Mortal Desire

by Alexander Bryn

  I glanced at her and the doors closed. ‘Miss Flynn, which floor would you like to venture to today?’ I asked in my proficient elevator voice.

  She did not reply.

  I narrowed my eyes at her and breathed out, wondering what game she was playing at. She leaned over and pushed every floor button on the elevator. Unexpected. Careless on my part, again.

  ‘You are either making a point, or you feel uncomfortable with me and may need to escape at some time. Which is it Miss Flynn?’ I asked, disappointed that she had reacted to me this way.

  ‘Perhaps it is both Mr. O’Connell,’ she answered, and pierced my eyes with hers.

  ‘You are mad at me because I have offended you in some way, yes?’ I asked and raised my eyebrows at her.

  ‘Quite the opposite Mr. O’Connell! I could not sleep last night. I had a buzzing sensation that felt like energy bouncing around inside of me. I also kept getting a vision in my mind every time that I closed my eyes. So I painted it for you just to get it out of my head.’ Sarah turned the canvas around that she had been holding. I tried to stop my eyes from widening in shock but failed.

  Before me was an extraordinary painting. Before me, was the most fascinating captured view of something that she could never have laid her eyes upon. It was two ghostly pale hands wrapped around an illuminating azure blue ball with arcs of colour haphazardly thrown off from the centre of the energy mass. So, she had absorbed some of my blue energy last night, and this is how it affected her. It was like she could see beyond her own physical surroundings into another place in time.

  Interesting to say the very least ...

  ‘Miss Flynn, that is impressive, almost mesmerizing if I may say. The colour palette that you used is so vivid, yet so subtle. Where have you seen this before?’ I asked to quell my curiosity of whether she had in fact seen a blue energy mass at some time. I raised my chin slightly and looked into her eyes. I watched her pupils dilate as she looked at me.

  She started to shake her head, and then frowned. ‘Nowhere. I have never seen anything like this. My mind became obsessed with the image. And … and I felt that I was painting it for you ... so here it is.’ She held the canvas out to me to take from her.

  ‘Miss Flynn, you could sell this and get thousands of dollars for it. You have captured something powerful.’

  ‘No. I want you to have it. Think of it as a thank-you gift for saving me from the hands of Elliot McEwan the other night. When I look at you I see my ... hero.’

  ‘Ah … that would be the ‘halo effect’. It occurs when someone helps you out of a traumatic situation ... and is a perfectly normal reaction. Thank-you for the painting Sarah. Can I ask you to leave it with the information desk on the ground floor so that I can collect it when my shift finishes?’

  ‘Oh—yes of course,’ she answered, biting her bottom lip.

  Something else was bothering her. ‘Miss Flynn, is there anything else that I can help you with?’ I inquired in the voice of Henry O’Connell.

  She hesitated before she answered. ‘No. It is all good. I think I shall have to speak to Liam later. Ground floor please Mr. O’Connell,’ she requested after sounding cryptic.

  ‘Certainly Miss Flynn,’ I answered, overriding the other ten floors that we had not stopped at yet during our conversation. I redirected the elevator to the ground floor, where she exited with a spring in her step.

  Well, that could only be good for Elevator Thirteen’s reputation...

  The doors closed and I was summoned to the eighth floor. It was Mr. McEwan whom waited for Elevator Thirteen with his hands in his pockets, whistling. He stepped into my elevator and stood dead centre of the platform.

  ‘Good morning Mr. McEwan. Where are you headed to?’ I asked in an upbeat voice.

  ‘The viewing platform please, Henry.’

  I smiled at him and pushed button number thirty-nine. There was a palpable silence as I stood waiting for the inevitable question coming my way.

  ‘Henry … is that your real name Mr. O’Connell?’

  Not at home ... no ... ‘Yes, why do you ask Mr. McEwan?’

  ‘It is just that you are a dead ringer for someone I met a couple of nights ago.’

  ‘Under pleasant circumstances I would hope Mr. McEwan, but your body language tells me otherwise,’ I said in a non-threatening tone.

  ‘He left what I would call, a bitter taste in my mouth. I think I would like to meet him under different circumstances to see if he is still ... arrogant,’ Mr. McEwan added, and cleared his throat.

  ‘Hmmm … that sounds somewhat ominous Mr. McEwan. I am sure whatever happened will be forgiven and forgotten.’

  He looked into my eyes then, and I planted the seed for his need. He would return to me today before the end of business hours; of that I was absolutely certain.

  Soon after, the elevator stopped at the viewing deck. Elliot McEwan stepped out of the elevator and into the company of his cockamamie crew; there were five of them. I liked to call them the bad boys of the office. They invested their time in wild, ridiculous, pointless feats of self-indulgent self-serving gratifications, either as individuals, or as a group, often hurting innocents in the process. Then they would meet here on a regular basis and gloat about their deeds, offering each other encouragement in feats that erred on high risk.

  The elevator doors closed as their peals of laughter rang out, probably at the expense of an innocent. The elevator coasted down to ground level—the epicentre of the building. It was a busy day. I scoured the ground floor noting faces of people familiar and not.

  The elevator dukes passed glances of encouragement, with body language overflowing with confidence. And then my eyes landed upon a person sitting on the white sofa.

  He wore a black trilby hat, and the newspaper was open and held up to conceal his face. He wore a sterling silver signet ring depicting the Adinkra symbol Gye Nyame on his left hand, on the fourth finger. I lowered my head, narrowed my eyes and mind-linked with him.

  ‘Superiore del mattino per voi Albert.’

  He nodded, ever so slightly, to acknowledge my communication, and tapped his foot three times.

  His presence was a bad sign. He knew something that I did not. He was my Protector. He had come to protect me from something, or someone. Adrenalin spiked in my body, awakening my mind so that it was on high alert.

  The elevator doors closed at the press of the button on the thirty-ninth floor. I was returning to the viewing platform already. Mr. McEwan stepped inside and positioned himself directly in the middle of the elevator pod again, and looked to the numbers above the doors.

  ‘Welcome again Mr. McEwan. The eighth floor?’ I asked, and looked directly into his blood shot blue eyes. Did he drink something, or smoke something perhaps?

  He blinked and nodded, emanating a low mood.

  ‘You do not enjoy riding in elevators do you Mr. McEwan?’ I noted.

  His head turned towards me, his eyes questioning.

  ‘Whenever you enter my elevator car you stand directly in the centre of the floor—the safest place to be,’ I added.

  He remained silent, unresponsive.

  ‘Where is Miss Flynn lately Mr. McEwan? I hope that she is well and has not come down with something. She was always so eager to see you, to be in your company. Her eyes would light up whenever she saw you. I am pretty sure that she was smitten with you actually.’ I smiled at him and shook my head.

  Mr. McEwan ran his hand through his hair before he cupped his hands over his face. I had hit a raw nerve—planted perfectly to enter into his subconscious to bring his wrong doings to the surface.

  ‘Henry, I think I have done something terribly wrong. Yesterday morning, Sarah delivered a restraining order to me. But I don’t know what I have done to upset her!’ His hand shook as he handed the restraining order papers to me to look at. His face was doleful and his voice taut.

  I frowned as I looked at the papers. ‘Did you go out with her the night before Mr. McEwan?�
� I asked, and handed the papers back to him. I stopped the elevator car from descending to the eighth floor.

  ‘Yes. She was with me at a bar. I was drunk Henry, legless. I can’t remember much about the night at all. And what I do remember is sketchy to say the least, except I am sure that you were there—but your eyes were a different … colour. And, you acted differently.’

  ‘Mr. McEwan, you are well aware that alcohol will impede with recollection of memory, and may even change details of what you thought that you saw, your brain making up things to connect the missing pieces. Where do you think you saw me?’ I asked, curious as to how much he did remember of that night.

  ‘In an alleyway, threatening me,’ he responded.

  ‘What were you doing in an alleyway?’

  ‘That’s the thing. I have no idea!’ He placed his hands over his reddened face, and a quiet sob escaped from his chest. ‘I can’t remember some parts of the night. It comes up blank when I try to piece it together. I worry that I might have hurt Sarah—but I just can’t remember!’ He looked up to the ceiling of the elevator and clenched his jaw. ‘But I must have done something, for her to give me this,’ he spat, holding out the restraining order with a hand tremor. ‘And now it is on my record. I need to know what I did before I lose my mind over it. I have already started drinking more to take away the worry.’

  He shoved the restraining order back into his pocket and then kicked the elevator wall, making the car wobble on its cables.

  ‘Mr. McEwan, I know a man who can help you with something called Recovered Memory Therapy. He is—’

  ‘I want to have sex with her. But I just. Can’t. Get. Her. To do it with me. I mean, I would just look at her and really want her ... so badly. Even now, just thinking about her I feel …’ He squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his face to the ceiling of the elevator, grunted, and ran his hand through his hair. ‘You feel it too when you see her Henry, don’t you? She has this thing about her that you think that being intimate with her would be like ... beyond ecstasy. Right now I want to get out of this elevator, go and track her down and pin her to the ground and fu—’ He froze, fell to his knees and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

  ‘Help me Henry ... help me ... ’ He was shaking, weakened at the realization of what he just said.

  Lust ... mother had talked about it ...

  I removed my glove and placed my hand on his shoulder. ‘I can help you Elliot. I can help you right now if you wish,’ I said. I drove my amnis through his clothing to his skin to enter his electrical system, calming him and opening his mind to my guidance.

  He nodded his head, and I entered floor thirteen into the elevator buttons.

  Mr. Milani, another interesting case for you to satisfy your desires... Mr. Bellini, juiciness supreme - you will be satisfied with this one..

  Mr. Milani was sitting behind his desk when I knocked on his partially opened office door. He looked at sealed containers, and attached a microchip to them. He opened a wall safe, placed the containers inside, closed it, and placed a picture back over the area to conceal the location of the safe.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Come in,’ he called in a modulated voice. The moment he caught sight of me his face lit up in affection. ‘Mr. O’Connell, for what do I owe this pleasure?’ he asked, knowing very well that I had a special delivery for him.

  ‘Mr. Milani, I would like to introduce Mr. Elliot McEwan to you. He is going through a difficult time at the moment, and I suggested to him that you may be able to help him,’ I informed. I watched Elliot Collin’s face and body language as I spoke to gauge his reception to Mr. Milani.

  At once Mr. Milani reached forward and took Mr. Collin’s hands in his own. ‘You are very welcome here Mr. McEwan. My ears, eyes and heart are open to help you on your quest. Please take a seat. And Mr. O’Connell, can I get you a cup of tea or coffee if you are going to wait?’

  ‘Thank-you but no, Mr. Milani. I must get back to work. Perhaps another time I will be able to share coffee with you,’ I replied. I nodded my head, indicating that I understood the cue to leave. I proffered my hand to Mr. McEwan. ‘I wish you all the best Mr. McEwan. I will be back to pick you up once you have finished with Mr. Milani. You are in very good hands here.’

  As I walked through to the reception desks, the smell of alcohol wafted out of Mr. Bellini’s office. I continued on my way to my elevator, where I headed down to ground floor again.

  Albert still sat there, in his fine black hat, polished black shoes, black and white newspaper, legs crossed.

  I smiled to myself as I saw him waiting there with the patience of a saint. He obviously did not know the precise time that something was going to happen because then he would have turned up just prior to the event in question.

  He tapped his foot three times on the polished marble floor again.

  ‘Godere guardandolo lavorare Albert?’ I mind communicated with him.

  He lowered his paper and looked at me straight in the eye—deadpan. Obviously he was not enjoying watching me work!

  I lowered my head and chuckled to myself before the doors closed, and I was transported to the seventh floor as my destiny.

  Mr. Wilson entered Elevator Thirteen as soon as the doors opened. He closed my doors and held its position outside of the seventh floor.

  ‘Good day Mr. Wilson,’ I said and nodded my head in polite respect to my boss.

  ‘Mr. O’Connell. It has come to the Elevator Operation Department’s attention that you have stopped Elevator Thirteen mid-travels on quite a few occasions as of late. Is there a problem that we need to be aware of?’ he asked and raised both eyebrows at me.

  It was a question that contained a double meaning. Underneath the kind words of concern he was in fact conveying to me that the department was watching my movements.

  ‘No sir, there is no problem. My number one priority is to keep residents and clients happy. I like to stop the elevator if they are in need of a deeper conversation where I can help them, if at all possible. Our people are our business,’ I explained in a professional manner, attempting to sound genuine in a persuasive manner.

  Mr. Wilson narrowed his eyes at me and studied my face. He paused uncomfortably before he replied. ‘Very well Mr. O’Connell. You are correct. Our people are our business. Thank-you.’

  He released the elevator doors, stepped out and vanished into his office.

  Satisfied that I had held my own, I closed the doors and descended to the ground floor again.

  I did not expect to see Albert standing by the vast glass window when the doors opened. He tapped his feet three times then stopped, three times then stopped, three times then turned to face me. His walk was slow but determined when he made his way towards Elevator Thirteen. He stood to the side and looked at his watch before his eyes averted to the left to the three men that had entered the foyer.

  The three immortals…

  Tap, tap, tap. The staccato of Albert’s shoe sounded on the marble floor.

  I responded with my own three shoe taps, clenched my fists and stiffened my back, waiting for the inevitable to occur.

  So this was the reason that Albert came to my place of work today.

  The three immortals stared straight at me; their eyes pinned to mine when they approached in a slow fluent motion. They nodded once and entered the elevator.

  Albert followed them in. He kept his eyes hooded after looking me in the eye as he brushed past me.

  They stood, leaning against the handrail opposite me. Albert was to my right, like a referee of a game. Except … this was no game.

  ‘Good morning sirs. Which floor can I take you to?’ I asked in a civil voice and pulled my blue energy inside of me as Albert had taught me to do. By the subtle position of Albert’s lips, he had done the same.

  ‘We hear that the viewing platform is quite spectacular … Henry,’ spoke the middle immortal focusing his eyes on my name badge.

  ‘Yes, quite,’ I answered. I looked
at them through my honey-brown contact lenses that would offer me protection in the short term. I pressed number thirty-nine, and the doors closed to allow our ascent up to the floor with the panoramic view of the city.

  ‘And you sir,’ I turned to Albert. ‘Which floor is it that you would like to pursue?’

  ‘Thirty-nine also. It appears that it is a popular destination today!’ he responded.

  The immortal on Albert’s right turned to him, lowered his head and looked into Albert’s eyes. He tapped the hand of the middle immortal who also turned, and so it spread to the third immortal.

  Essentially, their attention had been taken away from me and was now directed at Albert. My Protector. My Guide. My friend. My confidante. I loved him as my own father.

  I shifted awkwardly onto my other foot as the silence in the elevator became foreboding. Danger was lurking, and negative energies collided in an aggressive manner in the concealed space.

  I looked from Albert to the three immortals and back again, waiting for an attack of some sort.

  ‘Did your mothers never tell you not to stare boys? It is just simply plainly rude!’ Albert blasted an unexpected verbal assault on them.

  At once they retracted their attention from him.

  ‘And, if you are going to enjoy the view, I suggest you change your attitude, open your mind and appreciate what you will see. You act as if life is a curse and not a blessing! Do you not realize how many people would love to be able to walk, talk and breathe as easily as you do!’

  The three immortals remained silent, but returned their gaze to the ugly old man who rode the elevator car with them.

  Albert stood with his eyes closed and a disgusted look upon his face, feigning that his feelings had been deeply hurt. They could not see his immortality so easily now.

  I chuckled to myself. I was watching the master at work. He was good—very good.