by Madelyn Alt
“A legend in his own mind, that man. ”
The voice again. I really wished it would stop that.
I decided then and there that just as soon as I had a quiet moment, my Guides and I were going to have a long chat about the unfairness of giving the voice of my conscience the chiding tones of my dead grandmother. I had been putting up with it for quite a while now, but enough was enough. It just wasn’t right. What if I had an attack of conscience when Marcus and I were... when we ... well, you know. What then?
But that was for later. Right now, top billing went to Grandpa G. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Grandpa G, what are you doing down here? Mom’s going nuts over, well, just about everything right now, and you decide to disappear, too?”
He just waved at me with one gnarled hand toughened by a lifetime of hard work. “Aw, you know your mom. She’s just bent out of shape because she ain’t in control of anything at the moment and has to wait until things sort themselves out before she can dig her meat hooks in again. And as for me, a man’s gotta do his own thing every once in a while. Ain’t that right, young man?” he said, prodding Marcus with that one-for-all-and-all-for-one attitude that had kept men sticking together for millennium against whatever woman stood against them.
I was neither with him nor against him in this case. I just didn’t want to be the next “to do” on my mother’s checklist.
“Come on, Grandpa. Back to the salt mines. I promise, I’ll try to keep you away from Mom’s whip cracking as much as possible.”
Grandpa G waved sadly to the young women, who had been watching our exchange with amusement, as I kept my hand on his thin shoulder to prevent another quick getaway. “See ya later, chickies. Don’t be strangers, now. Any time you need a few pointers on gardening, you come see me. I’ll set you straight.”
“Gardening, huh?” I asked with a snort as I waited for him to pull around once the student nurses had headed for the elevators. “They’re a little young for you, Gramps, don’t you think?”
“No one’s too young for a little gardening,” he insisted, trying to pull off the innocent look... but I knew better.
“Uh-huh.”
Grandpa G leaned back to gaze up at Marcus, who had been standing by the whole time, trying not to grin. “She talk to you this way?”
Marcus held up his hands and laughed. “I’m not getting into the middle of things, sir.”
Grandpa G’s mouth pursed sourly. “Coward. That means she’s got you on a string.” He sighed. “They all do that.”
My cell phone buzzed—I had set it to vibrate, just in case my mom decided to harangue and harass. I was actually surprised she’d lasted this long.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Did you find him?”
“Yes, he’s right here. We found him at the cafeteria. He had a case of the munchies,” I fibbed. No sense in getting Grandpa G in more trouble than he already was.
“Hm. So he didn’t notice the vending machines right here in the waiting room, is that what you’re telling me?”
Oops. “I think he wanted something hot.” Well, that much was the truth. So to speak.
“Oh. Well, tell him he can have soup, but only if it’s low sodium.”
Had my “something hot” actually worked? Wow, normally she was much faster on the draw. I must have underestimated her worry for Mel. I almost felt guilty for that—maybe I should be worried more, too. “Gotcha. Listen, Mom, don’t worry,” I told her. “Grandpa’s okay, and Mel’s going to be fine. Any more news?”
“No, nothing yet.” If I didn’t know her as well as I did, I would have heard only the calm in her voice. But my mother was rarely this drama free. To me that meant her worry had graduated into real fear. When it came to my mother, quieter was not necessarily better.
“Well, don’t worry. Mel’s good—I know it.” And I did. Somehow I knew, deep inside me, that all was going to be fine. More than fine. But I also knew Mom wouldn’t listen to me, no matter what I said. “Have you and Dad eaten anything?”
“Hm? Oh. Well, no, I guess we didn’t. We came straight here when Mel and Greg called to let us know they were on the way in and to come as soon as we could.”
I glanced over to where the cafeteria workers were wiping down the area and clearing equipment. “Let me see if I can get you something from down here. They’re cleaning up, but maybe they can scrounge something together.”
Hanging up with Mom, I turned to Marcus and Grandpa. “Why don’t the two of you head on up? I have to get Grandpa his soup, and Mom and Dad could use a little something, too.”
“I’m not hungry,” Grandpa G told me, a petulant scowl pinching his grizzled brow and mouth.
“Well, you’re getting soup and you’re going to like it, too,” I told him right back, “since I had to cover for you with Mom.”
“I’ve covered for you many a time, girly, and don’t you be forgettin’ it.”
“Come on, Grandpa G,” Marcus interrupted, not even trying to hide his smile. “Let’s get you back upstairs.”
Marcus stood aside for Grandpa G, but I could tell he wasn’t about to let him out of his sight. Not with a meltdown from my mother threatening if my grandfather flew the coop again. The two of them headed for the hall, amiably trading jokes, while I made my way to the long cafeteria counters. It took a while to attract the attention of one of the uniformed, hairnet-sporting ladies who were in the kitchens, scrubbing lazily at the stainless steel appliances and counters and calling back and forth to each other. One of them took pity on me after hearing my explanatory tale of the baby wait and crazy family antics—“because I had a grandfather just as mischievous as yours, and I wish he was still around to make me crazy,” she told me as she dished up still-warm tomato soup into two foam cups. I knew Grandpa would fuss about it being plain tomato, but beggars cannot be choosers... especially those who force their poor, overworked granddaughters to shield them from the all-seeing eye devoted to keeping said beggar on the straight and narrow. My dad, I suspected, would appreciate more hearty fixin’s, so I opted for the last bits of a steak and snow pea stir-fry that had been mashed unattractively but I’m certain still tastily into a generous helping of yellow rice. Marcus and I hadn’t eaten yet, either, but I was holding on to hopes of forgoing hospital cafeteria food completely once Mel got her show on the road, and making up for it with the tasty evening Marcus had been planning for the two of us back at his place.
But just in case, I grabbed two bags of chips (healthy, I know) and juggled with my purse as I tried to pay the lady. She looked around over her shoulder, then leaned over the counter and whispered to me, “I’d have to reopen the cash register, and it’s already been counted. Just take it, hon, with my blessings.”
She held out the cups of soup. Her gaze dropped to where I already held a cell phone and the cup of coffee I had carried with me throughout my search for Grandpa G.
“Oh, that won’t do. Hold on a sec,” she said, and disappeared back to the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a big paper bag, into which she deposited all three foam containers, the chips, several napkins, the ubiquitous plastic cutlery, and a huge handful of shrink-wrapped soda crackers for the soup. Folding the top over neatly, she slid it across the counter to me. “At least this way you’ll get to where you’re going without mishap,” she said with a wink.
I was starting to see her as my very own Earth Angel of the evening... hairnet and all.
“You know my niece, don’t you?”
I looked at her more closely. Suddenly the round, shiny, freckled face that had seemed familiar made more sense. “Oh my goodness. You don’t mean Annie, do you?”
She giggled, delighted that I’d caught the resemblance. “Yup, my favorite niece. I thought I recognized you. I was there at the café helping out in the kitchen one day when you popped in. I sure am proud of her and what she’s done with the place.” She glanced down suddenly, as though embarrassed. “Well, good luck with that new baby. Hope every
thing goes okay for your sister.” She waved at me as she disappeared back into the kitchen.
Fumbling with the lot of it, I started to follow Marcus and Grandpa. But then I remembered that there was another smaller set of elevators just behind the cafeteria that was used most often by hospital staff. If I hurried, I might be able to head the two of them off at the pass. I switched directions and walked that way instead.
Goodness, it was quiet now. At this time of the evening, activity in the hospital really started to wind down. Patients were medded up and tucked into their beds, their doors closed and TVs turned on to their visual anesthesia of choice. The various delivery carts and patient gurneys were fewer and farther between. Nurses huddled around the center stations on every floor, catching up on paperwork and trading both gossip and information about potential patient issues. The low drone of relative inactivity should have been restful... but I disliked hospitals. I don’t know how Steff handled working here, day after day. I had actually tried a stint as an after-hours candy striper way back in my high school days. “Tried” being the operative word. I lasted a whole two days, the second only because my mother and grandmother made me go back... although after the second day, which I spent hiding out in the ladies’ bathroom in full meltdown mode, even they agreed that perhaps the medical field wasn’t going to be my calling. The relief I felt when they gave up on the idea so quickly was monumental. I never, ever told them the real reason for my anxiety attack. Funny—I’d almost forgotten it myself. Had I stuffed it that far back into the little-used corners of my memory banks? I’d been to the hospital since then, of course, with the births of my nieces, with Grandpa’s health issues, my mother’s hysterectomy... but never alone.
Never alone, at night, in the darkened corridors, with all those... well, at the time, I didn’t know what to call it. What to think. I only know what I felt as I walked the long halls that looked empty... but somehow, weren’t. I knew they weren’t. I knew, even though I couldn’t see anything... and somehow that made everything worse. Hence the bathroom as hideout. For some reason it was the only place that felt safe. Strange, but true.
It did make me wonder: How much do we experience as children and teenagers that we conveniently “forget”?
Standing there with my hands full, waiting for an elevator to arrive at my level, I realized with a shock just then how very alone I was at that moment. Crap-a-doodle-doo. I looked back over my shoulder. The main part of the cafeteria looked very far away now, farther than it was in actuality, and the few lights left on here and there for security’s sake didn’t do much to dispel the pooling shadows. Beyond the windows, darkness pressed in against the glass. Everyone had gone back to their workstations, leaving me pretty much on my own here. And the elevators were not cooperating.
Come on, I thought impatiently and not a little nervously as I watched the arrival light above the closed metal doors, waiting for the ding.
Don’t be ridiculous, Margaret, You’re scaring yourself silly. Look around you, Do you see anything you need to be worrying about?
At least this time Grandma C’s observation came as a thought in my head, the way it usually did, rather than a voice in my ear. Maybe that was a sign that the problem was only temporary.
And no, I didn’t see anything. I probably was scaring myself, without reason. Whatever I used to feel here in the hospital, it didn’t mean that the presences that had scared me back then were still there. Er, here.
Still, I wished I hadn’t sent Marcus off ahead of me with Grandpa G. At least with Marcus I felt like I could handle whatever spirit-y stuff came my way.
Spirit, schmirit. A woman’s strength comes from within, Best to come to terms with that now, my girl, while there’s still time.
It was a good point, to be fair. But how did a girl truly come to terms with something that she has gone through her whole life believing was either (a) her imagination run amok, (b) nerves, (c) hormones, or (d) sheer coincidence? It required a major shift in thinking. In even existing, because suddenly, all the rules changed.
Hey, wait a minute. While there was still time for what? How was I supposed to come to terms with anything with threats like that hanging over my head?
Finally, the elevator doors whisked open in front of me, exposing the utilitarian carpeting, faux wood paneling, fluorescent lighting, and the usual assortment of previously cleaned stains, spills, and smudges typical of a service elevator. I stepped inside, then as the doors closed behind me, I shifted my purse and carefully adjusted the goodie-filled paper bag until I could press the correct button with my knuckle. A hum of machinery preceded the usual shift of equilibrium, and the elevator began to rise, sloooooowly . I closed my eyes. Elevators had never been my favorite ride of choice, but it sure beat having to take an endless number of stairs. Even with all of the stray energies hanging around. If I didn’t have my hands full, I’d reach into my purse for the mini atomizer of sage-rosemary-lemongrass infusion I kept around for quickie energy-clearing purposes. Liss had turned me on to the protective infusion sprays just last week when I told her that burning sage messed with my allergies as much as stray cigarette smoke... and I loved the sprays. They were easy to use, they smelled great, and most important, they worked just as well as a smoldering bundle of white sage in banishing the negative energies loitering around a domicile. Not to mention, the addition of lemongrass helped to refill the empty space with more positive vibes. Loved. It.
Unfortunately, there was no way I could reach it, much as I’d love to freshen up the space. I was just going to have to try to keep the yuck—both physical, by the looks of this elevator, and astral—from getting to me. Shields uhhhh—
The elevator... it wasn’t moving.
Um, why wasn’t the elevator moving?
I frowned, nervously looking around me. Nope, I wasn’t imagining things. It wasn’t just that the elevator was moving so slowly that I couldn’t feel its progress. It had stopped altogether. I glanced up at the digital number display. The screen where the floor number should show was blank. Well, that wasn’t good. Murphy’s Law strikes again? Or maybe Mercury Retrograde. I seemed to remember Liss mentioning something about Mercury being retrograde in its orbit within the last few weeks. That was bound to wreak havoc with electrical systems, and elevators certainly qualified. Why hadn’t I paid more attention? It couldn’t be a power outage—the lights were still on. Something mechanical? Oh, but wouldn’t there have been a clunk or something, indicating a problem?
What’s a girl to do when she’s stuck in an elevator that’s not moving? I tried to remember everything about elevators from all the movies I had ever seen. Not a good idea—most of the scenes I remembered involved something bad happening to the person inside said little box suspended ever so precariously from wires and pulleys. Still, as someone who didn’t make a habit of riding elevators, I had little real-life experience to call upon; the movies were my only hope.
Step One: Call for help. And when it came to a knight in shining armor, only one person came to mind.
I put the bag of goodies down on the floor between my feet and dug through my purse for my cell phone, trying not to let the closed-in feeling of the elevator get to me. It was at that precise moment that the unthinkable happened.
The lights...
They flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And then blinked out entirely.
Oh. Holy. Jesus.
There was nothing like being alone in a small, confined space completely devoid of even the faintest glimmer of light to make a girl realize how isolated and vulnerable she really was. The reality of my situation hit home. If it wasn’t for my cell phone and the comforting glow it gave off, I might just have become a slobbering, raving puddle of goo, right then and there. Thankfully, I had just charged it at the store that afternoon.
With shaking fingers and eyes partially blinded by the brightness of the screen, the one thing standing between me and temporary insanity, I found Ma
rcus in my list and clicked Send.
“Hey, you,” he said through the phone speaker. “I thought we’d lost you.”
I could have sagged with relief at the wonderfully reassuring sound of his voice... or, I could have if I didn’t already question the number of germs I would be exposed to on the worn carpet. “Marcus, what’s going on out there?”
He must have heard the uncertainty in my voice, because his energy shifted and became still, the change discernible even over the airwaves. “What do you mean, out there? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I couldn’t hold back a shaky laugh; it just shuddered out of me. “Well, I thought being stuck in an elevator was bad enough, but I have to admit, the power failure really topped it.”
“Stuck in a ... Wait, what power failure?”
Was it my imagination, or were the shadows shifting around me?
Distracted but hoping for the best, I threw up my shields and contracted them into a tight, tight mesh. “What do you mean, ‘what power failure’?” I answered with an echo of my own, a little low on the patience meter. “Are you telling me you have lights out there?”
“They haven’t even blinked. Where are you?”
“In an elevator. Didn’t I just say that?” Steady, girl, No need to panic.
“Okay, okay. No worries, you hear me?” He paused, and I could hear a note of humor creep into his voice. “I, uh, would say don’t move, but I don’t guess that’s going to be a problem.”
I laughed in spite of myself, covering my mouth with my hand before the laugh could turn into a gibber of fear. Before I thought to clarify that I was using the rear set of elevators and not the main bank out front, Marcus had clicked off. I redialed his number, but instead of Marcus I received that singularly infuriating canned message that my call could not be completed at this time. Ah, well. There couldn’t be that many elevators malfunctioning. It should be fairly obvious. Just a matter of time.
Right?
What I needed was a distraction.