Who am I?" he asked imperiously.
"Taylor Hanson," she said softly. He laughed and stepped back. He took out another cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt, and fished a lighter out of his pocket. He lit up, and sucked on the end.
Through the cigarette, he asked, "The real question is who are you and what are you doing in a closet?"
"That's 2 questions," she said quietly.
He removed the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling and staring at her. He tapped the cigarette with his finger causing ashes to descend to the floor. "So it is. Tell me who you are anyway."
"Teresa Wilcombe," she said. "I'm here to get a mop."
"Mop?" he asked.
"Uh, yes. My mother is on the janitorial service," Teresa said. "She sent me for a mop." Her mother worked for the janitorial service who did the clean-ups and preparations for events here at the Vienna Events Center, and had for as long as Teresa could remember. She was helping out today because she had a break from school.
"Oh, he said, inhaling again shakily. "I guess you'd better be getting back to her, huh?" He turned and grabbed a mop off of a nail in the wall. "Need a bucket, too?" She nodded, and he turned and grabbed one off of a shelf. Then, he handed her the mop and large gray bucket. "I ought to be getting back, too. Your name is Teresa Wilcombe, right? W-I-L-C-O-M-E?"
"No, there's a b in there. It's silent. W-I-L-C-O-M-B-E," she said.
"Oh," he said. "Are you listed in the phone book?"
"Yeah," she replied.
"I'll be here again in about 2 hours. Think you can take a bathroom break about then?" he asked.
"I guess," she said, shrugging.
He smiled, took one last drag of the cigarette, and then threw it down. He stomped it out. "Are you real, Teresa?"
She gave him a strange look. "I hope so."
"Can I touch you to make sure?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow.
"I guess so…" He quickly reached out, and pushed on her shoulder. He let out a heavy sigh.
"Thank God," he said. And then he opened the door, allowing the intruder to leave. She began to walk down the hall, and heard the janitor closet close softly. She listened as the heavy tread of his boots became fainter. With a strange sense of fear, she turned and watched him. His step was proud, head tilted up confidently - arrogantly - blond hair brushing against the shoulders of his black t-shirt.
Adjusting the positions of the mop and bucket, she spun back around and headed to find her mom.