9. Georgie
CHAPTER NINE
GEORGIE
My heart races as the computer opens to my messaging app, and my previous searches. The text message flashes and goes off like a siren, the letters jumping off my screen and telling me YOU’RE SO DUMB FOR NOT THINKING THIS SOONER, GEORGIE.
Franny
hope you have a GOod Time Over at moms. Hope you have no more ELEVATOR nightmares. message or CALL me when you can. say HI to Mom for me. don’t forget.
To anyone, this would be a normal message, a little wonky in some parts, but a normal message to the average eye.
But I can’t help but see it, and Franny knew I would see it.
She’s intentionally sent it this way, a message within the message.
I draft a message back, writing out the capital letters that are screaming at me.
GO TO ELEVATOR. CALL HIM.
“Oh my god. I am such a fucking-” But I don’t finish the thought.
I am already on my way out. I barely get my door locked before I take off down the hall. How did I get in contact with N the first time?
Where did I meet him? Where did he keep me calm?
Where did it all start? That goddamn elevator.
The one that I avoid every single day. Of course, Franny would think of this, of course she would suggest going back to the one place I never wanted to go.
But it was the only sure-fire way to find him again.
I just never thought to do it this way because who would think to do it? Apparently, everyone other than me.
I call the elevator up to 5, and my hands tremble at the thought of re-entering that damn car.
It’s the same elevator that I climbed out of, the elevator they so called ‘fixed,’ the elevator I have nightmares about.
The door opens with a ding, and my mouth instantly dries.
My palms are so clammy I could slick my hair if I wanted to.
I suck in a gulp of air and step inside.
I hold the door open with my hand the entire time.
If it doesn’t shut, then it can’t stay shut, and I can get out, and I can breathe.
I tell myself these affirmations to calm the tremble of my body, but it’s no use.
I swallow hard as I look at the buttons.
There it is, the red bell button, the alarm button.
I move to hit the button, but I freeze just before the button goes in to click the trigger and call.
If I press it, surely the building will know it’s me.
Cameras and all. I quickly glance up to the camera in question, wondering if someone can see me right now.
I could be charged for the call I make if it’s not an emergency, and lord knows how much that costs. How much had N spent on that call?
If I want to make this look real, I will have to take the elevator down.
“Please, don’t let me die in here.” I say out loud, closing my eyes and releasing my hand at the same time, letting the door slide shut.
I hit the ground floor button, and the elevator slowly moves down, it still groans with each set of tracks it clicks onto, or however the elevator car of death works this time. I try to hide the view from the camera as I shakily press the call button.
Silence. The trip down 4 flights seems to take forever. With every second that passes, my chest tightens.
“This is the elevator monitoring station, is everything alright in the elevator?” The voice is one I recognize, but it is not him. It’s the girl who answered the second time I called, her high pitched nasally tone echoes through the metal death trap.
“Sorry I-” I panic, but then I realize this is my one shot. The second I leave this elevator, I will never return. “I pressed the button by accident.”
“So, everything is alright?” She sounds… annoyed.
“Yes,” No. Say something!
“Okay, thanks for letting me-”
“Wait!” I say, just as the elevator dings signalling the ground floor.
She sighs, “Yes? Is the elevator stuck?”
“No, I… I was the one stuck a couple weeks ago. We talked, I’m… sorry for the way I spoke to you… Val, right? Your co-worker, he stayed with me.”
“Oh,” an indignant sound echoes into the car. I take that as an acknowledgement of my apology.
“I know there are rules,” the elevator signals again for me to get off, but I have to stay. I have to know. “But I have to try. Can I just know the company you work for, or his name, or something? I just want to thank him-”
She huffs into her phone again, cutting me off, and I wonder how it is that she got this job. Aren’t people in a customer service position supposed to be… I don't know, friendly? Approachable? Everything this person is not?
“Listen, lady. I hate to tell you this, but he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“What?” I say as if I haven’t heard her right.
“He was fired.”