Elevator

By James Declan Hench

Samuel Swartwood entered the elevator, smiling. It had been a good day. The elevator was fairly crowded, but even this, which normally would have bothered him, couldn’t dampen Sam’s spirits. He squished himself against the wall, doing his best to ignore the others on the elevator, the last people of the day to leave. This proved difficult since he found himself standing next to a very fat man in a tuxedo, eating a banana loudly, who smelled strongly of wet dog and was not very ignorable. Sam tried to close off his nostrils as best he could and think about this morning’s events. He happily recalled the meeting with his employer in which he had been offered a raise. He was also just now on his way to buy a car he had been saving up for, and these thoughts were responsible for his good mood. The elevator dinged as it zipped passed level after level.

            Halfway between floor seventeen and floor eighteen, something went wrong. The lights dimmed, the floor indicator turned black, there was a screeching sound, and the elevator jolted to a stop, throwing everyone off balance. Someone made a little cry. Sam brushed his suit off as he recovered himself.

            “What on earth is going on?” he said in an irritated voice.

            The giant standing next to him said slowly, still eating the banana, “The elevator appears to have failed.”

            “Clearly. But why? I need to get off.”

            He pushed forward to the elevator controls and punched the down arrow again. Nothing happened. Squinting in the dimness, he opened a small door and pulled out the emergency phone. He dialed 911. He waited. Everyone was silent. Seconds ticked by. Furrowing his brow, Samuel dialed again. Nothing happened. He tried once more and held it to his ear but there was no sound. The phone didn’t seem to be working at all. He turned around to face the others. In the dim light he could make out four faces. There was the large man, who had pulled another banana out from somewhere in his coat after finishing his first, a little bald man with glasses and a briefcase, a young woman with red hair, and another man with a large nose.

            “The phone doesn’t appear to be working,” said Sam with annoyance, placing it back in its cubby. “Any ideas, anyone? Does anyone have a cell phone?”

            The red-haired woman said she had one and she dug in her purse. She frowned.

            “That’s strange. I always carry a cell phone, but I can’t find it. I must have left it at home.”

The young man with the big nose spoke up. “Whoever tries to use the elevator next will quickly realize something is wrong when it doesn’t arrive. They’ll put two and two together, send for help, and we’ll be broken out.”

            “But who knows when that will be?” Sam replied. “We were some of the last people in the building. Most everyone’s gone home. It’s six already. We may have to spend the night in here.”

            The faces of Sam’s fellow prisoners looked a little worried, especially the little man. In fact, he was shaking violently and his face was screwed up in a grimace. The fat man noticed.

            “You alright?” he queried.

            The little man swallowed hard. “I—I am claustrophobic.”

            “Great,” said Sam, “Just great. I’m stuck in an elevator with a claustrophobic.”

            Sam relieved some of his heat by banging his head on the elevator wall. If he didn’t get to the car lot before it closed, he wouldn’t be able to purchase the Chevy Malibu he’d had his eye on for months.       

            Marjorie, the woman, took a more compassionate stance toward the claustrophobic.

            “Don’t worry; we’ll be out very soon. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we can pry the door open with something. Any ideas?”

            She glanced at the three men.

            “We could try using our hands,” said Darryl, the large-nosed man, doubtfully.

            The banana eating giant pushed over to the door and tried to fit his chubby fingers into the crack between them. When this failed, the others tried to help while the claustrophobic sat on the floor, trying to calm himself.

            Even Marjorie’s slim fingers couldn’t fit through the crack very well, and even if they could have gotten a grip, it was very unlikely that they would have been able to push the door open. Gareth, with a grim look, commenced hammering the door, the banana sticking out of his mouth like a cigar. The only result was that the elevator shook and dropped an inch lower.

            “Stop!” Sam cried, putting his hands to his head. “Just stop. We should just sit down and wait, or at least try to think of a better plan. You’re not going to make any progress hammering away like that and you may make it worse.”

            They all rather glumly sat down on the elevator floor. A brief silence ensued.

Then Marjorie asked, “How long will we have to wait?”

Darryl shrugged. “Possibly all night, if everyone in the building has gone home.”

The claustrophobic groaned. Sam tried not to be annoyed, especially since he felt a twinge of claustrophobia himself. To make matters worse, it was getting smelly in there and Sam was getting hungry.

*********

There was about a quarter of an hour of silence while the five of them sat, thinking, sleeping, or in the case of the little man, softly weeping. Since they worked in such a large building, none of the group had ever met any of the others inside the elevator, and Sam, for lack of anything else to do, took some slight interest in his companions for the first time. He stretched out his hand to the giant and said, “Samuel Swartwood, sales.”

The large man took Sam’s hand in both his own chubby ones and replied, “Gareth Fabel, accounting.”

He stared at Sam and then took the last bit of what must have been his third banana out of his pocket and offered it to him. Despite his hunger, Sam had no intention of eating a bruised banana someone else had been sucking on for half an hour.

“Ah…no thanks,” he said.

Gareth shrugged and popped it into his own mouth.

“So,” he said, between bites, “What brought you this high up? In the building I mean. Salespeople are on the eighth floor generally.”

“I was speaking with Mr. Ewen. We were discussing a raise.”

“Really? I myself am on the bottom of the pay grade.”

Sam was surprised that Gareth was so free about his salary.

“I actually just starting working here a few weeks ago,” Gareth said.

“Really? Do you enjoy accounting?”

Gareth grinned a little sheepishly. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t actually do much accounting. I mostly just fetch coffees and shred papers. No one takes much notice of me except when they need me to fetch-and-carry. Not that I’m complaining. You have to start somewhere. You got to support your family somehow.”

He leaned his enormous frame against the wall of the elevator (which squeaked under the pressure) and yawned.

“How long do you think we’ve been in here?”

Sam shrugged. He hadn’t been keeping much track of time.

A small sort of groan caused Gareth and Sam to look around. In the opposite corner of the elevator Darryl and Marjorie were bent over the man with glasses who was squeezing his eyes tight.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asked.

The woman looked up and moved towards them, brushing her hair out of her face. She spoke in a low tone. “He’s still having trouble coping. I keep telling him it’s all in his head, but it doesn’t help. He’s not thinking straight at all. He said he wanted water and we thought that maybe he had some in his bag, but he wouldn’t even let us touch it.”

“You can’t blame him, I guess, he can’t control it. I hate to admit it, but I myself am feeling a bit cramped,” Gareth commented.

Sam decided to try and get the little man’s mind off his phobia by engaging him in conversation. He moved to the other side of the elevator. The man’s quick breathing gave away how disturbed he really was, despite his relatively calm exterior. Sam noticed a nametag on the man’s jacket. In black letters it read: “T. M. Barton.”

“Barton,” he said, “What do you do?”

Opening one eye the little man said, “Leave me alone.”

Sam was persistent. “What’s your department?”

Barton’s sweaty brow wrinkled a little. Then he said simply, “Sales.”

It was Sam’s turn to wrinkle his forehead. He was in the sales department and had never seen the bald little man before in his life. Something inside him told him not to point this out. Instead he said, “Are those sales reports or something in your brief case?”

“Can’t you see he doesn’t want to talk to anyone? It’s all he can do to keep from hyperventilating,” said Darryl with impatience.

“I was just trying to get his mind off it. I guess I should consult with you first in the future,” Sam returned, with equal irritation.

Marjorie, eager to avoid an argument, broke in. “What do you do…umm…Sam is it?”

Samuel turned to her. “Yes, it’s Sam. Sales.”

Barton’s hand twitched almost imperceptibly.

“Then haven’t you met our friend here before?” Gareth questioned, gesturing towards Barton.

“No. I guess the department is larger than I realized, and we simply never crossed paths,” Sam replied, looking hard at the man in glasses, who continued to keep his eyes closed. “What about you?” This last remark was directed towards Marjorie.

“I’m a secretary—or…was.”

“Was?” Sam repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“I got laid off today,” she explained, almost apologetically.

“Oh. I see.” An awkward silence followed.

“Why?” asked Darryl. Sam was appalled at the insensitivity of the question.

“I doubt she appreciates that large nose of yours being stuck in her business,” he said. His opinion of Darryl was falling and he spoke with greater irritation than before.

Darryl’s eyes thinned. “I guess I should consult with you before asking her questions in the future,” he  mocked.

Gareth chuckled. “We’ve clearly spent too much time in close proximity to one another.”

Marjorie broke in again, “It’s alright. I don’t mind talking about it. I missed too many days of work. That’s all.” She pursed her lips.

From somewhere within his large tuxedo jacket Gareth drew forth yet another banana. He broke off and offered a piece to each of his companions, which they accepted gratefully, and stuck the last one in his mouth like a cigar. Conversation ceased for a while.

*********

  Sam was a little troubled in mind. As he leaned back against the wall of the elevator, chewing his banana piece, he puzzled over the strange little man in the corner opposite him. Why had he never seen Barton before if they worked in the same department? Why wouldn’t the claustrophobic allow anyone to touch his briefcase? He couldn’t think of any reason for Barton to be lying about his work, so he had to assume he was telling the truth, but it still puzzled him.

He glanced at his watch and realized that the car lot would close in just a few minutes. He frowned. He picked up the phone and tried it again. The result was the same as before.

Gareth slid over to Sam and whispered, “Now that I think about it, I believe I know that woman, Marjorie, or whatever her name is. She worked just down the hall from me as Mr. Wriemer’s secretary. Someone told me that she was going to have to quit because her mother was ill—very ill.”

Sam nodded. “That’s why she missed work—she must have been tending to her mother.”

He felt a twinge of pity, something he didn’t feel often. Suddenly, missing the closing time of the car dealership didn’t seem like such a tragedy.

At that moment everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The elevator had begun to move. Once again the floors were whizzing by and in few minutes, almost magically, Sam thought, they would all be on the ground level. For some reason the elevator stopped again, on floor seven. Either the elevator was failing once more, or someone needed to be picked up. But it was far too late for anyone else to be left in the building. With a squeak, the doors slid open.

A tall masked man stood there, about to step in. He started backwards in surprise. Marjorie gasped as the man pulled out a shiny object and held it up. It was a handgun.

“Put your hands up,” said the man in a rough voice. Everyone obeyed. Everyone, that is, except Barton. Instead of raising his hands, he stepped out of the elevator, turned back towards Gareth, Darryl, Sam, and Marjorie, and produced his own gun from his bag. He leveled it at the four prisoners. Sam was stunned. No wonder Barton hadn’t wanted anyone to touch his bag.

The tall man turned towards Barton. “What are you doing?!” he shouted. “You just gave yourself away!”

“Oh dear,” said Barton, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while holding the gun in the other.  “I suppose I have.” He smiled slightly at the four still standing in the elevator with their hands up. Despite the intensity of the moment, Sam couldn’t help guessing at how the present situation had come about. The two men before him were clearly thieves. Barton must have gone undercover and stolen the money when he thought everyone had left. But the elevator crashing must have been truly unexpected. The four of them had not been accounted for. They were caught in the middle of a theft.

“In order to protect my identity,” said Barton, calmly, “I’ll simply have to shoot them.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Marjorie cried out and Darryl began pleading with their captors. But Barton, unaffected, pointed the gun at them. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Time slowed down for Sam. He had as much time as he needed to decide what to do, if anything. What struck him was how unimportant he felt. For some reason that he could not explain, he found that he cared more what happened to the others then what happened to himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of the cheerful Gareth, the modest and melancholy Marjorie, and the irritating Darryl being shot in cold blood, lying dead in the elevator. His raise, his soon-to-be car, his house—all became completely irrelevant. As he watched Barton’s finger begin to pull the trigger back, he did what seemed like the most natural thing in the world: he ran straight at him. Even before Barton had fully pulled the trigger, Sam had crashed into him. Both fell to the floor, and as they did so, Sam felt the bullet enter his stomach.

*********

 Sam slowly opened his eyes. He was in a bed in a room with white walls. Golden sunlight sifted in through the window onto his bed and covered it like a warm blanket. He felt severe pain all over and saw a bandage across his stomach. Someone was talking to him. It was Marjorie.

“Sam,” she said, smiling. “You’re awake.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “What’s going on?”

“You’re in the hospital,” said Gareth who sat on his left.

“Why?”

“Because you were shot.”

“Oh yes,” said Sam, remembering. “You weren’t?”

“No, thanks to you,” said Marjorie. “When you took Barton down the other man was so surprised that Darryl had time to tackle him. Gareth grabbed the two guns while I ran to the nearest phone and called the police. Those two were involved in some crime or other but I never learned the details. I think they were robbing the manager but the police hauled them off to the station before I could learn more.”

“Where is Darryl?”

“He’s at the police station giving his statement. He’ll be here to see you soon. Gareth and I are going to go get lunch.”

Gareth and Marjorie rose and said goodbye to Sam. Just inside the doorway Gareth turned back towards Sam, reaching into his enormous jacket. “Oh,” he said, “As far as your lunch--”

With a flourish of his arm he tossed something onto the bed.

It was a banana.