The moonlight roared and cracked her head. Her mind throbbed with the echoes of the evening. She hurried across the park and dove for the amber safety of the streetlight. It was surprisingly quiet for this time on a Manhattan Friday; the Doppler drone of a distant cab spoke above the low bass of the city. She wasn’t drunk; it was a different pain that plagued her. Though the few drinks she’d had weren’t helping. A night out with her friends; it should have been nice. The truth soured it all now. They hadn’t even acknowledged it. She checked her phone in the hope of some sort of resolution, but knew that it would never come.

Madeline turned left, aimlessly.

She didn’t really want to go home; not back to that apartment. The night’s revelation carouselled in her mind, joined in chorus by the usual rogues’ gallery. Back to work on Monday - she should be used to that routine by now. The activity would quieten things for a while, keep it at bay. But it was just work. It all was. She felt she was being overdramatic. But that’s just how her mind worked. She didn’t know what to do.

Madeline looked up, realising she had walked quite a bit out of her way. She spent too much time in her own head. The welcoming sign of the subway lit up in front of her. She didn’t recall this station. The steps led deep into the earth, the city above forgotten. The walls were cream ceramic, accented with deep green. The vaulted ceilings bathed in the soft glow of gas lamps. So different to the white tiles and fluorescent lights she was used to. It was a maze down here, but she eventually found a platform.

The lanterns flickered and dimmed occasionally, her shadow stretching and receding as she waited for her train. Madeline grew restless, and sauntered along the platform. It was empty; there was no schedule on the wall. Maybe she had the wrong line? She set off exploring the warren of corridors and galleries, turn upon turn with no indication of where she should go. She was certain that this station had tied itself in a knot, with no way of unravelling it.

At the mouth of a hallway, she was greeted by a young dog.

An Aussie Shepherd, mottled grey coat with a few defiant copper patches around its muzzle. It tilted its head to the side and regarded her with ice blue eyes.

“What are you doing down here pup? Are you lost too?” Madeline knelt and met its gaze. It sat and twitched its right ear. She gave it an initial tentative pat, and as its grin slowly mirrored on her face, she really got into it.

“Who’s a good dog? Why are you out all alone on a Friday night?”

She reached for the tag on its collar. The front was blank, nameless. On the reverse, her name and phone number

“But I don’t have a dog.”

The dog gave a friendly yap. The lights went out for a moment and the barking retreated down the hallway.

“Wait, come back!”

The corridor arced in a wide curve, but ultimately yielded a dogless dead end. Retracing her steps, Madeline was drawn to a door she hadn’t noticed earlier. As she approached, the quiet was filled with the soft sound of gently flowing water. Beyond, the arched ceiling of the subway remained, but instead of floor, there was river. Grassy banks and a paved trail led away to either side.

Madeline followed the river’s course. After a short distance, the roof and walls opened out into friendly shadow, occasional lanterns scattered along the water’s edge. Their warm light made small pools; each receded into darkness before another sprang to life up ahead. At intervals, wooden footbridges crossed over streams as they joined the main flow. She could hear more than see it; there was a reassuring sense of space all around her.

A slap and splash of water, and a rowboat breached her well of light. The besuited man at the oar nodded in greeting. “Lovely night for it.”

She smiled politely in return. They exchanged a few words, and continued in pleasant silence for a few minutes.

“Did you see a dog pass by here?”

He gave the water two quick taps with his oars before responding. “Can’t say that I have. But then again, I haven’t really been paying attention. That’s what always happens: I get on the river, and let it take me where I’m going.”

Madeline covered her disappointment with another question. “Where does the river go?”

“Oh, most places you’d want to go, really. The airport, for instance. Which reminds me: this is my exit coming up. Flight to catch. Good night – and good luck finding your dog!”

“It's not even my dog…” But the boat had already dissolved into the dark.

She strolled for a time, letting the quiet calm of the river wash over her. The world was clear and placid down here, the air mild and sweet.

Madeline was sure she could hear barking in the distance, or maybe she just wanted to.

A spot of lamplight off to her right held a doorway in its thrall. With no immediate purpose, Madeline approached.

She stepped through, the light fading behind her.

Madeline was standing on the western tower of Brooklyn Bridge. It was rather lively up here. To one side, a loose circle of deckchairs were gathered around a campfire. It sparked occasionally, sending orange motes to dance among the stars. A guitar had, of course, been produced. Its mellow air stitched together the babel of the party. At the opposite end of the platform, a group in swimsuits were cheering. One of their number eyed the emptiness beyond, then taking a running jump, dived out of sight. Several seconds later, a distant splash rose from far below. A burst of delight from the crowd, and someone else lined up. The door behind Madeline opened, admitting the returning diver, dripping wet, with a beaming grin on his face.

Madeline stood on the edge of activity, looking on. Party-goers saluted her, or passed some words in her direction.

She was asked if she wanted to take a jump.

“I don’t think I could.”

But she was enthralled, and the idea wedged itself in her mind. “Maybe next time”, she assured herself as another run and jump and splash drew a satisfied response from the crowd.

Someone handed her a beer. “Meeting friends?”

“Oh, no, I don’t know anyone.” Madeline grew quiet, and hid behind a mouthful of beer.

“That’s ok. I’m just passing through too. Meeting my wife for dinner in a little while. You?”

He was a scattering of years older than Madeline, and she was inclined to engage with him.

“I’m looking for a dog, I think.”

He nodded, and thought for a moment. “I might be able to point you in the right direction. But I need to stop by the office first.”

Beer still in hand, Madeline followed the young man back through the door. They emerged in a service corridor, gratings and exposed pipes, and bare light harsh on her eyes.

“I was just on the river.”

“Well this is a shorter route to the office.” They made several turns, then pushed through a set of double doors into the lobby of a large shopping mall. Madeline was washed in the pink and yellow ambiance of the storefronts. She spotted several brands she was sure had stopped existing years ago. There was a large fountain at the centre of the court, its jets turned off for the night. An old man was lying with his back resting against the low plinth, soft cap pulled over his face. He had propped up a fishing rod with his foot against it, the line trailing into the pool. A pluck on the line had the man on his feet, bent over the rod with the spool spinning. After much effort, he transferred his catch into a lidded bucket. He stepped back and set the bucket down, heavily.

Sighting the approaching pair, he lifted his cap and grinned, running the back of his forearm across his forehead.

As they passed, Madeline regarded the fountain’s pool. It was clear, still, about a foot deep. A collection of coins lay inert on its bed, but otherwise, it was empty. The old man reset his line and settled down to await his next bite.

They rose through the lattice of escalators, and passing through a staff break room, stepped out onto a quiet street. Her companion lifted the nearby steel cellar door, holding it open as Madeline descended. At the end of a short corridor, a frosted glass door was lettered with the words: “The Department of Inactivity”.

“Hang on a sec.” He rifled through his pockets and produced a key. The reception beyond was large and brightly lit. It had the bearing of office blocks everywhere. He gave her a passing tour of the campus as they journeyed through. “I work in Momentum…” Madeline listened, as one does when someone else is explaining their job. But too quickly, her thoughts were drawn back to her own situation.

“And do you like your job?”

“It’s just work”, he shrugged. “It has its interesting bits, and I do my best when I can.”

They stepped into an open-plan office space, row-upon-row of ordered desks. One wall was lined with clocks, each one labelled – most with a major city, though some simply bore several question marks.

A single desk had a worker sitting under its Anglepoise light, methodically writing line after line of 1s on a sheet of paper. He paused as if in thought, then quickly inked several more 1s onto the page.

“Working late, John?” But John was too enthralled by his work to respond.

They passed several desks with idle typewriters, each key bearing the number 1, sometimes in Roman numerals, or different fonts. Some held half-finished typed documents on the spool, all neat rows of identical 1s. A large fax machine rattled out an endless dot matrix stream of the number. Several glass-walled corridors and two flights of stairs later, they came to a halt at an office door.

“I’ll just be a minute.” He unlocked the door and disappeared inside.

In the shutter-shadowed half-light, Madeline leaned against a wall and waited. She finished her beer and set the bottle carefully on the nearby janitor’s cart.

On the return journey, John was still engrossed in his work. “Oh, John, do you have the minutes from the last meeting? I’ll go over them first thing Monday morning.” If John had heard, he didn’t show sign of it.

* * *
  

They exited onto the sidewalk.

“Right, let’s go visit the library.”

“The Public Library? It’ll be closed this time of night.”

“Not the Library, the library.”

He gestured grandly across the street, to one of the city’s countless apartment blocks.

“Ok, but how are we going to find a dog in a library?”

They climbed the half-dozen steps and entered the lobby. One wall was lined with mailboxes, labelled A to Z. In the corner, the woman behind the reception desk looked up from behind her tortoiseshell spectacles.

“Records! The library has records for everything.”

He went over to the desk and struck up a conversation. The woman took some notes and disappeared into a back room. Her head poked through the door and addressed the pair of them.

“This might take a few minutes – feel free to browse. I’ll call when I’ve found something.”

Madeline sauntered down the hallway. The door of every apartment was open; some had plaques, citing topics like “Action” or “Mindlessness”. Some were simply blank. Each apartment had its own character and layout; no two were the same. Shelves were lined with books; kitchen surfaces and coffee tables held tidy piles – but never overwhelming the liveable space. She flicked through some as she went, an old leather-bound tome, a paperback so new the ink was almost wet. Though it was late, the occasional reader sat captured by words. A cage elevator brought her up several floors.

Madeline stood in the middle of a living room, momentarily desolate. A beam of light rested just beyond her feet. It looked like her apartment. But it reminded her of home.

Stuck between sofa cushions was a small book, with a simple tan-leather cover. The inside page bore the title, “The Beauty of Being”. She took it with her.

In the corridor, a pneumatic tube delivered the message that the librarian was ready. She re-joined her companion at the front desk.

The librarian had a dense ring-bound file open in front of her, and was pointing at a recent entry.

“This you?”

Madeline’s name and number held place over a brief description of the dog.

“Looks like she was registered earlier tonight – over on Fulton Street. But if you don’t have her name, I can’t find anything more specific.”

They thanked the librarian, and took the elevator down.

* * *
  

The ding and doors delivered them to a grand marble atrium. Double stairs led to galleries above, while candle-dusted chandeliers hung over the silent space. The young man checked his watch. “Shoot! I gotta go. Hope your dog’s on Fulton Street. It’s a good place to look anyway. It was nice meeting you.” He dashed off. Madeline realised she hadn’t caught his name.

She strolled along the line of wood-clad teller’s windows towards the door, but was persuaded towards the rising hum from behind the grand staircase. Marble-hewn steps and marble-columned corridors led to a massive vault door, resting roundly open. Above it, Altruism… was calligraphed in flowing orange neon. Madeline passed through into the space beyond. Cuisine-armed waiting staff bustled past, weaving amongst the busy tables. To one side, the bar was backed by a wall of safety deposit boxes, some open to reveal back-lit bottles of glowing amber or red. Patrons relaxed in leather armchairs, or cushion-topped stacks of bullion.

At a table to her left, a familiar-looking young woman was beckoning eagerly at Madeline. She had seen her around the office once or twice, and approached hesitantly.

“Madeline, right? Come and join us.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to disturb your evening.” But the other woman had already signalled a waiter to bring another chair and had surrendered her own to Madeline.

“I’m Jess, by the way – I work downstairs in Marketing. Madeline, this is my sister– she’s in town for the weekend. Madeline started work with us a few months ago.”

She directed her attention back and forth with barely a breath.

“I’m really sorry, I’ve been meaning to drop by your desk to say hello. It’s no excuse, but I’ve been super busy the past few weeks – in a different city every few days. I’m sure you’re up to your eyes as well at the moment. But – enough work talk, let’s eat!”

Madeline realised she was hungry, and accepted the offered menu with only a slight pause. The food and cocktails were exquisite, and Jess’ honest charm and good humour poured over the table, the party content and oblivious to the outside world.

They stayed long after plates were cleared, chatting with the familiarity of childhood friends. Another round of drinks came and went, but the rush of diners had abated. The trio lingered at the vault door, none eager to depart. “Dessert!” declared Jess, “And I know just the place.” She took her sister and Madeline by the hand, and the trio skipped childlike to the elevator.

It was a rooftop, high above the city. Among the metal and machinery that were the building’s vital organs. They ducked through the ducting, to a hollow of open lawn. Strings of lights spider-webbed delicately overhead. In the corner, a raised deck supported a pretty violin melody that wafted through the space. Between the air conditioning units and outlet chimneys, a collection of mismatched trailers were lodged. Sweet stalls and waffle huts, ice-cream stands and coffee counters.

Madeline evaluated every stall cautiously, weighing up what each had to offer.

“There’s too much; I don’t know what to choose.”

“Choose anything!” Jess responded with a grin. “You can always come again, and get something different. And besides, you’re going to have something interesting no matter what you try!”

She dashed off with her sister and the pair had their hands full in moments. Madeline took her time, but eventually forced herself to pick something.

She reunited with her companions, and the trio reclined in Adirondack chairs, sharing the joy of dessert.

* * *
  

The moon was resting lightly upon the Bethesda Fountain, watching quietly over Madeline. The city’s sounds were dulled by the presence of the park, its hue and energy muted. She emerged from the shadow of the terrace and sauntered along the trail. The lamps were unlit, but coloured fairy lights twinkled amongst the trees. The air was mild and smelled of life. She passed a painter with his easel set towards The Lake, canvas awash with movement. A flautist was playing a soothing air that meandered down the trail after Madeline.

She found herself standing at one end of Conservatory Water. It was quiet now; she held her breath. A model boat cut through the dark and glided over the glass-still pond. A tea light lit up on its bow; it was joined by another, and another. The swarm of miniature yachts floated passed her, and she followed, into the dark. It enclosed around her, above her; the water was flowing now, widening. The space was deepening.

A sailing dinghy joined the toy boats, its deck painted with candlelight. Its captain waved at Madeline. A rowboat carried violin music – joined in concert by guitar and flute, a full ensemble, as the little fleet continued to grow.

A boat waited on the shore ahead for Madeline. She jumped in and pushed off. Into the flow of the river. She was part of the flotilla, as the river carried them onwards. The music sang in harmony with the lapping of the water, and she sat back and let it take her.

The boats drifted apart. One-by-one their lights winked out. Madeline was left wallowing in the dark, alone. She closed her eyes, but not in fear. This space was hers; she owned it. Taking an oar in each hand, she began to paddle. The river’s flow picked her up once more, and she was moving forward.

She felt a rush and stop and breeze of outside air. Madeline opened her eyes. She was perched atop One World Trade Center, legs dangling nonchalantly over the edge.

There was a friendly bark from her left.

“There you are! Dawn.” The name was simple and true. She knew without looking that it was already on the dog’s collar. Dawn padded over and sat loyally by Madeline’s side. She rested her hand on Dawn’s head and the dog gave a contented yap.

Spreading out below them, the city’s lights were a bouquet of bokeh bloom. The placid moon bid farewell as it made for the horizon; a new day was soon to follow.