The Elevator Anthology – Part I
The lift doors slid shut with their familiar whisper, leaving Louise alone with her thoughts and the weight of the revolver in her handbag. The lift exhaled wearily, its mechanism settling with a soft sigh. She pressed the button for the seventh floor and watched the numbers begin their slow climb. One. Two. Her hands trembled as she adjusted her grip on the bag’s handles.
At the third floor, the lift jolted to a stop and the doors opened. A woman stepped in—mid-thirties, auburn hair, clutching a small gift bag. She was attractive in that effortless way that made Louise’s stomach clench. The woman pressed seven and stepped back.
“Going up,” the woman murmured, more to herself than to Louise.
Louise managed a tight smile. The doors closed again, and they continued their ascent in silence. The fluorescent light above them flickered once, casting brief shadows across their faces.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said suddenly. “I’m being terribly rude. I’m just… nervous, I suppose.”
“About what?” The words escaped before Louise could stop them.
The woman laughed, but it came out strained. “Oh, it’s silly really. I’m ending something today. Something that should have ended months ago.” The lift’s cables gave a metallic rasp of disapproval. She looked down at the gift bag. “A goodbye present, if you will. Though I’m not sure he’ll see it that way.”
Louise’s chest tightened. “That must be difficult.”
“It is. Especially because he’s already told his wife he’s leaving her.” The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He thinks we’re going to run away together, start fresh. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t break up a family.”
The lift shuddered to a halt between floors six and seven. The lights flickered again, longer this time, and the hum of the motor died away completely.
Louise stared at the floor indicator, which showed nothing but a blank display. “That’s odd.”
The woman pressed the emergency button. Nothing happened. She pressed it again, harder, then began banging on the doors. “Hello? Hello, can anyone hear us?”
After several minutes of shouting and banging, they fell quiet. The silence felt heavy, oppressive.
“I have a bit of signal,” Louise said, checking her phone. “Just one bar, but…”
“Could you try calling someone?”
Louise looked at her screen, then at the woman beside her. “What’s his name? The man you’re… seeing?”
“Paul. Paul Harper.” The woman paused. “Why?”
Louise’s world tilted slightly. She scrolled through her contacts until she found his number. “Paul Harper on Westfield Avenue?”
The woman’s face went white. “How do you… who are you?”
“I’m Louise. Louise Harper.” She held up her phone, showing Paul’s contact details. “Paul’s wife.”
The two women stared at each other in the flickering fluorescent light. The lift held its breath around them.
“Oh god,” the other woman whispered. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know… I mean, I knew about you, but I didn’t know it was… I’m Anna.”
Louise felt the weight of the revolver in her bag. “He told you he was leaving me?”
Anna nodded miserably. “Three weeks ago. He said he’d told you, that you were getting divorced, that—”
“He hasn’t said a word to me about leaving.” Louise’s voice was steady now, cold. “Not one word.”
The lift’s silence stretched between them. Anna leaned against the wall, covering her face with her hands.
“I came here to catch him,” Louise said quietly. “I followed him. I brought…” She touched her handbag. “I thought I’d find him with someone and I’d… but I couldn’t. I’m not that person. I’ll probably just stand there and cry.”
Anna looked up. “What did you bring?”
Louise unzipped her bag and showed her the revolver, nestled between tissues and receipts like some mundane household item.
“Jesus,” Anna breathed.
“I know. It’s ridiculous. I’m a primary school teacher, for God’s sake. I don’t even kill spiders.” Louise’s laugh sounded bitter. “But when I found those text messages…”
“I tried to end it,” Anna said. “So many times. But he kept saying you didn’t care, that your marriage was already over, that—”
“Call him,” Louise said suddenly.
“What?”
“Call him. Use my phone. Put it on speaker.” Louise held out the device. “I want to know what he’s doing right now.”
Anna shook her head. “I can’t. This is insane.”
“Please.” Louise’s voice was barely a whisper. “I need to know.”
After a long moment, Anna took the phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed.
The phone rang twice before Paul answered, but it wasn’t his voice they heard first.
“Who is it, darling?” A woman’s voice, breathless, intimate.
“Just a wrong number,” Paul’s voice, muffled, distracted. The line went dead.
The two women stared at the phone in absolute silence. The lift’s fluorescent light steadied, casting everything in harsh, unforgiving clarity.
“There’s a third woman,” Anna said, her voice hollow.
Louise felt something snap inside her chest—not break, but settle into place, like a dislocated joint finding its proper position. “The bastard.”
“All this time, I thought I was the only… I was destroying myself with guilt, and he was…”
Louise took the phone back and slipped it into her bag. When she looked up, her eyes were different. Harder.
“I can’t kill him,” Louise said. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”
Anna nodded. “I know.”
“But I can’t let him keep doing this either.”
The lift lurched back to life. The motor hummed, the lights steadied, and they began moving upward. The floor indicator flickered on: seven.
Louise opened her handbag and lifted out the revolver. Anna’s eyes widened, but Louise simply held it out to her, grip first.
“I can’t,” Louise said. “But maybe you can.”
Anna stared at the weapon. Slowly, carefully, she took it from Louise’s hands. Their eyes met and held.
The lift chimed softly as they reached the seventh floor. The doors slid open with that same gentle whisper, revealing the carpeted corridor beyond.
Louise stepped out first, then Anna. They walked side by side down the hall, past identical doors with brass numbers, until they reached 7C.
Louise raised her hand and knocked—three sharp raps that echoed in the silence.
Behind them, the lift chimed softly—a series of satisfied pings as the floor indicator flickered through impossible numbers: 8, 9, 10, 11—floors that didn’t exist in the building. Then it settled back to a steady, satisfied glow on seven.
Footsteps approached from inside the flat. The door handle began to turn.
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