all the private offices apart from a few emergency lights that were lowly lit for security guards doing their rounds. He pressed the elevator call button and waited for the start-up sound of the ropes pulling the elevator up the shaft. All was silent. He pressed the button again and looked up at the displayed levels. The ground floor was lit up but there was no movement. He pressed the button again. Nothing happened. He pressed it a few more times until the anger could no longer be suppressed and so he began punching. Out of service. Typical.
He moved away from the elevator in search of the fire escape and his head continued to pound. With thirty minutes until his meeting, he had just enough time to run up and down thirteen floors with the pills. Leaving the familiarity of the main office corridor, he pushed through a few doors he’d never really noticed before, and found himself in corridors that had narrowed and where the plush carpets disappeared. The thick walnut doors and wall panelling of his section were replaced by white paint and chipboard and the office sizes were reduced to box rooms. Instead of the fine art collection he studied each day in the corridors of his office, photocopiers and fax machines lined the halls.
Turning the corner, he stalled and chuckled to himself, Gabe’s secrets of speed revealed. Before him was a service elevator, and it all made sense. The doors were wide open, a ghastly white light of a long fluorescent strip illuminating the small grey cube. He stepped inside, his eyes aching from the light, and before he could even reach for the buttons on the panel, the doors closed and the elevator descended speedily. Its speed was twice as fast as the regular elevators, and again Lou was satisfied to have caught on to how Gabe had managed to make it from one place to another so quickly.
While the elevator continued to move downward he pressed the ground-floor button but it failed to light up. He thumped it a few times and, with growing concern, watched as the light moved from each floor number. Twelve, eleven, ten … The elevator picked up speed as it descended. Nine, eight, seven … It showed no signs of slowing. The elevator was rattling now as it sped along the ropes, and with growing fear and anxiety Lou began to press all of the buttons he could find, alarm included, but it was to no avail. The elevator continued to fall through the shaft on a course of its own choosing.
Only floors away from the ground level, Lou moved away from the doors quickly and hunched down, huddling in the corner of the elevator. He tucked his head between his knees, crossed his fingers and braced himself for the crash position.
Seconds later, the elevator slowed and suddenly stopped. Inside the elevator shaft, the cube bounced on the end of the ropes and shuddered from its sudden halt. When Lou opened his eyes, which had been scrunched shut, he saw that he’d stopped on the basement floor. As though the elevator had functioned normally the entire time, it omitted a cheery ping and the doors slid open. He shuddered at the sight, it was hardly the welcoming committee that greeted him each time he stepped off on the fourteenth floor. The basement was cold and dark, and the ground concrete and dusty. Not wanting to get off on this floor, he pressed the ground-floor button again to quickly get back to marble surfaces and carpets, to creamy toffee swirls and chromes, but again the button failed to light up, the elevator failed to respond and its doors stayed open. He had no choice but to step out and try to find the fire escape so that he could climb up a level to the ground floor. As soon as he stepped out of the elevator and placed both feet on the basement floor, the doors slid closed and the elevator ascended.
The basement was lowly lit. At the end of the corridor a fluorescent strip of light on the blink flashed on and off, which didn’t help his headache and made him lose his footing a few times. There was the loud hum of machines around, the ceilings hadn’t been filled in and so all the electrics and wiring were revealed. The floor was cold and hard beneath his leather shoes and dustmites bounced up to cover his polished tips. As he moved along the narrow hallway, searching for the escape exit, he heard the sound of music drifting out from under the door at the end of a hallway that veered off to the right. ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ by Chris Rea. Along the hallway on the opposite side, he saw the green escape sign of a man running out a door, illuminated above a metal door. He looked from the exit, back to the room at the end of the hall where music and light seeped from under the door. He looked at his watch. He still had time to make his way to the pharmacy and – providing the elevators worked – back to his office in time for the conference call. Curiosity got the better of him, and so he made his way down the hall and drummed his knuckles against the door. The music was so loud he could barely hear his own knock, and so slowly he opened the door and tucked his head around the corner.
The sight stole words from his mouth and ran off with them under its arm, cackling.
Inside was a small stock room, the walls lined with metal shelves, from floor to ceiling filled with everything from light bulbs to toilet rolls. There were two aisles, both of them no more than ten feet in length, and it was the second aisle that caught Lou’s attention. Through the shelving units, light came from the ground. Walking closer to the aisle, he could see the familiar sleeping bag laid out from the wall, reaching down the aisle and stopping short of the shelving unit. On the sleeping bag was Gabe, reading a book, so engrossed that he didn’t look up as Lou approached. On the lower shelves, a row of candles were lit, the scented kind that were dotted around the bathrooms of the offices, and a small shadeless lamp sent out a small amount of orange light in the corner of the room. Gabe was wrapped up in the same dirty blanket that Lou recognised from Gabe’s days out on the pathway. A kettle was on a shelf and a plastic sandwich packet was half-empty beside him. His new suit hung from a shelf, still covered in plastic and never worn. The image of the immaculate suit hanging from the metal shelf of a small stock room reminded Lou of his grandmother’s parlour, something precious and saved for the big occasion that never came, or that came and was never recognised.
Gabe looked up then and his book went flying from his hands, just missing a candle, as he sat up straight and alert.
‘Lou,’ he said, with fright.
‘Gabe,’ Lou said, and he didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he should. The sight before him was sad. No wonder the man had been first at the office every morning and last there. This small store room piled high with shelves of miscellaneous junk had become Gabe’s home.
‘What’s the suit for?’ Lou asked, eyeing it up. It looked out of place in the dusty room. Everything was tired and used, left behind and forgotten, yet hanging from a wooden hanger was a clean, expensive suit. It didn’t fit in.
‘Oh, you never know when you’ll need a good suit,’ Gabe replied, watching Lou warily. ‘Are you going to tell?’ he asked, though he didn’t sound concerned, just interested.
Lou looked back at him and felt pity. ‘Does Harry know you’re here?’
Gabe shook his head.
Lou thought about it. ‘I won’t say a word.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’ve been staying here all week?’
Gabe nodded.
‘It’s cold in here.’
‘Yeah. Heat goes off down here when everyone leaves.’
‘I can get you a few blankets or, em, an electric heater or something, if you want,’ Lou said, feeling foolish as soon as the words were out.
‘Yeah, thanks, that would be good. Sit down.’ Gabe pointed to a crate that was on the bottom shelf. ‘Please.’
Lou rolled up his sleeves as he reached for the crate, not wanting the dust and dirt to spoil his suit, and he slowly sat down.
‘Do you want a coffee? It’s
