The elevator looked empty, the gloom finally pierced by the light of the hallway. Adam whirled around, kicking his legs against the same floor he lay on, a terror-stricken parody of a breakdancer. The fluorescents above him thrummed in time with the surge in his veins. Their light revealed nothing in the hallways which met before the elevator. Adam folded one of his legs beneath him, and paused to study himself and steady his breathing.
The object that had been his liberator was similar in appearance to a paint scraper. The fitted silicone handle broke into a flat metal head that was spread out into a T. The handle and rubber blade were both smeared with blood. Adam looked down at the torn middle finger on his right hand. Blood dripped continuously from a deep cut on the outside of his fingernail. He slipped the fingertip into his mouth; while the wound hardly hurt, the feeling of the hot blood against his skin was too eerie for his comfort. Finding that the taste of the blood was no better, Adam opted instead to wrap the finger in the tail of his untucked shirt.
He laid gasping for a moment on the floor of the Tower, slightly delirious but focused on collecting himself. A rough hand grasped his shoulder from above.
Chapter Eleven
Adam whirled his head around. Detective Caputo loomed above him, gun drawn and lowered toward Adam.
Adam froze, his panic-boiled blood freezing instantly at the sight of the merciless black plastic. Caputo was here, waiting for him. Maybe he had been the one to trap him in there. He opened his mouth to scream when Caputo’s gruff, commanding voice broke the silence.
“You alright there, Adam?” Adam swallowed his scream for the time being. He nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the gun.
Caputo leaned over and grasped him firmly under the armpit. He hoisted Adam to his feet in a smooth motion without so much as a grunt. Caputo replaced the firearm in the shoulder holster beneath the cheap suit jacket he wore.
“Elevator get stuck?” He gestured to the doors where Adam had emerged. Adam placed a hand against the wall to steady himself. The feeling of the adrenaline vacating his body was leaving him in an inhuman state of exhaustion. He needed rest, and soon.
“Yeah. Phone went out too.”
“Maybe take a moment to breathe... Kind of a lot to go through.”
Adam was taking that advice to heart, gulping the fresh air. The experience was still too fresh on his mind to look back on without discomfort. Adam had to force himself to shift through the pieces: the sudden stop of the elevator, the disconnection of the phone, the sheer feeling of wrongness that had invaded his psyche. They threw him into a panic of a rare intensity. But even that was as a pale and fleeting shadow next to the breathing. He hadn’t been alone in there; he was as certain of that as he was of anything. There had been someone or something in there with him.
“Jesus, you really look done in.” Caputo started, his eyes flicking over Adam’s face. “Let me buy you a drink, work through it.”
The offer was made with enough warmth, that was true. But Caputo was a detective. A cop. Adam knew he couldn’t tell him what he suspected– not if he wanted to stay on the right side of the local loony bin– and Caputo had already proven he couldn’t be trusted, down in the bar.
“No, thanks though. It might just be time to turn in.” A dark thought crossed Adam’s mind. “I thought you left.” Caputo shifted his weight and glanced around awkwardly. The electric lights glinted off the surface of his balding head in shifting pale yellow shimmers.
“I was coming back up for you, actually. Warn you off that bartender they’ve got here.”
He was talking about the bellhop, of course. Adam couldn’t blame him. The sight of that creature alone was enough the curl anyone’s hair.
“I trust my gut, in my line of work. It’s gotten to the point, after all these years, where it doesn’t ever steer me wrong. And let me tell you, that fella is one to steer the hell away from.” Adam nodded, slowly, with his stiff neck.
“Major creep.” He agreed. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need a cop’s gut to know that.”
Caputo drew himself up to his full height, and bid Adam a farewell, shaking his hand. The two then proceeded to the stairs together awkwardly, having already said their goodbyes. Caputo started down, and Adam started up, each bidding each other a silent nod by way of a secondary goodbye.
Adam stalked up the stairs slowly, with long silences between each of his footfalls. He struggled to fit the key into the door of his room, fear-weary as he was. When the door finally swung open, Adam took a few steps in and collapsed onto the bed without bothering to do more than kick off his shoes and loosen his tie. He lay there, face-down on top of the covers, and sleep stole quickly upon his exhausted form.
♖♖♖
“What do you mean? He came into my room, he attacked me. Look, Francis, this guy is crazy. Like batshit. You didn’t see his eyes, man, it was like something on a cartoon. You gotta tell him.”
Francis sat calmly behind his desk, shuffling through a stack of manila folders. Every so often he would open one, glance over it, and begin scribbling in short, fierce strokes. He resolutely ignored his impertinent visitor, focusing instead on the files illuminated by a low desk lamp. Night had fallen over Slendervale, normally his favorite spot to view the lights of the city below, but tonight his attention was preoccupied with other matters.
“Hey man, I’m trying here, I really am. You said if I played it out exactly, it would be cool. Then this dude shows up and you told me not to worry. Well now I’m worried.”
Francis adjusted the small, gold-rimmed spectacles that had slid down his nose. His attention remained on the paperwork in front of him. He clicked his tongue over a particular form and shook his head. Then, scribbling something in the margins, he set the folder aside, separate from the rest.
“You gotta do something. I’m not safe. That guy is an animal.”
Varro continued his ramblings for some time. When it became clear that there was no end in sight, Francis finally turned his gaze on the man. Sighing, he removed the spectacles from his nose and held them aloft, commanding Varro to stop by way of his extended index finger.
“And, then, he had this pen, right? But he was going to tear out my eye or something, I swear.” Varro rambled on without notice of the finger. Francis scowled disapprovingly.
“That’s enough.”
“Is it?” Varro challenged, flicking his lustrous hair out of his eyes. “Because I’m thinking we need to do something.”
Francis extended his index finger at Varro menacingly. Varro finally fell silent. That accomplished, Francis steepled his fingers, glaring over them at the model. The young man stood rather modern in his old-world office. Something about this mixture of old and new was abhorrent to Francis. The blaze from is emerald eyes became so fierce that the heat was palpable.
“The only thing you seem to be saying,” Francis began, in a stern, deep tone, “is that you’ve already had this conversation. Twice before.” He punctuated the last two words with jabs from his finger.
Varro didn’t speak.
“And yet, you are insisting that you come here and waste all the more of my time.” The way he drew out the last word sent a shiver down Varro’s spine. He twisted involuntarily at the words. He looked longingly toward the door, clearly doubting this course of action.
“Sorry,” Varro began, with a great deal more humility than he had before. “I know... That guy is crazy though. I think he’s gonna kill me.”
Francis leaned back in his chair, still staring at Varro steadily.
“Adam scared you. Scared you more than I do.” His tone was sympathetic, but the hard glint behind his eyes remained.
“The dude’s crazy. Certifiable.” Varro stated cautiously.
“The dude,” Francis began scathingly, “works for me now. He is mine, understand?” Varro was almost at a loss for words.
“Cool. I mean, good. So you could like, talk to him, or whatever.” He raised his palms in apology and petition.<
br />
Francis stood up from his desk abruptly, the scraping of the chair on the floor causing Varro to jump. It toppled behind Francis with a crash. Francis loomed over the desk, and it seemed to Varro that the shadows began to condense around them.
“No, Varro. You misunderstand me. Adam is now a valuable member of the Tower.” Varro blinked, and suddenly the desk was no longer between them. Francis stood over him, staring into him with those eerie green eyes. “If Adam so much as hints that he wants your head, I’ll see to it that he gets it.”
“B-B-But I only did what you asked,” Varro stuttered. Francis nodded, so close that Varro could feel the heat from his breath.
“You know, we are never truly as valuable as we all think we are. Not to our families or to our lovers, and certainly not to those above us. No one is irreplaceable. Certainly not you, Varro. Now, I need someone to do some work, but since you seem to be more afraid of Adam than you are of me... Well, I really don’t see what use you are to anyone, anymore.” Varro dropped to his knees.
“No, Francis, I’ll do it. I’ll stay away from him, that’s all. I’ll do whatever you say.”
Francis smiled a secret, enigmatic smile.
♖♖♖
Adam came to consciousness with a groggy moan. The phone was ringing. He cursed into the soft duvet below him. The damned thing continued to ring. Muttering to himself, he swung his feet off the bed and answered the phone.
“Adam Church,” He said by way of greeting, his voice choked by sleep.
“Adam,” The voice was warm, with the false sincerity of the cheerleaders Adam remembered from high school. “Friends of Francis are certainly not expected to keep the standard hours, but I was wondering when we could count on you to join us.”
“Alisha, I’m so sorry,” Adam stood, rubbing his face with his hand. “I must have forgotten to set an alarm. I’ll be right down.”
“Oh, don’t sweat it too much. You’ve hardly missed a thing. Meet me in half an hour, in Francis’ office. It seems he has something special planned for us.” Her voice made Adam recoil, it was so positive. It was like cake that was too sweet, and had a similar effect on his stomach.
“Yeah,” Adam replied, still groggy. The clock showed that it was nearly half past ten. “Sure. I’ll meet you up there.”
The phone went dead without even so much as a goodbye. Adam shook his head vigorously, trying to clear the cobwebs. He would need his wits about him for the day ahead. Alisha had neglected to tell him anything about what he would be doing, Adam realized. Not only that, but he still had no earthly idea what he was supposed to be doing for Francis anyway.
Adam readied the small, half-pot coffee maker that was on the desk in his room. While it brewed, he looked through the closet. He didn’t have enough time to shower, but he could certainly try to look somewhat presentable. The suits and shirts that he had unpacked hung unmoving in the closet. He selected for himself a pale yellow shirt with white cuffs and collar to pair with a solid blue suit.
The smell of warm coffee permeating the air was nearly enough to wake Adam up on its own. He poured himself a cup as he browsed the selection of ties he had stashed in his suitcase. He needed something dashing, authoritative. Normally Susan would have been the one to pick out a tie for him on a day like this. Hell, normally Susan would have been the one to pick out everything. Adam felt a pang of memory as he selected a blue and gold striped tie of medium width.
He tied it deftly, inspecting the knot in the mirror. It would have to do. Adam glanced back over Susan’s notebook, sipping at his breakfast. It hadn’t revealed any other secrets to him. He cringed when he once again saw the page with Varro’s name penned in that foreign hand.
Replacing the mug with a glance at his watch, Adam hurried to don his personal effects and strode out through the door. It was no surprise that the hallway was empty. Adam wondered how busy the Tower was during the busy seasons as he strode toward the elevator.
The elevator. That gave him pause.
Adam had forgotten to ask Alisha about it; in fact, he had forgotten all about it during his overly long rest. The stainless steel doors sat unmoving at the end of the straight hallway. It taunted him with its motionlessness. The patterned floor stretched toward it, and the lights overhead shone steadily. The air was still, breathless, and innocent enough.
As he moved closer, Adam surveyed his surroundings with no shortage of caution. The door to the stairs was just to the right of the elevator. Adam glanced back and forth between the two of them apprehensively. There was no sign, literal or otherwise, indicating that the elevator was still out of service, but Adam was nervous about it nonetheless.
He pondered the possibilities briefly. There had to be another elevator, he knew. The Tower was home to thirty floors and countless denizens. Surely they couldn’t all rely on a single elevator? But Adam had only ever taken this one, and it was the only one he had seen from the lobby. The thought of aimlessly wandering around the hotel searching for another way up didn’t appeal to him at all.
The elevator stood tall in front of him, and Adam’s deliberation came to a standstill. The doors to his right would take him up nearly twenty-five floors’ worth of steps. Adam did not relish the idea of arriving at Francis’ office already exhausted from the climb. The idea of being stuck again was also not particularly appealing. Adam stood there, frozen in deliberation as the seconds ticked by.
He was shocked out of his revelry when the elevator chimed and the doors opened before him. Lily stepped out, swaying in that weird dance of hers. She was humming a low, sad song, but stopped when she saw Adam.
Her eyes sparkled dimly under her stupor while she registered him, glancing up and down over his form. Adam felt weirdly invaded by those dull, glazed-over eyes, like she really had succeeded in taking his measure.
“Oh!” Her voice was warm, if a little delirious. “It’s you!” She danced to his side, but overestimated the distance and stumbled a bit past him.
“Lily,” Adam nodded by way of greeting. He glanced back toward the elevator. His question as to its operability answered, he had only to commit to whether or not he could stomach his fear.
“Now, a little birdy told me you were down on the sixth floor. What are you doing up here?” Lily’s voice grew heavy as she spoke. Her words were much clearer than they had been the previous night, but she was still having some trouble meeting his eyes for any prolonged period of time. “You wouldn’t be coming to see me, would you?” She peered up at him through full lashes. Adam gulped. He wasn’t quite certain of how to proceed.
“This is the sixth floor,” he said slowly. “I think you might have pushed the wrong button.” He gestured back toward the elevator.
“Oh.” She looked more confused, if possible. She twirled a bit more than she needed to and started back down the corridor. “Going to keep me company then?” She called out behind her, with what Adam assumed was meant to be a roll of her hips. Another dilemma. While he certainly didn’t want to be in the same elevator she was, he also didn’t want to ride it alone.
“Yeah, going up.” Adam affirmed, stepping into the carriage with her. He punched the button for the penthouse. She swayed in time with her eerie, otherworldly tune. The elevator doors shut smoothly behind her, trapping the two of them in the mirrored steel cage.
“Ooh,” she cooed mockingly, watching his finger at the panel. “Mr. Important.” As the elevator began to rise, she hit the button for her own floor. Adam was secretly disappointed, calculating the floors he would have to ride alone. His expression must have given something away. “It’s fine, handsome, you come see me when all the big boys are done with all the big business.” The way she punctuated the word ‘big’ left no room for interpretation. She sent shivers down his spine.
The elevator soldiered up, though Adam could have sworn he saw the lights flicker in time with Lily’s rhythmic sways more than once. She continued to dance to a song that was only audible when she hummed it. It was irri
tating, especially with how captivating it was.
The elevator reached her floor and Lily sashayed out, uncharacteristic for her lack of comment to Adam. She was not, however, without that typical wide-eyed glance over her shoulder.
The doors shut. Adam was alone. He could feel a certain tightening in his chest as the elevator rose upward. This half of the trip was definitely proceeding more slowly, Adam was sure. The space between each floor lingered, moments growing ever longer. Adam drew a breath of relief upon reaching each new floor.
The elevator was playing with him, Adam decided. Counting the heartbeats as the elevator rose between floors, he was sure that the elevator was slowing down. The lights thrummed around him happily, content to stay on for now, but Adam knew there was a sadistic presence within the confines of the elevator. At any moment, it could strike.
Finally, after what had seemed to him to be the breadth of eternity, the doors opened to the warm brown wood of Francis De La Poer’s office. The atrium was empty, as Adam was beginning to suspect was its usual habit. He left the elevator hurriedly, having practically been pressed against the doors when they opened.
Adam made his way in on memory, veering down the leftward hallway to the corridor that led to Francis' personal office. The double oak doors were separated by a slim crack of light where one of them had been left ajar. Adam proceeded to it, already feeling more himself than he had trapped within the elevator, and knocked three times.
The door swung open at the last knock, which must have been harder than Adam had intended. The office was laid out exactly as Adam remembered it, every detail as sharp and crisp as it had been during his previous visits.
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