elevator car kept moving, as much as he was able to discern, inexorably upward. He hadn't really noticed which particular building the white door had been set into, but surely it couldn't be that tall, could it? Unsure as he was of which button the guard below had pushed, even the fruitless satisfaction of jabbing it over again was lost to him. He wondered if the random blinking lights were a symptom of a dangerous malfunction in the machine and contemplated pushing a button at random just to get off of it. But, of course, with them lighting randomly, potentially signifying random floors, who's to say the button he would press would be of any help?
His ears popped. Worry gave way to desperation. He was sure he felt the elevator get faster, saw the buttons blink more rapidly. Something was clearly wrong. Beginning to feel the seizing grip of panic, he ran his clammy palms over the buttons, trying to press them all. They lit, dutifully, then went dark again, the random pattern never ceasing. He pawed the faux-golden wood paneling below them, frantic to find an alarm. He had no real hope of finding any such thing, which made it even more surprising when a gentle push on the lower right corner made the upper left pop forward, as though on an oddly angled hinge. It swung open easily, as though greased, and behind Mr. Leron found a telephone handset.
He practically tore the hook it hung on out of the wall in his blind panic to save himself. Sweat made his palm a suction cup against the receiver's plastic, just in case his white knuckle grip might suddenly give out. As he brought it to his ear and spoke, Mr. Leron's eyes darted around the elevator's ceiling, searching for the telltale seams television had told him would indicate the presence of an escape hatch. It was a smooth, metallic gold square. Mr. Leron's reflection huddled in it, too hazy to see the terror in his expression.
“Hello? Hello?!” With some effort, Mr. Leron asserted a small degree of control over himself. “Hello, is anyone there? I need...” He glanced at the dancing lights of the button panel. What did he need? He really wasn't sure what, if anything, was happening. For all he knew, the elevator could simply be taking him to his destination, and the theatrical buttons some artistic gimmick the buildings residents suffered through everyday in boredom and disdain.
The lights sped up to a rapidfire pace, the little “ding” of the bell becoming an uninterrupted high-pitched tone. Mr. Leron's lip quivered at the malignant sight. "I need help," he squeaked, horror-struck, into the receiver.
He had to cower, throwing his lanky arms up to protect himself when the overhead light exploded suddenly, sending a cascade of hot sparks to fall on him. Maybe he screamed; he was rapidly falling into such hysterics. It was hard to be sure what he might have heard with the cacophony of screeching metal filling the tiny space till his ears ached, but he was almost certain he heard a scream. The elevator car seemed to grind a halt, the button lights slowing before simply going out entirely, leaving Mr. Leron curled in a fetal ball on the floor of the little room in the dark. Somehow, it was worse.
"HellocanIhelpyou." There was an odd, electronic quality to the voice. Mr. Leron uncurled, slowly, and with some effort, to cast a gaze - futile in the dark - at the source of the hurried, impatient words: his right hand. He could feel the smooth plastic of the phone handset still in his grip.
"Hello. Hello? Is anyone there? HellocanIhelpyou?" The voice coming on the other end of the line sounded annoyed. Terror still rumbled just below his surface as Mr. Leron peeled the fingers of his right hand back off the receiver, shifting it into his left, and brought it to his ear.
"Hello?" He tried to say, but his voice was hoarse. He coughed, cleared his throat and spoke again. "Hello? I need some help?"
"YeshellohowcanIhelpyou," the well-practiced rapidity on the other end made Mr. Leron's mind reel for a moment as he reinterpreted the words at a normal speed.
"Hello?" he said. He stood up, trying to put himself in the mindframe of action. "I'm in the elevator? It went too fast, sped up. With me on board? And now it's... Stopped," he finished, weakly, not sure how else to describe it.
“Iapologizefortheinconvenience. Pleasebepatientwhileweevaluateyourconcerns,” and just like that, Mr. Leron was put on hold.
The tinny speaker of the handset blared light jazz, some vaguely familiar tune distorted in the conversion to inoffensive instrumental. Mr. Leron couldn't quite remember the words, but found it put a picture into his head of a lazy summer evening, watching the sun set into rolling waves with a blond girl who's smile made him very sad. The moment of nostalgia was impeded upon, however, by the low groan of cheap steel threatening to give way reverberating through the walls. He took the phone receiver away from his ear and tied to will himself as immobile as possible. Again the shuddering sound pulsed from all around him. He held his breath.
“AlrightsirweveresolvedyoursituationwasthereanythingelseIcanhelpyouwithtoday.” The sudden high-velocity outburst from the phone, bored as it's tone may have been, made Mr. Leron jump.
“Oh, good,” he said, “How soon can you get me out of here? The elevator's making the most... disconcerting noises. I'm not sure how much longer it's going to be safe.”
If he could take comfort in nothing else, Mr. Leron had at least broken the flow of the voice on the other end of the line, making it talk instead of simply sprouting off canned responses as giant, barely-comprehensible jumbles. “Imsorry...” it began, but broke off, before trying again in a far less certain tone. “You- you're in elevator three, correct?”
Mr. Leron couldn't keep a the measure of the relief he felt at actually being engaged as another human being rather than simply dealt with as a problem from his voice. “I- I'm not sure, I'm afraid. I'm in an elevator, certainly.”
“Well, my screen shows that your calling from elevator three...”
“Well, there you are then.” Then why do need me to tell you? Mr. Leron thought to himself, Get me out of here!
Confusion was evident in the voice. “My screen here shows elevator three is halted on the bottom floor with it's door open, currently.”
“So your screen is wrong,” Mr. Leron was starting to feel as though he was not being taken seriously.
“I don't think my screen is wrong,” came over the receiver, “Can you look around for-”
“No, I can't 'look' for anything,” Mr. Leron's interrupted, fear feeding his frustrations, “because the light exploded on me several minutes ago. Now get me out of here!”
His demand was met by a beat of silence. “Whatever you say.” The voice took on an air of self-satisfied mocking before the line went dead. At first, Mr. Leron assumed the voice had simply chosen to believe whatever screen it had spoken of, thinking him to be a liar, or pulling some prank. It was just as it was occurring to him that perhaps whoever it had been on the line had taken offense to the uncongenial attitude danger had brought out of him when a loud pop from overhead seemed to announce the elevator cable snapping.
He felt a strong pull dragging him ceiling-ward as the car plummeted. He held on to the waist-height railing, but the elevator began to rumble, as though putting up some last, useless resistance to the drop. His fingers began to slip over the polished metal. He fought to keep his feet pressed into the floor, but his velocity was building too quickly. His desperation turned on him, twisted into despair. At that speed, what good would it do to hold on to anything? He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and let go.
The sharp peal of a bell made his eyes open again, just as the elevator doors opened, flooding the space with a sudden brightness. He blinked away the spots in his eyes, and saw a wide hallway, with a glass door across the way. He bent and picked up his briefcase, dropped and forgotten when escape from the elevator had become more significant. Though that scare, as recently as it was, seemed insubstantial as Mr. Leron reasserted his composure and stepped out into the hall.
The elevator closed behind him with another bell, and he spun to see the doors just snapping shut. It occurred to him he still wasn't sure what floor he was on, and with no windows within his view, he had no real idea of even a
pproximately how high up he was.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Leron spun again to see a man standing in the doorway that faced the elevator, a closed sign in his hands. “May I help you?”
“I...” Mr. Leron wasn't sure where to begin. After all that had happened he wasn't sure of much anything at all. “I need... I need these papers signed...” he managed to mumble, indicating his briefcase. “Signed and certified by the Office of Interior Affairs...”
The man gave a nervous smile, no doubt apprehensive of Mr. Leron's shell-shocked demeanor. “Well, you've come to the right place.” He tried to put a friendly lilt to the words. Mr. Leron straightened his tie and ran his hands across his clothes to smooth out the wrinkles. “I was just about to close up early; not much happening today. But I'd be happy to take care of those for you. Won't take a moment.”
Mr. Leron thanked him, following the man from Interior Affairs inside the office. The wall opposite the door held a huge mirror that ran the room's length, stopping at the wainscoting. When he caught his reflection, Mr. Leron was shocked
Dreams: A Trio of Flash Fiction Tales Page 7