by Spike Black
“And here we are,” the manager announced, stopping at the elevator. “Your very own little corner of the hotel. Your office, if you will.”
Fergus stepped inside the elevator car and examined the unremarkable tin-box space. A strip of lights above the doors numbered 1 through 12, a panel of corresponding buttons on the wall. Maybe it had been the art deco-style decor of the hotel, or the fact that they had made him wear a traditional red uniform, complete with little round bellhop hat, but he had been expecting something a little less… bland. A hand crank, maybe, or one of those concertinaed gates that you pulled across in lieu of a door.
“It’s pretty straightforward, as you can see.” She proceeded to explain the function of each of the buttons to him anyway.
Fergus frowned. “Wait - so… it’s not manually operated?”
“Oh, no.”
“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what is my role? Surely the guests - I mean, without wanting to talk my way out of a job here - can’t they press their own buttons?”
The manager fixed him with a stare. The oval tag pinned above her considerable bosom announced her name as Shelley. “You’re much more than just a button pusher, Fergus. You’re the face of the hotel. The warm, welcoming, accommodating face.”
Fergus nodded. He’d never been able to hold down a regular job because he always got bored too easily, but when he secured this job he’d promised himself that he’d make a real effort this time. It was starting to dawn on him that this promise would be harder to keep than he’d expected.
“During regular hours you’ll stay with the elevator car, ushering passengers on and off. You’ll converse with guests, prevent overcrowding, and stop unauthorized patrons from entering the elevator.”
Fergus tuned out for a moment. He was distracted by the horrendous muzak being pumped through the sound system. He recognized it as a pan-piped version of Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On.
“When it’s quiet, you’ll give the car a scrub down, keep it looking presentable. Make sure everything’s just so. Any questions?”
“No, I think I’ve got it.”
“Good. You know where I am if you need me. Oh, and Fergus?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Big smile. You’re the face of the hotel, remember?”
He offered her his best beaming smile, and she gave him a thumbs-up as she left. He surveyed the metal box that was now his domain, and something immediately caught his eye. There was one more button that he hadn’t noticed before, away from the main panel, on the back wall of the elevator. Why hadn’t Shelley told him about that?
It was encased in a ring of metal, its dome bulging pleasingly and tantalizingly from the case, the word PRESS stamped on it in bold but slightly faded letters. What was its purpose? And what would happen if he pressed it?
He put it out of his mind and waited for guests. Catching his reflection in a small mirror on the side of the car, he practiced his smiles.
Ugh. With his fake grin, round cap and chinstrap he looked like a village idiot vacationing in the big city.
“Why, hello young man!”
Fergus jumped and turned. An old fellow with a cane stood in the doorway.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Oh, please,” the old man said, entering the elevator car. “Call me Douglas. Or Doug. Never sir. I’m not an officer!”
“Which floor?”
“Six, if you will.”
Fergus pressed the button. The doors closed and the car started on its journey. The pan-piped muzak had now changed to Everything I Do (I Do It For You).
“Or Dougie,” the old man continued. “You can call me that. There was once a chap, this was in the Merchant Navy, and every time I saw him he called me Dougal. Didn’t care for him very much.”
Fergus smiled. The muscles in his face were already starting to hurt.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” Douglas asked.
“You’re my first customer.”
“Really? I’m honored! You think you’ll like it, then? This job?”
“Yes,” Fergus lied. “Very much.”
“Well, I suppose it has its ups and downs.” Douglas burst out laughing. “Ups and downs! Get it?”
Fergus laughed, humoring him. “Yes, yes. Very good.”
“You can use that, if you like.”
Fergus nodded. “Thanks. That’s very kind. Thank you.”
They arrived on the sixth floor. The doors parted.
“Well, I guess this is me. Cheerio, young man!”
Fergus waited until the old man had stepped off. “Goodbye, sir.”
Douglas turned to correct him, but it was too late, and the doors closed. Fergus’s face dropped immediately. He turned around. The button on the back wall called to him.
PRESS.
He put a finger up to the button and touched the dome. There was a pleasingly spongey feel to it. He was itching to follow the command stamped across it, but knew that he really shouldn’t. At least, not until he had asked someone what it did.
Besides, it wasn’t as if pressing the button would suddenly brighten up his day, and the elevator would instantly be full of streamers and party music and dancing girls. It was just a button. An ordinary, everyday, boring old button.
PRESS.
Just a button.
But it had to do something, right? It had to have a purpose. Who would ever create anything that had no function?
Fergus sighed. Much like his position at this hotel, really.
Hi, Mom. I got a new job.
Really son? That’s great news. Finally, you’ve found your calling. What is it?
I’m an elevator attendant in an automated elevator.
You’re a what?
He watched the bank of buttons above the doors, waiting for someone in the hotel to call for the elevator. He considered cleaning the car as Shelley had suggested he should during his down time, but it looked pretty spotless. He found himself humming to a pan-piped muzak version of I Will Always Love You.
That was it. The last straw. He lifted his hand to the button and rested his finger on it.
PRESS.
He hesitated. Exhaled. Damn it. He turned away.
Then, with a swift change of heart, he spun around, stepped up to the button and pushed it all the way in. The dome made a clunking noise as it was depressed. He expected it to ease slowly back out again, but the button remained sunken into its casing.
Fergus went rigid. Oh God, what have I done?
He waited. Looked around the elevator car for any sign that something had changed.
Nothing.
He relaxed. Yes, much like his role at this hotel, the button appeared to have no function.
At that moment the 12 lit up on the strip of lights above the doors. The elevator started moving. Fergus felt oddly nervous as the car ascended. He prepared his warmest smile as it came to a stop and the doors opened.
His face fell.
A smartly-dressed woman stood there, out of breath and bathed in sweat. Curls of black hair framed a pretty face that was contorted in a mask of terror. “Help me,” she cried. “Please God, help m—”
A loud gunshot rang out, and Fergus leapt out of his skin. A red hole appeared in the woman’s white blouse and began to spread. Her wide eyes looked to Fergus for help, but he was rooted to the spot with fear. She collapsed to her knees, revealing her assailant some distance behind her in the corridor - a bald man wielding a gun. Clutching her chest, the woman fell back onto the wall ahead of the elevator and slid down it, leaving a bloodied smear on the shiny, crescent-patterned wallpaper.
The man with the gun was running now. Fergus broke from his stupor and thumped the button for the lobby. The man was close. He was short and stocky with a large tattoo on his neck. He raised the barrel of the gun and aimed at Fergus, who stood there, helpless.
The doors closed just in time. Fergus forgot to breathe as the car descended. He stared ahead, mouth agape. His he
art had rocketed into his throat.
His ride down to the lobby was soundtracked by a muzak version of Aerosmith’s Don’t Want To Miss A Thing.
A thought stabbed at him, and he spun around. The button was still retracted inside its metal case. Using his nails, he tried to pry the button free. The very idea that pressing the button had somehow affected subsequent events was absurd beyond belief, but he had to do something. He tried again, but his attempts were futile. The button wouldn’t budge.
As the elevator doors opened, Fergus burst out into the lobby, skidding along the polished floor as he scrambled over to the security guard. “Murder!” he gasped between breaths. “Come, quick! There’s been a m—”
The dead woman walked past him to the elevator.
The security guard stared back at him. “There’s been a what?”
Fergus was dumbstruck. The dark curls, the smart suit, and those eyes - there was no mistaking it, it was her. “Nothing.” He turned on his heels and ran back to the elevator.
He got there just as the doors opened and hopped on ahead of the woman, who followed him into the car.
“Very sorry, madam. Which floor?”
“Twelve, please.”
Fergus halted, his finger poised over the panel of buttons. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Pardon me? That’s where my room is.”
“Right. It’s the elevator, you see. It’s not working properly today. It won’t stop on floor twelve.”
The woman leaned forward and punched the 12 button. “It seems to be working just fine.”
Fergus reacted in mock surprise. “Oh, so it is. You must have fixed it!”
The woman eyed him suspiciously. They rode up the floors to the pan-piped strains of Love Is All Around. The lights on the panel above the doors changed rapidly as they ascended.
3—4—5—6—
As they got closer, Fergus was gripped by an intense terror. He felt his smile slipping and tried to maintain it, but his cheeks were trembling.
8—9—10—
“You don’t happen to have an identical twin sister, do you?”
“No.”
11—12
The car slowed to a stop. Fergus took a deep breath. “Well… here we are.” The doors opened. Fergus felt sick with fear. “Stay back,” he motioned to her.
“What?”
“Just… please.”
He peered out of the elevator. All was normal. There was no blood stain on the wallpaper. Gingerly, he poked his head out of the doors, checking the sign on the wall to make sure this was indeed the twelfth floor.
“Okay,” he said. “Coast is clear.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped off the elevator. He watched as she marched up the corridor. The doors began to close. He sneaked through the gap, stepping off into the hallway, and sneaked along the corridor. As it elbowed to the right, he peered around the corner. She had stopped at the door to a hotel room, and was searching her bag for the key.
She looked up and saw him. “Hey! What the hell?”
Fergus grimaced. He came out from his hiding place with his hands up. “Sorry, sorry. Just making sure you’re safe.”
“And why wouldn’t I be?” She hurriedly used her keycard on the door and stepped inside.
“Well,” Fergus said, coming closer, “you never know who’s about.”
“No,” she said, eyeballing him. “You don’t.” She closed the door.
“Wait…”
The door reopened a crack, and she peered out.
“I think you should stay in your room for a while. Keep the door locked.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I will.” She slammed the door on him.
***
As Fergus exited the elevator and stepped into the lobby, Shelley was waiting for him, stern-faced.
“Everything all right, boss?”
“Follow me, please.”
Shelley took him to a quiet area full of plants beside the reception desk. “We’ve had a complaint,” she said. “Mrs Trenton in one twenty-four. She claims you’re harassing her.”
Fergus blushed. “Harassing?”
“Yes. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Fergus was lost for words. Where could he start? “I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling a bit weird. I probably need a break.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“The thing is… I think I killed her.”
“You what?”
“Mrs Trenton.”
“You killed Mrs Trenton?”
“No, I think I did. In some way, I think I’m responsible.”
“Where? For God’s sake, show me.”
“Well, she’s not dead now. It hasn’t happened yet.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Fergus hesitated. “I pressed the button.”
She stared at him, waiting for more. “What button?”
“The press button.” He registered her blank expression. “The button that says ‘press’ on it.”
Shelley blinked hard. “Seriously, Fergus. You need to take that break. And then I think we’ll have to discuss your… your future at this hotel…”
But Fergus wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to a man crossing the lobby, headed for the elevator.
A short, stocky man with a bald head and a tattooed neck.
As the man came closer, Fergus knew it was him. “Call the cops.”
Shelley raised her hands in despair. “Oh, what now?”
“Please. Call the cops.” He burst into a run, and then turned back. “A murder is about to take place in the hotel.”
He ran to the elevator, arriving as the man stepped onto the car. He got in after him.
The man went to press a button.
“No!” Fergus moved over, blocking the panel. “No. That’s my job.”
The man was taken aback. “Okay, jeez. Floor twelve.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“I really don’t think you want the twelfth floor, sir.”
“Oh, I assure you I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Are you a guest at the hotel?”
“Of course I’m a guest.”
“Do you mind if I see your room key, sir?”
“Yes, I do mind. How dare you!” He reached around Fergus and punched the button for floor twelve.
Fergus deselected it. The man selected it again. Fergus deselected it. “I really can’t allow you to go up to floor twelve, sir. Not today. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, I’m afraid the elevator is out of order.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to insist that you exit the elevator.”
The man glared at him with wild eyes. Fergus noticed the handle of a gun poking from a holster partly hidden by his jacket. A nerve twitched in his cheek.
At last, the man spoke. “Fine, you nutcase. I’ll take the stairs.”
The man exited the car, heading for the stairwell. The security guard approached.
“That’s him!” Fergus yelled, pointing. “That’s the guy! The murderer!”
The security guard didn’t look. Instead, he reached inside the car and grabbed Fergus.
“Hey! What are you doing?” The guard pulled Fergus from the elevator and marched him across the lobby. The bald man ascended the staircase ahead of them. “Come on, do something. He’s getting away! He’s got a gun!”
Fergus stopped walking, but the guard just dragged him. Shelley was waiting at the reception desk, her arms folded. Fergus knew he had to do something. He kicked out, slamming the security guard in the groin. The big guy doubled over, loosening his grip. Fergus wriggled free. He saw the guard’s baton sticking out of his waistband and snatched it, running back to the elevator.
The guard clambered to his feet and gave chase.
Fergus dived inside the elevator and thumped the button for the twelfth floor. The security guard was closing on him - it was the fastest Fergus had ever seen anyone run while limping and holding themselves.
The doors stayed open. “Come on!” He hit the button again. The guard was almost to the elevator.
At last, the doors began to close. Fergus groaned with relief, sliding the baton inside his jacket. The car moved up the floors to the instrumental tune of Elton John’s Sacrifice. As the elevator arrived on the twelfth floor and the doors slid open, Fergus’s heart was in his mouth.
All was quiet as he stepped into the hallway. He burst into a run and followed the corridor around to Mrs Trenton’s room. He knocked and waited.
The door opened a crack. Mrs Trenton peeked out. “Ugh,” she said, and went to shut the door again.
Fergus slid his foot in the gap. “You’re in danger.”
“I can see that.”
“I mean it,” he said, barging the door wide. “You’re going to die.”
Mrs Trenton screamed and ran deeper into the room. She picked up a hair dryer and hurled it at him. It made a loud clonk as it ricocheted off Fergus’s head.
“Agh! Jesus!” He clutched his head, the pain echoing around his skull. “Just listen to me!”
When he opened his eyes, a Gideon’s bible slammed him on the nose.
“Ow! Christ!” He held his hands up over his face. “Stop it, please. I’m here to help. I’m not a crazy person.”
“No?” She hurled a coffee maker that hit him in the side.
“No. You have to listen. I’ve had a… a psychic vision.”
“Oh. Wow. You’re completely sane, then.”
“I saw a man. A bald man. He murdered you.” Fergus dodged a bedside lamp and a teapot. “He had a… a tribal tattoo on his neck. In the shape of a wolf’s head.”
Mrs Trenton froze, holding a mini iron above her head. “A wolf?”
“Yes.”
“Are you messing with me?”
“What? Yes, I’m messing with you. It’s all a big joke because I like having things thrown at me.”
“That sounds like Zane, my ex-husband.”
“Yeah? Well, he’s on his way up here, now.”
She gasped. “Get out of here.”
“What?”