It’s impossible, she told herself. I’m sure
there’s other patients with six-fifteen appointments.
He can’t be the only one. This is just bad coincidence.
“Why don’t you call?” she suggested, after
patting down her pockets for a phone she knew
wasn’t there. “I seem to have left mine in the car.”
He nodded and reached for his phone again
and she watched his pocket with eagle eyes. Just
as the corner of his jacket lifted enough for her to
see- the lights betrayed her- they flickered again and
went off completely.
“Frick,” he said again. “Hang on,” and his
phone turned on, the pale screen blinding in the
darkness. The woman shivered, unavoidably ner-
vous. This was supposed to be a simple mission!
“I’ll call 911,” he said, and began tapping the
screen. The phone was angled away from her eyes,
but she could see the reflection of the screen in his
sunglasses, which were still foolishly perched on his
nose. No, not foolishly . . . he was wearing them on
purpose . . .
“Hello?” the young man put the phone to
his ear, smothering the dim light. “Yes, I’m currently
stuck in an elevator, I think it’s broken? None of the
buttons work . . . ”
The woman was sure of it now. This wasn’t
coincidence. And the young man hadn’t dialed 911.
The reflection in his sunglasses betrayed the man
beneath them.
With calm determination, she moved to set
her papers on the floor. They both drew their guns at
the same time.
“Damn,” the young man finally broke the si-
lence. He tossed the phone aside. It landed noisily
in the corner, beside the neglected and now-spill-
ing green tea, and the compartment flashed as if
filled with strobe lights. With a second motion, he
88
removed the sunglasses, and the woman’s intuition
sighed with relief. She had made the right call. This
young man was her target after all.
“You’re hard to find,” she said.
“And you’re hard to fool,” he said. Each of
them was inspecting the other’s pistol, searching for
signs of authenticity, exploring risks, calculating op-
tions. He shifted, rolling on the balls of his feet in an-
ticipation. The dark wall mirror twisted his reflection
into a demonic specter, seemingly filling the room
with dozens of others. “I don’t suppose,” he licked
his dry lips, “that we-”
“No,” said the woman. She had been like
him once, enthusiastic. Hopeful. But this was the
end of the line. They were like two friends on the
dock above a lake, encouraging one another to leap.
Both would eventually jump. Neither wanted to be
first.
“Is it always like this?” he asked. She could
almost hear the sweat in his voice.
“No,” she said again. “It’s only like this once.”
“Not very fun.”
“This isn’t fun?” she said.
Without warning, the lights flicked back on.
As if apologizing, the elevator, with a pleasant ding!
revived, shuddered, and began to move. 28. 29. 30.
“Seems like the fun is almost over,” said the
young man, and she watched the hope die in his
eyes just as he watched the number rise with each
passing floor. It was going much too fast.
The woman just smiled. “Don’t worry, we
have plenty of time.”
The elevator reached the forty-second floor
a minute later. The doors opened to deafening si-
lence and an empty hall.