Page 5 of Lift Me Up

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.