He had left his six-year-old in his apartment and returning was a priority. He rushed through the aisles of his neighborhood grocery store, searching for Tylenol and cans of chicken noodle soup. And of all days, the checkout line was long with three people ahead of him. The frizzy haired man at the counter kept pointing to items he wanted stocked behind the glass wall. The cashier, a young Arabian man took his time collecting everything as if he had all day. Which he did. It was his store.
"Come on," James muttered.
It wasn't everyday he left Janeen in his two-bedroom apartment. This was his weekend to have her and after an adventurous rainy day at the zoo yesterday, she woke up this morning with a 102-degree temperature. He had a thermometer and cheese fish crackers, but no child medicine and soup. If his ex-wife knew about this, it would be another strike to the horde of reasons Avery would have to file for full custody.
And here I thought I was doing good.
He shook his head and fidgeted in the line, glancing out the glass door as if it would press the line to move faster.
"Please stay asleep," he whispered a prayer.
Janeen had crawled into his bed last night, shedding tears about a dream she had. They were together at the zoo and somehow, he fell into the lion's home and he couldn't get out. He was stuck, she cried, and the lion was coming, and she was all alone.
"I'm coming baby," he said when he finally reached the cashier.
"Did you find everything you needed?" he said.
"If I didn't, I would've asked for you," he said taking out his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and threw it on the counter. "Keep the change."
He grabbed his bag and almost ran down the street until he came across a police officer leaning on his car. He slowed into a half-walk, half- sprint, still catching the man's suspicious glance. See in this neighborhood, every store, business, and apartment complex were built to please the sights of tourists and businessmen and women of every age, race, and creed. But he had rushed out the apartment in a pair of jeans and a black hoodie over an undershirt that denounced him from a black American citizen to someone who could be up to no good.
Plus, if the officer decided to stop him, he'd have to explain how he needed to return home where he left his sick six-year-old alone. He couldn't take the risk. His place was only around the corner. James could literally see the twenty-floor complex over the stores ahead.
He gave the officer a kind smile and nod and tried to walk as normal as possible. When he finally was out of view, he pumped his acceleration. He dashed into the complex and headed for the elevators.
"Wait," he shouted as an elevator began to slide close.
He shoved his muscular arm between the doors, and it dinged and slid open.
"Sorry, guys," he said glancing down at the annoyed woman and man.
He went to press for the tenth floor and saw they too were going there and felt a bit relieved. He didn't have to wait for the elevator to make pit stops.
Please be still in bed, he prayed. I'm coming baby.
Janeen was a deep sleeper, something she acquired from his set of genes. But like him, when she's agitated and sick, sleep is almost impossible. By two in the morning, he'd managed to get her comfortable enough to fall into a snoring sleep. She stayed like that until he woke up at six feeling an unnatural heat and sweat rising from her body. That's when he made the anxious decision to run to the store. He left a note on her pillow and hoped if she did wake up, she'd take the time to read it.
The elevator creeped upward like a hesitant caterpillar. He scrunched his nose and glared at the triangular designs in the carpeted floor as if it would cause the elevator to pick up speed. He made a note, to speak to the manager who knew James worked in construction with his heart set on becoming an engineer. A complaint, some advice, and recommendation of the best elevator companies should fix this old outdated system once and for all.
The man in the back slid to the far right of the elevator causing his black trench coat to scrap against the wall. Why was he wearing a trench coat in late spring? It puzzled James, but he figured the man had issues. Especially, when catching his sore red eyes filled with discomfort, fear, and exhaustion. An addict maybe... James grunted and glanced at the brunette who he now noticed was checking him out. The smug smirk on her red lips and the way she lightly touched her long elegant neck forced his gaze to shift to the dangerous dip of her blouse's collar.
A tickle crept into his agitation and he turned away to avoid giving the forty-something year-old any hope.
Then the elevator did a nasty jerk, sending them reaching for the rails. A sound like a rampaging truck followed and the lights blinked. The elevator shook then came to complete halt.
"Oh my goodness," the woman said.
"No. No. No. This can't be happening," James said staring at the frozen six above the elevator doors.
"No. I knew it," the man muttered face shriveling up to cry.
"I'm not even supposed to be here," the woman said jabbing the emergency button, but it didn't ring. "He's going to be pissed. And my daughter. I think she's smoking weed. I just know it. I found one of those joints in her room. You know what I'm talking about."
James glared at the woman who grabbed his bicep. He yanked out of her grip and shook off her false profiling and blocked the rest of what spilled from her lips. The last thing he cared about now were these people stuck in this elevator with him. His daughter was alone in his apartment and who knew if she had woken up or how she was feeling.
"We need to just stay calm, lady," he said despite feeling nauseated.
"Please get us out of here," she said to him as if he was some superhero.
He swallowed his heart crawling into his throat and tried prying the doors open. His fingertips burned in the attempt, but the doors did edge a pinch apart. When he released it, the doors squeezed back together and felt the impossible laughing at him. The woman returned to the buttons and did something very stupid. She began pressing all the buttons, turning them all on. The emergency button still didn't ring and there wasn't a phone or intercom to message security.
The woman's crying and screams for help rattled him to the core. He glared at the coward in the back of the elevator, pacing and staring at James with this god-awful fear. James placed his grocery bag on the floor so he could properly use the muscles he'd religiously been working on to pry the doors. And when he did, he felt something hard in his back pocket.
My phone!
He rubbed his pants and slightly raised his hoodie to get the phone. The woman gave a glass shattering scream and when he looked up, his heart dropped into his gut.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Everything about him was perfect. Too perfect to be true. So, breaking off their tango was a definite option before it grew into something more. She tossed and turned in her bed all night, gasping and smiling at the bubbly feelings he'd give her when they were together. His touch was gentle and his kisses rough and firm. And when they were done their playful wrestling, she'd walk her fingers along his smooth torso of hills and wonder why they hadn't met years ago. Years before she met and married Isaac.
But every time she thought of Isaac, it pained her to the core.
"Yana, are you sure you don't want me to pass by and drop it off?"
"No, Reese," she said skillfully putting on her favorite rosy red lipstick. "I'm almost there anyways."
"What time is that meeting again?"
"At eight o'clock, Reesey Cup," she said.
"It's only after six," Reese said. "How about you keep me company for a while before you go to work?"
"I thought my presence last night would sustain you for the day," she grinned.
She caught eyes with her driver Owen in the rearview mirror. His normal look of disdain always made her skin crawl reminding her of the right thing to do. His husky laugh aroused an inner squeal, making the decision to break off their dangerous relationship harder. But it had to be done.
Yana put a bit of strength in her voice and pictured her husband and daughter in her head.
"Reese. When I see you, we – we need to talk."
"We can talk as long as you like, sweetheart," he said.
"I'm serious though. I think Isaac is figuring it out," she said despite knowing it was a lie.
For Isaac to be so intelligent and a businessman, things like his wife having an affair would've went over his head. She always kept herself pretty and in shape, and she openly loved and respected Isaac, giving him no reason to be suspicious. On the side of his sometimes-monthly travels to Washington or Atlanta, he never mistreated her or gave her a reason to cheat. Yes, his belly had began to poke out more, and his once silky hair was now ceasing to grow, but he always put his family first. She never was in need and he still made her laugh sometimes.
But deep down, she wanted more. Why? She didn't know until she met the young charming model Reese Cooper at a fashion and beauty convention downtown. Not only did he make her feel young again, but when he invited her to his apartment for drinks and conversation, one thing led to another. Then four months later, they fell into a naughty routine of secret conversations and visits to his tenth-floor apartment. What made their relationship worse, was the horrific fact that Isaac owned the complex Reese lived in.
Yana fidgeted with her flowery spring skirt waiting for him to respond.
"You think he knows?"
"I think so."
"How'd you figure?"
"I just know. I know him, Reese. He looks at me weirdly and when he called the house last night he wanted to know where my phone was. That's when I realized I must've left it at your place."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I stayed late last night at work and must've left it under a pile of folders," Yana said. "I think he believed it but, I can tell he was doubtful."
"Well, look, when is he supposed to be back from his trip?"
"Later today," she said.
"You know Yana, you don't have to be with him," he said.
She rubbed her chest, feeling her heart constrict. "I hate it when you say stuff like this."
"We are meant for each other Yana," he said.
Water filled in her eyes and she waved them so they wouldn't leak and ruin her makeup.
"I have a daughter with him. We're a family," she said avoiding Owen's narrowed gaze.
He didn't say anything, and the silence was killing her, but she knew one day this tango had to come to an end.
"My daughter might figure it out at some point. She's starting to enjoy her sleepovers at her friend's house on the weekends," Yana said clenching her fist. "You know how I know? I found weed in her room this morning. Weed, Reese."
"Oh no," he said. "She's like sixteen, right?"
"Yeah. Our relationship is... it's starting to make me ignore my child," she said.
"Look, when you come let's talk more about this. Because I love you, Yana," he said.
I love you too, she wanted to say.
She sniffled and readjusted her posture. "I'm almost there," she said and hung up, reluctantly passing Owen back his cellphone. Owen turned onto the street where the Best View Complex stood tall and beautiful. When he dropped her off at the roundabout, she quickly went inside, keeping her eyes averted to the marble floor.
It pleased her once how no one working in this complex knew the owner to the point of also knowing his wife. Isaac would visit every chance he got to make sure business was going smoothly, but she never went with him. The only person Yana personally knew was the manager, Mr. Baylor, but thankfully, their paths never crossed.
She stood beside a strange man in a trench coat, waiting for the elevator to come. He cut his hesitant gaze at her and scrutinized her from head to toe. She tightened her grip on her purse and edged away from the man.
Ding. The elevator doors opened and spilled out its four riders.
The weirdo – not to her surprise – rushed onto the elevator without being a gentleman. For a second, she hesitated, wondering whether to wait for the next one. But already he was staring at her with an impatient expression, and a slight awkwardness seeped in. It urged her onto the elevator, and she stayed as close to the doors as possible. She frowned seeing he too was going to the tenth floor.
"Wait," someone shouted.
Then a large forearm slid between the doors and they jerked open. Yana scolded her upper lip in pure annoyance as the tall black man stepped on.
"Sorry, guys," he said.
Once they were readjusted, the doors decided to close. Yana felt her heart studder. Not out of fear or anxiety, but pure lust. She couldn't help but let her gaze soak in the handsome bulk. At least two heads taller than her, she could see the outline of his arm muscles beneath his hoodie. And when he turned slightly, shifting impatiently, his behind was like melons protruding from his jeans.
God, there's something wrong with me, she thought feeling a hot flash rising to her head.
She touched her neck, hoping to fan herself without catching attention, but then they caught eyes. His were so bright and brown, she could already imagine the things this young hunk could do to her. But when his eyes widened and he turned away uncomfortably, it forced her to remember her lovely naïve husband and the weed her daughter had in her room.
Then the elevator did an awful jerk, sending them reaching for the rails. A sound like a train derailing followed and the lights flickered. The elevator quaked then came to complete halt.
"Oh my goodness," Yana said.
"No. No. No. This can't be happening," the hunk said.
"No. I knew it," she heard the strange man cry.
"I'm not even supposed to be here," Yana said fearful of facing the manager. She stabbed the emergency button repeatedly, but it did not ring. She could see now, Mr. Baylor calling Isaac about this incident. "He's going to be pissed. And my daughter. I think she's smoking weed. I just know it. I found one of those joints in her room."
Yana didn't know what came over her. She grabbed onto the hunk who looked just as afraid. "You know what I'm talking about."
He yanked out of her grip with an annoyed expression.
"This cannot be happening. I'm so sorry God. Please don't let us be stuck," she mumbled a prayer feeling her head was about to explode with worry.
"We need to just stay calm, lady," the hunk said.
"Please get us out of here," she said to him, seeing the other guy was undergoing his own meltdown.
The hunk went to try, and pry open the doors, but Yana's impatience was nagging her. Hoping it would help, she began pressing all the buttons. They lit up, but nothing happened. Even the emergency button refused to work and of all days she didn't have her cellphone. When the hunk couldn't open the doors, he stood for a second as if deep in thought. She prayed he could figure out something. He put down his bag and felt for his pockets, just as the strange man pulled something from the confinement of his coat.
Yana's jaw dropped in pure horror and she screamed from the top of her lungs.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Already the morning was dragging into boredom. He leaned back in his chair and scratched an itch beside his crotch. The front of his head ached more than usual, and his skin crawled with unease.
"I'm out Trevor, you have a good day."
"Alright," he said with a lazy wave, not using what energy he had to turn to look at the security guard.
By the empty cans of grape soda on the countertop and the trash bin, Trevor knew that nothing eventful happened on the guard's night shift. Nothing ever happened in this boring apartment complex, yet a lot did occur. Secret things. Things workers and residence of the 24-floor building would never want the outside world to know. And being stuck in a four-walled space for hours behind multiple screens made Trevor almost feel like a god.
Already, he'd caught a maid pull out a wedgy while descending the stairway. Then there was Mr. Baylor stuffing the last bite of a breakfast burrito down his throat as he exited his office. The last he heard the man's wife had forced him into a diet. But the buttons pulling on his striped shirt and his daily food deliveries said he wasn't complying. Then on one screen, he scolded as the pretty administrator Anya flirted with the check-in clerk Brandon.
Trevor leaned closer to the screen as she curled a strand of her auburn hair around a finger. The smile they exchanged made Trevor slam his fist on the counter.
"She's mine, you idiot," he said.
You should go and claim your woman, his dark inner voice said.
He tapped his fingers on the table. "No. I can't."
Your loss then, it said.
"She's not worth it anyways," Trevor said glancing at the door.
She doesn't want you. So, what are you going to do about it?
"Nothing. Shut up," he muttered and purposely turned off the camera to the front desk.
The other camera to the lobby remained giving a partial view of the check-in counter. At least he didn't have to watch them flirt. He combed his fingers through his wavy hair and readjusted his position in his chair.
"I need to focus," he said.
He pulled his journal from his backpack and prepared to write his observations for the day. In his Google research about handling stress and borderline depression, he received the idea of jotting down his thoughts and observations. Many claimed it was a good tactic to help ween out thoughts, agitation, and improve problem solving. And then there was that voice in his head.
"Sunday. April fifth, two-thousand and twenty," he said aloud as he titled a clean page.
When he was finished, he also prepared the complex's incident binder and the schedule for the day and the week. He checked to see his gun was snapped properly, his walkie-talkie was on, and the phone was working. Everything was ready for another long day as Best View's eyes on the wall. Eventually, he would have to do his normal walk patrol of the apartment's interior and exterior to show his face, but for now, he was settled.
Are you going to see Anya?
Trevor frowned and turned on the radio to 101.9 FM. He bopped his head to the music and popped chewing gum into his mouth.
Is that Maxi?
Trevor stopped chewing and leaned close to one of the screens to the lobby. Indeed, standing at the elevator was Maxi Korvitz, a loser son of an Italian mobster. Two weeks ago, Trevor had a terrible conversation with Anya who said how the slum bag tried flirting with her on different occasions. The talker foolishly told her about his past affiliations and how he stole money from his father to live his own life outside of New York. Of course, it was a life of using and selling drugs. He informed Baylor about it and was told to keep an eye on him.
And an eye he did. He never caused any trouble, to Trevor's disappointment, but over time, he had noticed how fidgety he'd grown. He never left his apartment unless it was to collect his drugs or to go to the groceries. Every time, Trevor saw this man either on his screens or in person, it took a lot of restraint to keep from strangling him. He overheard him tell someone on his phone about the pretty redhead he wanted to bang and how one day she would be his.
"Not on my watch," Trevor muttered rubbing his gun.
You should take him down now.
"If I would do that. I'd do it far from here and not in uniform."
Is that the owner's wife again?
The brunette in her fancy spring clothing came to stand beside Maxi. Maxi looked her over in his normal hesitant, suspicious expression. Trevor couldn't help but laugh.
"Why is she back?"
For another tangle in the sheets with the model.
"I wonder if she was here last night?"
It doesn't matter. Cheating is wrong. She deserves to die Trevor.
"Not as much as Maxi. Wait. Shut up," he said massaging his forehead.
He turned the music up louder.
You think the music is going to tune me out?
Trevor growled, pondering his sister's suggestion to go and see his doctor about his strange headaches. He didn't tell her the weird voice came with it. The last thing he needed was for her to be over worried about him and seeing a shrink would force him out of a job.
Didn't Baylor say the other day that they might have to lay you off due to budget cuts?
"Yeah so..."
Baylor said it's coming from above...
Realization crawled onto Trevor's face. What better revenge could he have upon Isaac Thorne then to expose his cheating wife? He may or may not lose his job, but someone else might. Like Anya. Baylor did say she could be on the list. Rich people. They never cared about anyone else but themselves. Let him lose something dear to him. Either his wife or his trust in her would be great.
"What should I do? Call Baylor and have him catch her?"
I like that one...
"What if Isaac knows already?"
Doesn't matter. The embarrassment alone will kill him, the voice chuckled.
"Hmm... But what should I do?"
The two entered the elevator and a grin crawled onto his face as an idea slid into mind. He could tell she was uncomfortable being in the tight space with the gangster. But then one of the usual tenants abruptly entered the elevator, and his annoyance heightened. James Franklin was one of those polite and decent black men that wouldn't hurt a fly. Trevor had spoken to him a few times and eventually envy began to poison his heart and mind. Not only was he young, handsome, and athletically built, he knew what he wanted in his future. To become the greatest engineer in Maryland. He might become rich while Trevor stayed as an underpaid security guard.
So, are you going to do it?
"No," he frowned remembering James had a daughter. He forgot how old.
But I'm bored. You're bored. And it will be slightly fun.
"James doesn't deserve it," he said heart pounding in his chest as his fingers went for the elevator hold button.
Do it. Do it. Do it. It will make you feel in control. Don't you want to be in control?
"Yeah I do."
Do it. Just to scare them for a second.
Before Trevor could stop himself, the mischievous urge seeping through his veins pressed the button. The elevator came to an abrupt halt, causing them to reach for the railings.
"Oh no," he said but smiled watching them panic in fear.
Especially, Maxi. He looked terrified. He stared at James in an indescribable fear. Trevor burst into laughter and turned off the emergency alarm. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but when Mrs. Thorne clung onto James, it washed away Trevor's smile.
"You cheater," he scolded at the screen as if they could hear him. "Get off him."
As if he heard Trevor, James yanked out of her hold and went to pry open the doors. His monitor of the elevator began to lighten up and beep as Mrs. Thorne pressed all the buttons.
"No. Don't do that," Trevor said as the monitor beeped.
Good job Trevor. Don't that feel good?
"It does," he grinned, glancing at the door to make sure no one was coming.
Then something strange happened. James stood frozen for a second as Mrs. Thorne wept. Maxi stared wide-eyed at James, knees trembling to the bones as he pressed his body against the back corner of the elevator. James put down his bag on the floor and felt his pockets and his hoodie. Trevor gasped, heart leaping into his throat, as paranoid Maxi pulled out a gun from within his coat. He aimed it at James. Mrs. Thorne screamed.
A flicker of light blinded the camera for a mini-second.
James crunched over.
Mrs. Thorne screamed and cringed in fear.
Maxi aimed the gun at her.
Trevor jumped to his feet, jaw dropping.
Another flicker of light blinded the camera.
She slid to the floor, face red and distraught.
Maxi waved the gun in the air, trembling in a guilty sob.
"No," he muttered. "What have I done?"
Trevor tried to restart the elevator, but the system beeped of an override and an error. It was stuck. Everything was stuck, proving he stopped the elevator on purpose. Thick sweat poured down his temple as footsteps ran towards the door. He ran and locked it just as they slammed into it. He was stuck and there was no way out of this. This was going to end him for good.
They shouted outside the door, but he couldn't hear them. Only laughter and his thundering heart screamed in his ears. He couldn't take it any longer. He unholstered his gun, pressed it to his temple, and wept.
The last thing he heard was Ha. Ha. Ha.
THE END