4. Georgie
CHAPTER FOUR
GEORGIE
Of all the ways I had morbidly thought my death might go, death by elevator was not one of them.
The drop, though not as far as I expected, jolts me out of my panic spiral and sends me crashing to the floor, hands falling in something sticky that I’m glad I can’t see.
The elevator doors do not open when it stops, the lights flicker again before staying out, and the button panel of the elevator in front of my face is the only thing other than me that has a source of life in here.
Not for long though because I think my heart has stopped.
I think I am going to die alone in an elevator, looking like a hot mess.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, this is it. I’m going to die here,” I keep saying to myself out loud to avoid the utter terror in the silence of the stagnant car.
In the dimness of the elevator, lit only by the faint light of my phone screen—that of course has no reception when you really need it—I slither my way across the wall slowly, shifting my weight like a bomb defuser.
I make it to the button panel and spam the alarm button.
You know the one, the forbidden red button with the bell.
It’s that button that all adults tell children not to touch or else the police will come and take them away.
Even now, knowing I’m surely going to plummet to my death, it almost feels wrong to be touching it.
But I think the real question is: what does it actually do?
Is it there to make people like me, about to die on the sticky floor of the elevator, feel better?
Does it actually go anywhere? Do the speaker-looking holes in the panelling actually pick up sound?
Will someone on the other end hear my death?
“This is the elevator monitoring station. Is everything alright in the elevator?”
Oh my god. A voice. The beacon of light at the end of the tunnel comes as a single voice through the speaker.
“Hello? Hello! I’m here!” I scream, nearly sobbing in relief that someone might hear me.
“Is everything alright?” The voice is calm and yet there’s a tone of concern. It crackles, yet I can’t tell if that’s the shitty elevator call line or them. Their voice hums steady while just wavering between mid-tone and deep.
“Please, please, help me. The elevator is stuck. I’m dying! I’m dying,” I tell them, choking on tears I really wish were not falling. In the end, I always wanted to die bravely… or in my sleep. I didn’t want it to end like this, sobbing and disgusting on the floor of an elevator.
There’s silence for a moment, and I think that’s it; they’ve disconnected forever, but the voice returns.
“I just need to get the information to the correct contacts—”
The lights flicker on then off again. I startle and, regretfully, scream right in their ear.
“It’s alright. I’ve got you. Tell me what’s happening.” There’s something soothing in their words. I’ve got you.
I take in a large breath, shakily releasing it. They’ve got me. “Okay, um. I am freaking out, the elevator... It shook and dropped and I’m alone and I’m going to die and no one knows I’m in here and I just wanted to go home and shower and now I’m going to die all gross!”
“Slow down, please. The line isn’t great with connections. Let’s go one question at a time, okay? You’re stuck in the elevator?”
“Yes.” I can hear the typing on the line as the person fills in the information I give. Address, the apartment I live in, all the obvious questions.
“What floor do you think you’re on right now, if you had to guess?”
“Well, it dropped once? Or twice. I don’t know.” I cover my face, trying to breathe and think.
“It’s alright. Try as best you can. What was the last floor you heard?”
I squeeze my eyes tight, trying desperately to remember. “Um… Four, I think it was four.”
“Thank you. You’re doing great. Now, could I have your name and pronouns, please?”
I clear my throat, sucking in a gulp of air again. Do I really want them to have my full name if this is how it ends? “My name is… G, she/her. Listen, I’m really freaking out in here, mysterious voice. I’m going to die.”
They laugh softly while typing again. “Thank you, G. I’m N, he/him. I promise you, you’re not going to die in there. We’re working on getting everything sorted right now for you.”
The silence comes again, and I rest my head on my arms, tucking myself into a ball as best I can. The air grows tense, and it hurts to breathe. I normally don’t panic like this, usually it’s me calming everyone down in a scary situation. How the tables have turned.
“N, I can’t breathe,” I choke out, holding my hands to my chest.
“It’s okay, we’ll get through this.”
The elevator rumbles, then drops again for a split second.
My shriek is earth-shattering. I can hear the static of the line, and then nothing.
The line goes dead. I let out genuine sobs this time.
There’s a crackle. I press the call button again, praying I get someone—anyone—to answer.
Minutes pass with nothing. I start to wonder just how much longer air will last in here before I pass out.
I press and press the button, sniffling.
“No, come back…” I plead.
When I think it’s over, my chance at rescue a failure, a different voice breaks the silence. “This is the elevator monitoring station, is everything–”
“N? I was talking to someone named N–”
“Sorry, I can barely hear you. N is unavailable–”
“Then call Franny!” I scream, hoping they can hear me.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m stuck in this goddamn elevator, call Franny!”
“Ma’am, I’ll need to gather–”
“No,” I stop them. “No. I’m freaking the fuck out.
This elevator is probably one snap away from plummeting to my death, and so help me God if I get out of this elevator alive, I will come after you and anyone else who works for this phone that doesn’t do what I am telling you right now.
Call the supervisor, Francis Douglas. NOW.
Tell her that Georgia is stuck in here and if she doesn’t get me out, I am going to pass the fuck out and she’ll have to pronounce me dead. ”
The voice blurts out static. “Ma’am, I–”
“Is that–? Pass her to me, Val.” N. I can hear his voice on the tail end of her mic.
“Yes, pass me to him, Val,” I snap, hating that my fear is making me react this way. She doesn’t deserve this.
I hear her scoff. Then, as the hold music plays, I think about how this would be a horrible way to go out; listening to generic waiting music in a stuck elevator before falling down, down, down.
“G, it’s N. The line disconnected.”
“I swear to God if it happens again, please just have them send me to you. I can’t do this.” I swallow, unsure what to say next.
“I will, I promise. And you can do this. I want you to know I didn’t stop working during the cutoff, I called Francis and told her what was going on. She should be there soon. I’ve dispatched an elevator company technician…”
“Okay, how long until they get here?”
“They’re… coming as soon as they can. I can either place you on hold or disconnect and–”
“No. No, please. Stay. I’m… apparently, I’m afraid of elevators, a fear I didn’t know I had until now. You’re the only thing keeping me sane in the darkness. Please don’t go,” I beg.
I can hear his voice speaking softly but can’t hear the words definitively. I think he might be speaking with someone wherever he is working, but I can’t be sure.
“G, I am going to place you on hold for just a minute–”
“No, I just told you–”
“I am going to call Franny again. I need to get permission to stay on the line, it’s against our typical protocol here. If she says yes, I’ll stay with you.”
“Oh.” I sniffle, tears drying and chest feeling less tightened with each inhale.
“Okay. Um, tell her it’s her best friend in here.
Tell her I told her so, that I knew this thing was going to break down and kill someone.
Tell her I love her and—oh god—tell her to call my mom and let her know I’m going to be really late for dinner.
Forever is a long time to not eat her pot roast dinner if I don’t get out of here. ”
He chuckles. “I will be right back, I promise.”
The elevator shifts, making a terrible groaning sound that can’t be good. Part of me wants to stand, to see if I could pry the door open somehow, but the other part of me knows it’s best to stay where I am and wait for the inevitable doom or—if it actually happens before I die—the rescue.
“Georgia?” His voice returns, the beacon in the dark again. The way he says my name is soft and simple, kind. I close my eyes, resting my head back against the elevator wall, and take a deep breath.
“Present.” My voice is the complete opposite: defeated, raw, and shaking. I am shivering, but the elevator is far from cold. Fear does strange things to you.
“How are you feeling? Franny’s asking. I told her you look a little more relaxed now, all things considered.”
I freeze, eyes snapping open to look around. “Wait. You can see me?”
“Top left of the car, there’s a camera.”
Of course. Of course, there’s a camera. Franny has access to them in the main office, to check to see who is messing with the elevators from time to time, and to stop depraved fiends from having sex in them—among other things.
Of course he has access to that camera; of course he can see me.
I’m sure it’s got in-the-dark vision, like some creepy supervillain spying on the heroine of a comic book…
I tell him as much, which makes him laugh and that makes the corners of my lips twitch into the smallest of smiles.
“How long is it going to be?”
“Do you want the honest answer, or do you want the company policy answer of ‘as soon as possible’?”
I swallow. “Honest.”
“The closest technician is in Belleville right now, and there’s traffic.”
“Oh. My. God.” Belleville, as in an-hour-away Belleville… probably two if there’s traffic.
“Please don’t cry,” he says softly to me.
“You said you’ll stay on the line, right?”