Chapter Thirteen
The stars had not yet begun to poke through the dying veil of sky just before I walked into the Spectra building for work later that night but the Sun had all but bid its final farewell of the day. I stopped in the middle of the street and looked toward the darkening dome above. The West was aflame but I knew it would not be so for long. The next quarter hour would quench the fire there and evening would roll out its dim blanket for the city to go to sleep. A shiver ran down my spine as I allowed the cosmic poetry of the encroaching night to take on all of its symbolic strength and push down on my soul.
My attention returned to the building ahead and I started for the main entrance. Once inside I made my way by memory to the elevator which would take me down to the belly of the place and where I would begin my second day of work. I rifled through my shirt pocket and produced the folded piece of paper my supervisor had printed out for me on my first day.
The temporary ID badge Derek had produced started to bend at the corners and the creases of the folds were already getting flimsy. The elevator to the basement of Spectra didn’t respond with the first swipe. I made a second pass with the paper, pushed the button again and was about to try for a third time when the doors grudgingly slid apart for me as if the machine resented my presence but obeyed in deference to a higher authority. If so the feeling of dislike was mutual. I hadn’t given elevators a negative thought since I was a small child when the doors of a department store elevator filled with tall strangers closed unannounced by invisible hands and the sudden jerky movement had rattled my toddler psyche into panic. A similar sense of unknown dread assailed my adult subconscious mind, awakening that primal fight or flight instinct. I pressed the button for the basement and the doors of the steel tomb closed. “Fight” it would be.
The elevator seemed to hesitate. It jerked upward for a brief moment, stopped, hesitated again and finally began its descent. My arms instinctively rose to waste-level to keep my balance. I backed up until I was pressed against the wall. A feeling in the pit of my stomach and one in an indefinable somewhere in my mind protested. The elevator didn’t notice or care and just kept on its slow, dumb drop.
The doors slid away when the thing reached the basement flooding my heart with relief. I scurried out of the box into the empty corridor and turned back not sure what I was expecting to see. If elevators could look smug I’m sure this one would have. Instead the doors closed and I heard it return to the world above, perhaps beckoned by some other brave or foolish soul or just a routine program. After a moment of self-indulged paranoia I set off to find Derek.
He was in the office fiddling with some hand-sized piece of technology. It wasn’t touching his skin directly but he held it in a greasy rag. He employed a multi-tool in the manner I imagined a skilled artist employed brushes and oil paints to call forth mesmerizing images. He grunted acknowledgement of my presence and kept to his task. There was only silence between us which was certainly awkward for me but which I’m sure he hardly noticed.
“Something’s wrong with the elevator, I think,” I said sheepishly.
“Oh yeah?” Nothing but disinterest from the man.
“Yeah,” I replied. I told him what happened. His silence continued beyond my story and I wondered if he heard me or, if like the elevator, I was going to need to make another swipe. But he had heard. Finally he gave up on the thing in his hand and unceremoniously discarded it onto the counter next to him. When he looked at me at last I got the impression he was annoyed with me. He held my gaze for a time and I resolved not to back down but laced my return gaze with as much respect as I could muster. When he looked away I kept my eyes on him, not sure if I had just won a staring contest or lost an immaturity contest.
Derek went over to what was clearly an old and large metal tool box. He lifted it off the counter and held it out to me. I took it from him and almost dropped the damn thing on my feet. I fumbled the weight of the tool box and only was able to manage holding it by bending slightly at the knees and curling the box to my chest. When I looked back to Derek’s face he wore a self-satisfied smile.
“Come on. Let’s see if we can find out what you did to the elevator.” Then he was out the door. I hesitated, caught off guard by the verbal jab. I wasn’t sure if he was serious or if it was just good-natured ribbing. I would learn it was impossible to tell with the man. Then I jolted into action after him fumbling with the heavy toolbox.
I saw him disappear around a corner and so I increased my pace in an attempt to catch up with him. When I rounded the corner he wasn’t there waiting for me. Instead I was greeted by an intersection of hallways. I approached the place where the ways converged hoping to hear footfalls in one of the directions. It was no use. What little sound there was seemed to come from every direction.
I imagined the older man standing at the destination annoyed. I knew I could either guess which route he’d taken or call for him in the hope that he’d answer. I stood for a moment and weighed a third option. I’d come to the conclusion that I contained some kind of psychic spark. I wondered if I could find my way without knowing my way. I looked to the right, then the left, then straight ahead. I didn’t get any impression that one way was more right than the others. The conclusion I reached was that if I continued to stand there it would be a waste of time.
“Derek,” I called out, “Which way do I go?”
“Take a right at the first intersection then a left at the second and then just keep coming,” came his reply. I followed his directions and shortly came upon the man standing in front of what appeared to be a large breaker box. The metal door was open and Derek stared into the complex mass of wires and switches. There were a few small digital displays and some internal lights which added a bit of extra illumination to the dim hall.
“Do you really understand what you’re looking at?” I enquired.
“Nope,” he said without a hint of humor or agitation. “I just like to pretend I’m really smart. Set that thing down and open it for me, will you?”
I bent at my knees not wanting to strain my back. The box was so heavy and my palms were so sweaty that the box slipped out of my hands and fell the last two inches or so to the ground with an enormous clattering sound which shook my nerves. I looked up at Derek but he just kept looking into the open box on the wall. I returned my attention to the toolbox resting on the ground between my bent knees. I searched the outside for the way to open it and found the clasps which held the lid onto the body. I opened the box and pulled out several trays of tools.
The next several minutes were spent with Derek asking me for some tool or other and I searched the trays from the box and handed them to him. From where I crouched it didn’t look like Derek did much inside the box on the wall. I wanted to ask what he was doing but I also knew that I probably wouldn’t understand whatever explanation he could offer so I kept my mouth shut and just watched and handed him something whenever he asked for it.
Finally he closed the door of the wall box and looked down at me. I took this as a signal to put all the tools back into the trays and the trays into the toolbox.
“So,” I said casually as I gathered things up, “were you able to figure out what was wrong with it?”
“Yes, I was.” He began dry washing his hands on a rag he pulled from a back pocket. I waited but no further explanation came.
“Well,” I baited him, “what was wrong?”
“Nothing was wrong. Everything looks fine.”
“It wasn’t fine when I came down here,” I said, perhaps a little too indignantly.
“That was probably just a hiccup in the system. These things just happen from time to time.” He started back the way we had come. I clasped the top back on the toolbox and moved to follow him but almost fell back a bit when I tried to pick up the toolbox. I could have sworn the thing was heavier than before. It was like an anchor. I tried again and this time it came up just fine. I held it to my chest with both hands and followed Derek.
“What did it feel like?” he asked with the first trace of amusement I’d seen on the man.
“I don’t know,” I fumbled for the right idea and the words to match. They didn’t come. “It just didn’t work right. It felt,” I hesitated, but didn’t know how else to put it. “It just felt annoyed.” I knew it was a mistake the instant it escaped my mouth but there was nothing I could do about it. Derek was quiet for a brief moment as we walked. Then he looked over at me like he suspected I was trying to play some kind of trick on him. He seemed to finally decide I wasn’t joking.
“It’s an elevator, son, not a person. It’s just steel, cable and lights. You do know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I said groping about for some way to backpedal. “I’m just trying to tell you the impression I had. I’m not saying it was actually annoyed,” I lied. “It just didn’t do what it was supposed to do.” I hoped that would be enough and sidetrack any further discussion on the topic which it did.
When we made it back to the office Derek went to one of the adjoining rooms and reappeared a few moments later with a large yellow plastic shopping bag. He extended the bag to me and said, “These are for you.”
I took the bag from his hand and opened the top so I could peer inside. It contained a clean pair of dark green clothes. I could see an embroidered name tag over the left front pocket of the folded shirt. It was, of course, my name on the shirt. I reached into the bag and pulled the shirt and pants out and let them fall out of their folded state.
As I looked at the shirt I felt a sense of pride and belonging. It had been a long time since I’d felt either of those feelings and I wondered if they might have as many creases as the freshly pressed set of clothes I held in my hands.
“Go in the next room and put them on. We can’t have you working out of uniform. Oh, and I almost forgot.” He went over by the computer and picked up a small manila envelope. He handed that to me too. I opened it and pulled out the permanent ID badge.
“Hey, I’m official now,” I said with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. But it didn’t matter. I’d been waiting for my life to start taking some positive turns and these new things were evidence that the ball was now rolling in that direction.
I went into the next room and slid out of my clothes and into the uniform with the embroidered name tag. I clipped the ID badge onto my right front pocket and adjusted it a few times. Feeling complete I stepped back out of the room to present myself for approval but Derek was gone. I stepped out of the room, into the hall and looked both directions but the hall was empty too.
“Derek?” I waited for a response but none came. I tried again, louder this time but still waited in vain for the man to reply. I returned to the first room and looked around for some clue as to his disappearance. I discovered a handwritten note on one of the countertops. It was addressed to me.
It read, “Gone to the top floor to fix a problem. Go to the supply room in the back, get the garbage cart and cleaning supplies together. Take the elevator to the first floor and start collecting garbage. I’ll catch up.”
The thought of stepping back into the elevator raised a minor alarm in my mind but I knew I would have to go that way to get out at the end of my shift. It struck me at that moment how odd it was that there were no stairs leading to or from the basement. I was sure it had to be a violation of some safety standard somewhere. I made a mental note to ask Derek about it later and then moved on to get the garbage cart ready.
Assembling all the things I needed was simple and brought back a few memories of my college days and the late nights of cleaning I’d done back then. I found myself whistling while I pushed the cart out into the hall and angled it toward the direction of the elevator. My whistling stopped as I came to the steel doors and reached forward to push the upward button. Dimly reflected in the unpolished steel of the elevator doors were the dark shape of the cart I pushed and a taller shape which was clearly my own reflection. I reached forward but just before my fingertip touched the green arrow I heard the whisper of a voice behind me.
Startled, I whirled around to locate the source of the sound. The hall was dim but completely void behind me. It was a voice; I knew it was without a doubt. But beyond that I discerned nothing. I could not tell if it was young or old, male or female. It was simply a voice. I waited for something further but there was nothing. I turned back to the elevator. As I reached forward again my eyes returned to the barely reflective elevator doors. This time my mind registered three dim shapes instead of two. There was the short reflection of the cart, the taller blur which belonged to me and just beside mine was a slightly shorter and darker reflection. My hand froze half an inch away from the button. I became keenly aware of the stark silence pierced only by the sound of my breathing which was steadily growing more rapid.
I tried not to move my body to indicate that I might be aware that I knew I was no longer alone. I couldn’t help darting my eyes in the direction of what must have caused the reflection. My eyes still detected nothing in that space, but that other sense of mine insisted something was there. And whatever was next to me, wherever it was next to me, had just tried to tell me something. I reasoned that if it wanted to talk that talking back might be the best option I had available.
“Hello,” I tentatively spoke into the false emptiness. “I know you’re there and I think you just tried to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear you.” I hesitated, not really sure if I wanted my next request to be granted. But I swam in the deep waters now and fear of getting wet was irrelevant. “Could you please try again?”
The silence which followed was difficult and I believed I sensed some reluctance on the part of the other. I waited attempting to balance my trepidation with patience. Beads of sweat appeared on my brow and my breaths came and went shallow and fast. When I next heard the whisper it was only barely more audible than before, but this time I could discern the content of what was said.
“Don’t go in the box. Please, mister, don’t go in the box.” I now thought it was the voice of a child. It was not the girl from my apartment but it was certainly also not the dark menacing figure I’d seen in the painting during my walk through the hospital after the accident. I thought it was a boy, maybe a pre-adolescent boy. I thought back to the answering machine message from my apartment and how there seemed to be a second, pleading voice before it was interrupted by the third, threatening one. I knew the voice beside me belonged to the same person as the second voice on the answering machine.
The doors of the elevator opened and the hairs on the back of my neck shot straight up. I hadn’t yet pushed the button to call the elevator and yet here it was: The box with a mind of its own.
“Please mister, please,” the young voice repeated. I wanted nothing more than to obey, but for two things. The first was that I was expected to go upstairs and get to work. The call of duty and paycheck were strong. The second was a strange hypnotic pull which urged me forward. My right leg lifted and stepped forward. This action was not completely apart from my intellectual consent, but nor was it totally with it. With the first step taken it was easier to take the send and third and the final. I dragged the garbage cart into the elevator with me. I felt my eyes go wide when I saw the doors slide closed.
I saw the light behind the destination floor come alive, but it was not for the first floor or the others above it. It was the light for the subbasement. The elevator gave a great groan, a sound which seemed to fight against itself. Then the box shuddered and began to descend. Fear lit every nerve in my body and my instinct to run from danger kicked into high gear. But in a larger than average steel coffin there is nowhere to run.
The elevator came to its abrupt stop and then nothing more happened. I expected the doors to slide apart and my final fate to be revealed but there was only silence. I cannot tell how much time passed while I waited for something to happen. Perhaps it was one minute, perh
aps it was ten, I simply don’t know.
“Sure,” I heard myself complain. “There’s nothing wrong with the elevator. It’s just a hiccup. These things happen from time to time. Maybe in your little world, Derek but not mine.” Having moved past that bit of non-constructive criticism I decided I had to try something.
I concluded that if something were going to happen I might as well be the one to instigate it. I leaned forward and cautiously, slowly pressed the button for the first floor. There was a moment of silence followed by another metallic groan and then nothing. The elevator wanted to obey its intended function and ascend but something had subverted the command. I sat on the floor and gently banged the back of my head against the elevator’s back wall three times in frustration. As I cycled through as many outcomes to the mess I found myself in I began to wonder if instead of some dramatic and terrifying end I was meant by whatever had led me there to instead perish slowly through starvation and dehydration. It would not be a heroic end by any stretch of the imagination.
In the long silence my mind constructed all kinds of horrible things, things I don’t care to relive even now that I’m past it all. It was an interminably long time down there. After a while I drifted off to sleep. None of the dreams I might have had stayed with me, only a waking sense of dread and something ephemeral, yet potent, drawn near.
I heard it before I awoke, I think. The boy who had tried to warn me off from entering the elevator was whispering to me again. The urgency I heard earlier from the answering machine and also the proper basement level however long ago that episode had been was still in that voice.
“Wake up, wake up,” he urged. “You got to get out of there. Mister, wake up before he comes back!” My eyes opened with all the speed and grace of a cinderblock being pulled across a cement driveway by a tortoise. I knew the boy must have meant the dark ghost who seemed to stalk me whenever I meddled in things he wanted me to stay away from. Groggy, I stood up, sliding my back against the back wall for support and using my hands spread out to my sides for balance.
“How am I supposed to do that? This thing won’t budge.” I pressed the button to go to the first floor several times in rapid succession to demonstrate my point. “See?” Of course I didn’t know if the boy could see what I was doing or not. I looked up at the ceiling like a supplicant waiting for a decree from on high. None came. I continued to stare at the ceiling in hopes of a response when my eyes began to track the pattern of the metal plates which gave the ceiling its substance. One in particular caught my attention.
One of them was an access panel, a door through which I could make it to the roof of the elevator. The next hurdle to overcome was how I would be able to get up to it. There was at least a foot, maybe a foot and half from the ceiling to the tips of my fingers when I stretched my arms to their fullest and stood on the balls of my feet. I assessed all of the cleaning tools I brought with me.
“I could use the handle of the dust mop to push the panel open,” I said to myself. “But I can’t stand of the garbage cart because it probably won’t hold my weight and the wheels make it too unsteady.” I thought about how I was going to climb up when I noticed the white plastic five gallon bucket hanging from a hook on the other side of the garbage cart. I snatched it off, turned it upside down and set it on its mouth, positioning it under the access hatch. I then grabbed the dust mop and disconnected the mop head by unscrewing it.
I placed my right foot on top of the bucket, planted the end of the dust mop handle on the floor and used it to balance and push myself up. Now with both feet on the upturned bucket I took the long handle in both hands and pushed against the hatch above. It refused to move.
“Come on, open,” I pleaded. I pushed harder the second time but to no avail. It was locked from the outside. The intent of the design must have come with the understanding that any rescue would come from outside the box, not inside. I closed my eyes half in despair, half in concentration of my will. “Just open!”
I heard a sound above me, an unlocking sound. I wasted no time and pushed against the hatch with all my strength. This time it swung open and I stared straight up into near total darkness. Only a hint of red emergency lights lit the shaft above. I tossed the stick up through the opening and heard it clatter on the roof of the elevator. Then I jumped and caught the edge of the opening and pulled myself up. Since action movie acrobatics aren’t part of my regular exercise routine I struggled considerably getting through the hatch.
When I finally made it through I had to let my eyes adjust to the dark. All the while I was listening for whispers or angry groans. To my relief I appeared to be alone.
When I could finally see well enough in the reddish light of the shaft I took stock of my surroundings. I discovered a ladder built into the side of a recessed section of the wall which looked to go all the way up to the top. I hurried over and, balancing the headless dust mop handle in one hand I journeyed up the rungs. I went past the doors to the basement level and continued to the first floor.
I looked down, which was truly the mistake everyone says it is. I became momentarily dizzy by the net-less distance beneath me. I regained my balance before I turned my attention to the closed doors which were the only thing which stood between me and the first floor. Without the mistake of looking down a second time I held onto the ladder with one hand while I reached over to the door with the other. I quickly had to pull back because I almost lost my balance.
I reassessed the situation and noted there was a ledge which extended out from the door but it was only about four inches wide. I would not be confident enough to stand on it while attempting to slide the heavy steel door open manually. I decided to look around for some other solution.
I found one in the form of a small panel of buttons I unintentionally covered with my belly while I made my first attempt to open the door. One of the buttons was labeled, “Open.” That was good enough for me. I pushed it and sure enough the door slid open. I carefully eased my way over and was able to get both feet to the ledge. I immediately sprang forward and landed sprawled face down on the first floor of Spectra.
I heard someone clear his throat beside and above me. I swiveled my head and saw Derek standing next to the open elevator shaft with a perplexed look on his face.
“What the hell happened to you?” He asked.
“I wish to register a complaint,” I said. “I promise you the elevator is not okay.”
“What about you,” he asked. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’ve been better. But I’m not hurt.” I kept the side of my face on the floor for most of the conversation.
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want to have to pay workman’s comp.”
I raised my head and looked up at the man who was smiling at me. I dropped my face back to the floor. “I think I want to go home now. Note the time and I’ll write it on my time card.”
“Yeah, that’s fine go ahead,” Derek said without much reluctance. “You’re sure you’re okay?” At least he is a genuine human being some of the time, I thought.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I got up slowly and walked out of the building. It was still very dark outside. I learned later that I had only been asleep in the elevator for two hours and spent half an hour getting out of the shaft itself. The night air was cool against my sweating face. I reached my car and tugged on the handle, which was locked. I fished in my pocket for my keys. The pocket was empty. I searched the other one which was equally devoid of keys. I looked inside the car and they were not, thankfully, dangling from the ignition. That left only one option. I had taken off my normal clothes to get into my new uniform. My other clothes I had left in the basement. My keys were still in the pocket of those pants.
I turned around and looked across the street at the Spectra building. The edifice stood in mocking defiance of me. I remembered thinking earlier that if an elevator could have looked smug than that one would have. I then transferred that concept to the whole building. But instead
of smugness it was now a full blown taunt.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. As usual there was no one to hear my complaint. Even if there were there was nothing anyone could have done about it. I began my slow return to the building and hoped for some miracle solution to the elevator from hell.
A Ghost of Fire Page 22
