The Elevator
A single button glowed in the darkness, one bearing the image of an upward pointing arrow. Rory McNulty reached out the index finger of his right hand and pressed it. A few moments later the elevator doors silently slid open, and he stepped inside the empty car. To the right of the doors was a panel of buttons numbered one through eighty, each number corresponding to a floor in the high-rise Tenet Building.
Outside the elevator car, all was dark; inside the lighting was dim. The weak illumination seemed to complement the young man's mental state. He knew neither where he was going nor where he had been. Surprisingly, the confusion did not frighten him; all his emotions, including fear, seemed to be in a state of hibernation.
As though he were in a daze, Rory stared uncomprehendingly at the neat array of buttons: twenty horizontal rows, four vertical columns. The numbers on them meant nothing to him. The elevator doors remained open as though waiting patiently for him to make his selection. His eyes dully scanned the black digits on white plastic circles, stopping on number sixty-two.
Something in his brain clicked.
When his finger made contact with the button, the doors immediately closed, as soundlessly as they had opened. There followed a distinct sensation of swift upward movement as the car ascended. Rory's eyes followed the elevator's progress as indicated by the digital floor counter above the door. Ten ... twenty ... thirty ... forty ... fifty. Once the car made it to the sixtieth floor, there was pronounced deceleration. Sixty-one ... sixty-two. The car came to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Rory stuck his head out and looked into the hall, first to the right and then to left. There was only darkness. All he could see was a plaque on the wall opposite the elevator doors that read TENET BUILDING, BASEMENT LEVEL.
That's impossible. I went up, not down.
The haze that had clouded his mind and dulled his emotions was beginning to clear. Thoughts and feelings were slowly finding their way through the murkiness.
I distinctly remember pushing the button for the sixty-second floor.
He raised his head and looked at the floor counter above the door. It clearly read "B" for basement.
I could have sworn ....
Again, he pressed the button for floor sixty-two. The sensation of upward movement was repeated as the car ascended. As before, Rory McNulty's eyes followed its progress on the digital floor counter: ten ... twenty ... thirty ... forty ... fifty ... sixty. The deceleration. Sixty-one ... sixty-two. Again, the car came to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Rory McNulty stared at the plaque in disbelief: TENET BUILDING, BASEMENT LEVEL.
No. No. NO!
He pressed button sixty-two a third time and held it for close to a minute. Again, he made the upward climb only to find himself at the basement level once the doors opened.
Albert Einstein once said, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."
If this is so, then Rory must surely be insane. Five more times he tried to reach the sixty-second floor but never made it any further than the basement. His annoyance led to frustration and then progressed to anger. After the doors once again opened onto the Tenet Building's basement, he pounded the elevator buttons with his fist.
"Damn it!" he shouted. "What the hell is wrong with this elevator?"
Finally realizing there was no point in making any further attempts, he stepped out of the car, into the darkness of the basement.
* * *
A single button glowed in the darkness, one bearing the image of an upward pointing arrow. Rory McNulty reached out the index finger of his right hand and pressed it. A few moments later the elevator doors silently slid open, and he stepped inside the empty car. To the right of the doors was a panel of buttons numbered one through eighty, each number corresponding to a floor in the high-rise Tenet Building.
Outside the elevator car, all was dark; inside the lighting was dim. The weak illumination seemed to complement the young man's mental state. He knew neither where he was going nor where he had been. Surprisingly, the confusion did not frighten him; all his emotions, including fear, seemed to be in a state of hibernation.
As though he were in a daze, Rory stared uncomprehendingly at the neat array of buttons: twenty horizontal rows, four vertical columns. The numbers on them meant nothing to him. The elevator doors remained open as though waiting patiently for him to make his selection. His eyes dully scanned the black digits on white plastic circles, stopping on number sixty-two.
Something in his brain clicked.
When his finger made contact with the button, the doors immediately closed, as soundlessly as they had opened. There followed a distinct sensation of swift upward movement as the car ascended. Rory's eyes followed the elevator's progress as indicated by the digital floor counter above the door. Ten ... twenty ... thirty ... forty ... fifty. Once the car made it to the sixtieth floor, there was pronounced deceleration. Sixty-one ... sixty-two.
The car came to a stop, and the doors slid open—not on the sixty-second floor but on the first. A passenger stepped out of the darkness and into the car. The man wore an inexpensive, conservative gray suit and blue navy tie and carried a faux leather briefcase. Rory took him for an insurance salesman or perhaps an accountant. Another passenger entered the elevator on the second floor: an elderly woman who tried to hold on to her last vestiges of youth by dressing in clothes designed for someone much younger. The dyed hair, heavy makeup and gaudy jewelry were meant to flatter her, but they failed miserably.
The car made slow progress, stopping on every floor. Each time another passenger entered the car. Soon Rory was joined by a young man with spiked hair, body piercings and tattoos; an unsmiling, middle-aged woman wearing a nurse's uniform; and a teenage boy in khaki pants, blue polo shirt and a Walmart vest. More people got on at floor six, seven, eight, nine and ten. Yet no one got off. By the time the car made the halfway point at the fortieth floor, the elevator was packed like the proverbial can of sardines.
The passengers remained motionless, staring silently ahead, in the direction of the doors—all but one, that is. The teenage boy in the Walmart vest was talking on his iPhone, deep in an animated conversation with the person at the other end of the line.
"Are you kidding me?" he cried passionately. "Ramsay Bolton is a far worse villain than Joffrey Baratheon!"
Meanwhile, the elevator continued its slow but steady climb, its doors opening on every floor despite the fact that no one else got on and no one had yet to get off.
When it stopped on the sixtieth floor, Rory decided to make his way toward the front of the car.
"Pardon me, please," he told the young Walmart associate who was still discussing the relative merits of various Game of Thrones characters. "I'll be getting off soon."
The boy continued to talk on his phone as though he had not heard Rory.
The doors closed and the car headed for floor sixty-one.
"Excuse me," he told the businessman with the briefcase. "I've got to get off on sixty-two."
Like the teenager, the businessman ignored him.
Realizing the car was about to open its doors on his floor, Rory decided to cast courtesy to the wind.
"This is my stop," he called, attempting to elbow his way through the crowded elevator.
He did not get far. In fact, he was still at the back of the car when the doors closed on the sixty-second floor.
I'll just have to get out on the way back down, he thought. Surely by then the car will have emptied out considerably.
Yet after the doors closed on the eightieth floor, the number of passengers was the same as on the fortieth floor.
"Isn't anyone getting off?" he inquired.
No one answered.
The elevator began its descent. Seventy-nine ... seventy-eight ... seventy-seven. When it neared sixty-five, Rory once again attempted to make his way to the front of the car. He might just as well have been attempting to break through the starting lineup of the New England Patriots.
"I have to get out on sixty-two!" he shouted, pushing and shoving. "Out of my way, damn it!"
"Are you kidding me?" the boy in the Walmart vest cried passionately.
At first, Rory assumed the teenager was talking to him. The young man's next statement cleared up the misconception.
"Ramsay Bolton is a far worse villain than Joffrey Baratheon!"
When he looked up and read the number sixty-one on the digital floor counter, Rory felt as though he had been punched in the gut.
"What's wrong with you people?" he screamed, his voice rising in volume and pitch. "Are you going to ride this elevator all day? Doesn't anyone else want to get off?"
The only response came from the boy in the Walmart vest, and it was one not even given in reply to his questions.
"Are you kidding me? Ramsay Bolton is a far worse villain than Joffrey Baratheon!"
* * *
A single button glowed in the darkness, one bearing the image of an upward pointing arrow. Rory McNulty reached out the index finger of his right hand and pressed it. A few moments later the elevator doors silently slid open, and he stepped inside the empty car. To the right of the doors was a panel of buttons numbered one through eighty, each number corresponding to a floor in the high-rise Tenet Building.
Outside the elevator car, all was dark; inside the lighting was dim. The weak illumination seemed to complement the young man's mental state. He knew neither where he was going nor where he had been. Surprisingly, the confusion did not frighten him; all his emotions, including fear, seemed to be in a state of hibernation.
As though he were in a daze, Rory stared uncomprehendingly at the neat array of buttons: twenty horizontal rows, four vertical columns. The numbers on them meant nothing to him. The elevator doors remained open as though waiting patiently for him to make his selection. His eyes dully scanned the black digits on white plastic circles, stopping on number sixty-two.
Something in his brain clicked.
When his finger made contact with the button, the doors immediately closed, as soundlessly as they had opened. There followed a distinct sensation of swift upward movement as the car ascended. Rory's eyes followed the elevator's progress as indicated by the digital floor counter above the door. Ten ... twenty ... thirty ... forty ... fifty.
Rory prepared to get off on the sixty-second floor, but the car neither stopped nor slowed.
Sixty-two ... sixty-three ... sixty-four ... sixty-five ... sixty-six.
What's wrong? Why didn't it stop?
He pressed buttons sixty-seven and sixty-eight, yet the car continued its uninterrupted journey. Sixty-nine ... seventy ... seventy-one. Rory then pushed all the buttons from seventy-two up to and including eighty. His action had no effect on the car's movement, however. Seventy-two ... seventy-three ... seventy-four ... seventy-five. Feeling his fear rise, he wondered what would happen once it reached the top of the building.
Will it plummet down in freefall? Will it crash at the lowest level, crushing me like a bug?
He held his breath and bit his lower lip as he watched the digital numbers on the floor counter: seventy-six ... seventy-seven ... seventy-eight ... seventy-nine ... eighty.
"This is it!" he cried, anticipating the worst.
Eighty-one.
"What? But there are only eighty floors in the building!"
Eighty-two ... eighty-three ... eighty-four.
Useless trivia ran through his brain. There are one hundred two floors in the Empire State Building. There are one hundred four at One World Trade Center, currently the tallest building in the United States. And the tallest building in the world, Burj Khalifa in Dubai, has one hundred sixty-three floors. China's Shanghai Tower, the second tallest, has one hundred twenty-eight.
Eighty-five ... eighty-six ... eighty-seven. The elevator gave no indication of stopping. In fact, the speed increased. Ninety ... ninety-five ... one hundred. The numbers soon sped by like those on a gas pump dial. One fifty ... one sixty ... one seventy.
Rory suddenly felt light-headed. Could it be the result of the high altitude?
One eighty ... one ninety. By the time the digital floor counter read two hundred, the elevator's sole passenger was unconscious.
* * *
"Rory. Wake up!"
The voice sounded far away, as if it were calling to him from another room.
"Rory. Can you hear me? It's me, Eli."
Rory slowly opened his eyes, but everything around him was shrouded in darkness.
"They've done it!" the man who called himself Eli cried with joy. "They've found us!"
As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, Rory realized he was in an elevator car.
"Is everyone okay in there?" an unidentified man called.
"Yes. We're both fine," Eli answered.
"Stand back. We're going to break through."
There was a loud crashing sound followed by a blinding white light. Rory raised his hand to shield his eyes from the brightness.
"My friend might need some help getting up," Eli explained. "He passed out a while back from the lack of air."
"Sixty-two," Rory mumbled. "Someone stop the elevator; I've got to get off."
"Here, take my hand," the voice instructed.
Rescue workers helped the two trapped miners emerge from the debris of the cave-in at the Tenet Mine. As the group made the slow trip to the surface, Rory gazed at the first responder who had saved his life.
"Who are you?" he asked, confused.
"The name's Keenan Wooley. I'm a paramedic with Fire Company Sixty-two."
The rescued miner smiled when he saw the number sixty-two printed on the fireman's helmet.
Suddenly, the elevator in Rory McNulty's mind came to a stop on the sixty-second floor. The doors slid silently open, and the sole passenger exited the car and walked out into the light of day.
Salem is the only cat I know who has an elevator in his cat condo.
