Death Mask

about trying to squeeze your way in. Then the doors closed, and they were gone.

Chrissie pressed the button for another elevator. As she did so, she was joined by five more office workers, secretaries, and junior executives, two of them carrying cappuccinos and one of them holding a brown paper bag which smelled strongly of hot pastrami.

“I’m not too happy about this,” said one of the cappuccino carriers.

“You’re not too happy about what, for Christ’s sake?” his friend gibed him.

“You know — ” and the cappuccino carrier nodded toward the elevator doors and made a stabbing gesture in the air.

“Oh, come on,” said his friend. “The cops went through this entire building with a fine-tooth comb. The guy’s probably three states away by now.”

To her horror, Chrissie saw her boss coming in through the revolving doors. Elaine Vickers, dark and sleek and black suited and highly unforgiving. By now, Chrissie was supposed to be up in the conference room with all of her paperwork prepared and the page proofs for next season’s catalog all laid out. And herbal tea on the table, too, with Elaine’s favorite wafer-thin almond biscuits.

She pushed the elevator button again and again. The elevator indicator read four, three, two, and then stopped.

Please, God, hurry, Chrissie prayed. She could see that Elaine had stopped to talk to two women in the middle of the lobby. If the elevator arrived now, Elaine might just miss it, and Chrissie could get to the conference room with seconds to spare.

The elevator doors opened. Inside, there were two technicians from the elevator company, with part of an electric motor on a trolley. They maneuvered it around slowly and awkwardly, while one of them held the doors open.

Please, God, hurry. Elaine had finished her conversation now and was walking toward the elevator bank with her usual fashion-runway prowl, one stiletto shoe in front of the other.

The technicians managed to trundle their trolley out of the elevator, and Chrissie immediately stepped on, followed by the other five office workers. Elaine was less than thirty feet away now. “Twenty-one, please,” she told the man with the brown paper bag.

Elaine raised her hand, and the man with brown paper bag kept his finger on the “open doors” button. Chrissie stared at the back of his neck and thought, You are going to die for this. You are going to die for this and go to hell.

“Twenty-one, please,” said Elaine, as she stepped inside. The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise. Chrissie stayed right at the back of the car, trying to keep herself concealed behind one of the cappuccino carriers. But when she turned sideways, she realized that Elaine could clearly see her in one of the mirrors.

Positive action. Don’t show Elaine that you’re intimidated. She excused herself and jostled her way around the cappuccino carrier.

“Good morning, Elaine.”

Elaine’s scarlet lips puckered up until they looked like a poisonous rosebud. One eyebrow arched.

“How was your traffic this morning?” Chrissie asked her, trying hard to sound nonchalant. “The I-75 bridge — what a nightmare. My taxi didn’t move for over twenty minutes.”

“I live in Mount Adams, if you remember,” said Elaine. “I don’t use bridges.”

“Oh, so you do. Right next door to Vidal Sassoon. And Mrs. Vidal Sassoon.”

“How long will it take you to get the presentation ready?” asked Elaine.

“Fifteen minutes, tops. It’s shaping up so well. The cardigan range. I have three fabulous new colors to show you.”

Elaine turned to stare at her directly. Her eyes were unblinking. Very quietly, so that nobody else in the elevator could hear her, she said, “This can’t go on, Chrissie. You know that as well as I do.”

“Elaine — ”

“Every time you’re late, Chrissie, every time you miss a meeting, that’s an act of disrespect to everybody you work with. We respect you. Why don’t you respect us?”

Chrissie’s mouth opened and closed. “It’s time,” she said. “I don’t know. No matter what I do, it refuses to behave itself.”

“Time won’t behave itself?” Elaine repeated.

“The clock jumps when I’m not looking. It’s three-thirty. I look up five minutes later, and it’s almost five. And I’m sure my watch goes faster than anybody else’s.”

Elaine was about to say something, when the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. The corridor outside looked dark and deserted.

“Fourteenth floor, anybody?” asked the man with the brown paper bag.

“Nineteenth, I want,” said a tall black man.

“Nothing here, anyhow,” said one of the cappuccino carriers, peering out. “This used to be Atlas Carriers, before they moved out.”

The man with the brown paper bag pressed the button for nineteen. The doors closed again, and the elevator continued to rise. But this time it didn’t stop at all.

“Hey, I said the nineteenth!” the black man protested.

“I pressed it for the nineteenth. It should have stopped.”

The black man pushed his way forward and jabbed the button. No matter how hard he jabbed it, however, the elevator continued to rise smoothly upward — twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four — all the way up to the twenty-fifth floor, where it stopped. The doors, however, didn’t open.

“This goddamned building,” said one of the cappuccino carriers. “We should sue the managers, you know that? They must have broken every safety regulation in the book.”

“Use the emergency phone,” said Elaine.

The black man opened the hatch and took out the red receiver. He held it up to show her. The wire was cut.

One of the cappuccino carriers handed his cup to his friend and took out his cell phone. “These building managers. When I take them court, they’re going to go bankrupt, I’m telling you. I’m going to sue them for everything. Criminal negligence, false imprisonment, you name it.”

He prodded at his cell phone and held it to his ear. “No goddamned signal. Anybody else got a signal?”

They all took out their cell phones, but none of them showed any reception.

“Isn’t that just great! We’re stuck here until somebody realizes that we haven’t shown up for work! And knowing my secretary, that will take till lunchtime!”

Elaine said, “Isn’t there a way to force these doors open?”

“With what, exactly?”

“Well, let’s bang on them and shout. Somebody has to hear us.”

“Okay. Let’s bang on them and shout.”

The tall black man clenched his fists and hammered on the doors. “Help!” he bellowed. “Help! We’re trapped in the elevator! Help!”

The rest of them joined in, although they were embarrassed by the different pitches in their voices.

“Christ,” said the man with the brown bag. “We sound like a crateful of frightened chickens.”

“Wait,” said the black man, lifting up his hand. They waited, and listened, but there was no response. Only the moaning of the wind down the hoistway, and the sad, distracted singing of the elevator cables. A distant echo of elevator doors, opening and closing, and hummmmm.

“Okay — let’s try it again.”

He hammered on the doors with even more fury. “Help! We’re trapped in the elevator! Help!”

They listened again, but still nobody answered.

“This is ridiculous!” snapped Elaine, but she sounded more frightened than angry.

At that moment, the elevator gave a violent jerk and dropped downward two or three feet, then stopped. All of them cried out in alarm, and one of the secretaries burst into tears. “Let me out! Let me out! I have to get out!”

“It’s okay,” the black man reassured her. “All elevators have emergency brakes. They can never drop all the