A Witch In Time (9 page)

“Good thinking. Now, about this elevator . . .” I reminded him.

He laughed. I sighed. I suppose it was a good thing someone could see the humor in the situation.

“Sorry,” he said, only I knew that he wasn’t, really. “Well, jeez, Maggie, I don’t know. Is there an emergency button?”

One big, bright red plastic button at the bottom of the button panel. Check. “Yes.”

“You could try that.”

Hm. In movies, any big red button, when pushed, made a horrific, earsplitting clamor. “There are people sleeping, Marsh.”

“Well, okay. I mean, if you
want
to spend the night on the floor of the elevator until someone figures out that it’s not running . . .”

I glanced down at the floor. Ew. “They would miss me long before that could happen,” I said confidently. “Besides, my boyfriend’s on it. I called him first.”

“Oh, well hey. Why didn’t you say so? You’ve got everything under control. Just a matter of time.”

I could hear from the unspoken undercurrent in Marshall’s voice that I was losing his interest. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Who, me? Nope. Not at all. Just ... just got out of the shower here and I’m dripping all over the floor, that’s all.”

“All right. I guess you can’t help me. Thanks anyway. Go dry off.”

“‘Kay. Talk to you later, sis. Oh, and let me know how goes it with Mel.”

He hung up so fast I didn’t even get to say the word “good-bye.” So much for big brother as distraction. Or even elevator expert.

I was about to try Marcus again when my phone buzzed in my hand with a new text message. From Marshall, I discovered when I clicked through the menus to read it. “Almost there, darling... Meet me at the elevators. Can’t wait.”

Marshall, Marshall, Marshall. Someone has a leetle ‘splainin’ to do.

Smirking at the misrouted message in spite of my momentarily forgotten duress, I texted back:
Would be happy to meet you at the elevators, darling, if I wasn’t currently stuck inside one. Can’t wait to hear about this one, BTW Much love, Maggie,

I wondered if my mother knew about Darling.

I would bet ... not.

Good leverage, that.

 

 

 

 

I was tempted to leave my phone open as a makeshift flashlight to chase away the shadows that felt as though they were closing in on me ... but then caution started waving at me from the sidelines. What if it took longer than just a few minutes for them to first find me and then get me out? I didn’t even know what floor I was on. Or even whether I was on any
one
floor at all. Who knew how long it might take? Maybe I’d better take caution’s advice and conserve battery power, just in case. Only use it if I needed to.

It was just a little bit of darkness after all.

In a completely unfamiliar, closed-in space.

It wasn’t that I was claustrophobic. It wasn’t even that I was afraid of the dark. A year ago, I would probably have been able to talk myself out of any niggling fear that might crop up in a similar situation. But now...

It was more the absolute certainty I felt that there was activity here—spirit activity—that had me on edge. With years and years of accumulated people energy, who knew how many traumatic passings within these walls, and potential unfinished business around every corner, was it any wonder that others still walked these halls? I felt it here, in the elevator with me, too. Not any one inquisitive or watchful spirit in particular, but that insidious buzz of stray vibrations along my nerve endings, just skimming along the surface.

For me, hospitals were little better than funeral homes, or cemeteries.

I had nearly forgotten the slick little LED light I kept attached to my key ring. With a cry of triumph, I dug it out of my handbag, and fumbled around with the keys until I found the right attachment. With a flick of the miniature Perma-On switch, the tiniest brilliant white light came to life at my fingertips. Its glow didn’t go far, and it cast strange shadows all around me, but it was at least reassuring to know that I could have a little light and not worry about not being able to contact the world outside of this elevator car because of a dead cell phone battery.

With a sigh that was an uneasy mix of nervousness and boredom, I scooted the paper sack full of food over to one wall to keep it from being tripped over in the event that they should get the doors open before they figured out the power disturbance. The only thing for me to do at this point was to settle in for what I hoped was my very imminent rescue. I leaned against the handrail on the back wall—standing, of course.

I don’t know how long I had been there when I first heard the voices.

“Are you sure she doesn’t realize
. . .”

Two male voices, low in pitch and faint, as though they were traveling a great distance. I supposed that made sense, given that they were passing through layers of metal and paneling and who knew what else. Most definitely they were not of the paranormal variety, thank goodness.

“Hello!” I shouted, hoping to make my voice carry through the door. “Hello?”

The voices continued on as though I hadn’t made a peep. I didn’t understand. Why could I hear them but they not hear me?

“What if she
suspects
—”

I frowned as the words drifted down to me as through a tube, hollow and somewhat muffled, though still discernible. Something about them made me instantly bite my tongue. Gosh, maybe it was the faintly threatening tone to the conversation. What if she suspects? Suspects what? I leaned forward and pressed my ear to the crack in the metal door.
Come on,
I thought,
don’t mind me. I’m not here. Keep going, keep talking
. . .

“No way. No way she’ll ever suspect. Not until it’s too late.”
Too late? Too late for what? I didn’t like the sound of this at all. Where were these voices coming from? Were they right outside the closed elevator on whatever floor I was on? I backed away, suddenly nervous. What if the doors opened and they saw me there, eavesdropping on their little ... conversation?

Um, forgive me for saying this, but ... That. Sounded. Awfully. Final.

I stood up a little straighter, scarcely daring to breathe for fear I’d miss something.

I found myself nodding feverishly—yes, but when? When?

But before they could say anything else, the lights flashed and blinked their way on in the elevator, and with a sudden lurch and the whirr of motors, the world beneath my feet shifted. It should have been a moment for rejoicing, but instead I found myself cursing old Murphy and his ridiculously bad timing. I’d made it this far in the lonely darkness; another couple of minutes of trying to decide what was brewing between the two strangers would not have killed me, and I was worried about what it might mean.

What could they have been talking about? They were up to no good, that was for sure.

Before I could even think to start hitting all of the rest of the floor buttons, I had already arrived at Labor and Delivery, and the doors were opening.

“There you are!” Marcus exclaimed, the relief on his face evident. “There were two elevators malfunctioning. It was a fifty-fifty shot, and wouldn’t you know it? The maintenance guy got the wrong one opened first, and then he got called away because they had an urgent need for blood from universal donors, lucky guy, and—
Whoa!”
he yelped as I yanked him inside the elevator with me and slammed my palm against the red button that closed the doors before their usual wait time was over. “You know, if you’d wanted some alone time that much, all you had to do was say so,” he quipped, backing me up to the elevator wall and moving in to nip playfully at my neck. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

For once, his flirtation didn’t faze me. Impatient, I brushed him away. “Shh.” I pressed my ear tightly to the closed crack in the door.

Marcus lifted his brows ever so slightly. “Maggie . . . what are you doing?” he asked in the slow, exceedingly patient way a person might address someone who had suddenly gone off the deep end. “Don’t you want to select a floor?”

I waved my hand at him in a shushing gesture. “Shh! I’m trying to see if I can hear them. Oh, I hope they haven’t disappeared.”

“Who?”

“Shh!”

“Okay, okay. Shushing.”

I listened, hard, pinching my eyes and straining with the effort to hear the voices that had carried to me before on the wings of... what? Fate? Kismet? Or just plain bad luck?

“Maggie.” When I didn’t answer right away, Marcus tried again more insistently, tugging at the hem of my blouse. “Maggie? Hey, what’s going on?”

Frustrated, I eased back away from the closed door. “I think they’ve gone,” I wailed. “I can’t hear a thing. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Maybe we should go down a few floors and try again.”

Marcus turned me toward him and put his hands, warm and soothing, on my shoulders. “Who has gone?” he prompted.

“I don’t know who. I don’t know!” I shook my head in frustration. Of course they’d gone. Clearly my questionable luck of the evening was holding steady.

“Shh, shh.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his lips remaining in place until the strength and reassurance they at once conveyed pulsed through me in a calming wave. “I think you’d better tell me what happened. What has you so worked up, hm?” He cast an eye around us in the closed elevator. “I think I’d prefer another spot, though.”

So would I, now that I realized there was no chance of discovering the identity of the two men who had been so blithely discussing heaven knows what.

And that was partly the trouble, and the reason I wanted so desperately to understand. I didn’t know what they were talking about, and yet it had me worried. Was that so unreasonable ? After all the cumulative... experiences of the last ten months, I think I had earned the right to be wary.

Marcus punched the button that opened the doors and led me by the hand out onto the Labor and Delivery floor to a quiet grouping of comfy chairs at the end of the hall—away from the waiting room that held my mother, father, and grandfather, thank goodness. I needed a breather. “Okay. Now. Tell me. Beginning to end. What’s going on?”

It all came out in a rush, the conversation I’d overheard and the sinister tone of it. Marcus was frowning as I finished recapping the tale.

“And you don’t know where the two men were speaking from?” he asked. I was glad that my hands were still held sheltered within his, because mine were trembling and I couldn’t make them stop.

I shook my head. “No. I have no idea. I don’t know if they were on the same floor that the elevator was stuck on or whether their voices were carrying from some other floor. I just don’t know.”

“But you’re worried.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? With everything that the two of them said? That was not a normal conversation to be having, Marcus.”

But my lovely new boyfriend seemed all of a sudden determined to play devil’s advocate as he hedged, “I can see how upset you are. And in light of everything else that was going on at the time I can see how it would have sounded bad. Suspect, even. Come on, Maggie.” He playfully joggled my hand around in an attempt to get me to loosen up. “Don’t you think you’re getting yourself all worked up for nothing? You have absolutely nothing to go on here. Did they really say anything at all? If you had a chance to think about it, you would see that it could feasibly be, and probably is, nothing to worry about.”

I looked at him, wanting to believe. Was I making too much of nothing? And yet, what if this one conversation was just the tip of the iceberg for something truly horrible? Something preventable? “But what if it’s
not
nothing?”

It wasn’t a comfortable question. But then, it wasn’t a comfortable scenario. He took his time formulating his next words. “You’re here for your sister—who is still having trouble ; your brother-in-law just popped out to tell us—and even if what you overheard was a true threat, there is nothing that you can do about it. You wouldn’t have any way of recognizing the two voices. You don’t know where they were coming from. You don’t know who they were talking about. You said yourself you don’t even know what floor your elevator was stuck on. Why don’t we go back to the waiting room with the rest of your family and try to forget about it, okay? You’ll feel better.”

They were all good points. I let him pull me up to my feet, and I let him lead me back down the hall toward the waiting room and my family. Maybe I even let myself be convinced.

Yeah, I know, I know. Thanks, Grandma C.

Now what was that supposed to mean? Would it be too much to request that the voices of conscience
didn’t
resort to cryptic platitudes when the going got tough? I ask you.

“There you are!” My mother didn’t miss a beat when Marcus nudged me through the waiting room door. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Your grandfather is starving to death. Anything you might have gotten us is bound to be ice cold by now.”

In times of great stress, my mom liked her hyperbole. A lot.

I held out the paper sack. “Didn’t Marcus tell you?”

“About the elevator? Yes, of course. But you would think they could have hurried up about the whole thing. We do have a lot going on right now, and we needed you.” She resolutely did not accept the bag.