The Elevator (from Life IS a Fairytale . . .)

The Elevator Scene

Cerise noticed the US marshals were packing their belongings.  Their pocket alarms had erupted simultaneously into such an enormous and continuous chime, she had to cover her ears.  None of them would answer her as to where they were going.  They each stood by the sofa waiting in their black shirts and black pants, and holding their black duffle bags.  The one in charge was listening and nodding at whatever he was being told on his cellphone.

Those liars from the Pentagon.   They had promised Eddie they would keep her safe and not leave her alone.  Something must have just happened, somewhere.

She backed out of the room and slipped into the hallway.  She turned the corner and headed for the elevators.  A man was standing there, in a blue and orange hotel uniform.  He looked at her then nodded in a professional manner.  He pushed the down button and nodded at her again.  When the door opened, he extended his hand for her, then joined in behind her.  He stuck his key into the panel and firmly turned it to the right.

“Floor ma’am?”

“1st Floor,”  she smiled politely.

He nodded at her and pushed the B2 button.

“Uh, 1st floor.”  she said pointing at the panel.  He interlocked his hands in front of him and kept looking ahead.

“Sir.  Um, you pushed the basement.  I- I’m going to the first – .”  He would not look at the panel.   Idiot. 

She reached across him and pushed the 1st floor button.  It would not light up.  She pushed it harder, multiple times, it was dead.  The man stood looking straight ahead.  She looked directly into his face.

“What’s going on here?”   He did not respond.

Her heart pounded as she felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach.  The  elevator dropped them abruptly downward causing the drink she had had earlier to reflux to her throat .   She backed away from the man and leaned against the opposite wall.

Eddie was going to be highly upset about this.  She rolled her eyes around to each of the corners,  up at the ceiling, over at the operator’s key sticking out of the panel, then at the operator.  He stood there like a fucking mannequin, knowing all along that as soon as she went for that key, he would grab her and overpower her.  She had to try it anyway.

The elevator came to a harsh stop, jerking them both.  It was too late.  There was no way, no way out.  She pushed her body firm against the back panel.   The elevator clanked, paused for a few seconds, then the doors began to slowly open.

  Oh, Eddie, . . .oh God!

There they were, two masked men who reached in, yanked her away from the wall, and lifted her by her butt, arms, and thighs.  The drink refluxed again, this time straight out onto the shoulder of one of the men.  A third man walked up and stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth.  She thrashed her body about as wildly as she could.   Her blouse came apart and her bra strap came mid-way down on her arm.  One of them had a pull on that  arm so strong,  any resistance on her part would no doubt dislocate  her shoulder.  She tried  hard to hawk the handkerchief from her mouth, but instead it gagged her and cramped her jaws.

Two other men were waiting in the rear of a van.   She kicked at them until one of them restrained her legs.  Someone came from behind and blindfolded her.  In concert, they shoved her in onto the two men’s laps.   The van doors slammed shut.  This was it.


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Writing Goals

My First Completed EbookNovember 11th, 2013
I will put my first Ebook on Amazon

The Background: Swamp Scene in Avoyelles Parish

The scene is a swamp in Louisiana, my home state. It is also the setting of my beloved story that I will finish one day, even if I have to take it up to Heaven in a folder with a pen. God would say, "you're still carrying around that thing?" I would nod my head and give him a humble blink, my pen and paper in hand. He would then ask, "so how are you going to get it to your audience when you're done?" I would gulp and give him another humble blink. Then I'd look down at my work and a grin would grow on my face . . . (you won't get it until after you read my book, once I do finish it. . .)
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