Haunting Refrain (14 page)

Outside, he sprinted to the safety of the bushes and crouched there as the maintenance man rounded the corner of the building. He knew he should leave, get away from the area. It would be dangerous to stay, and he had really neglected his business lately. Then Kate passed in front of the window again, and he found himself unable to move. Maybe he'd watch, just for a little while. He wondered if he'd be able to hear it crash from outside.

* * *

All morning Kate had been restless, edgy, and more than once she thought she'd seen someone lurking in the bushes behind the parking lot. The phone seemed to ring every time she went into the darkroom and then stopped again before she could get to it, adding to her frustration.

Glaring at the now-silent phone, she snapped a 400-millimeter lens onto her Nikon, edged to the studio window, and careful to keep out of sight, checked the bushes again. Raising the camera, she adjusted the focus and snapped off three quick shots.
This is insane,
she thought.
It's probably kids playing hooky from school. If so, it might make a nice shot. And if not, maybe I'll get lucky and see a face.

But whose face?

She returned the camera to the drawer and went back to the darkroom. The publicity shots for one of the character actors with the Principal Players were due. She had promised to leave them downstairs at the theater for him to pick up this evening.

Working in the dim red glow of the darkroom, Kate fed the strip of negatives into the enlarger and adjusted it until an image filled the eight-by-ten block framed beneath it.
 
She rolled the thirty-five millimeter film forward to the first of the shots she had selected. Since the players only wanted eight by tens, she used her lighter weight Nikon N70 with fine-grained
Fuji
film for their portraits. The
Mamiya
she kept in the studio for the larger portraits. Even used, she could have lived for a few months on what she had paid for the medium-format camera. But it was worth it, she reminded herself, making a mental note to pick up Mrs. Armstrong’s proofs from the lab. She found the frame, made a few quick adjustments, and placed the ghostly face slightly off center. As she slipped a sheet of photo paper into the frame, the phone rang in the other room, but she couldn't stop now. Surely the caller would leave a message this time. She started the timer and grabbed a quick sip of lukewarm coffee as the bright light burned the image into the paper.

The timer sounded and the enlarger light went out, returning the room to the red glow of the safety lamp.

She lifted the paper from the frame and slid it into a tray of developer, watching intently as the first faint shadows slowly evolved into the actor's lined face. Although it was a traditional publicity shot, she was pleased with it. This was what drew her to photography—seeing her work come to life on the blank white paper.

The phone rang again in the other room. Each time she left the darkroom and checked
,
there had been no message.
Probably
Venice
.
She never left messages. She’d call her as soon as she finished.

When she was satisfied with the picture, she transferred it to a tray of fixer. She made several prints, swirling them gently in the chemical baths, until the last one reached the final stage, the stop bath. She flicked the overhead light switch and turned off the safety light before rinsing the prints in the water-filled sink. Then each print had to be
squeegeed
dry on a pane of glass. After plastering the dryer with the prints, she started cleaning up. The ancient dryer roared in her ears. Soon, maybe after she finished the bank portraits, she would replace it. She dried her hands and closed the darkroom door behind her. Her stomach reminded her of the time.

Back in the studio she examined the peanut butter sandwich she had brought. It looked decidedly unappetizing. Briefly she considered calling James Earl, the maintenance man, to see if he would pick up a vegetable plate for her when he went out at noon, but she was too hungry to wait. Before she could get out the door, the phone rang again. This time she answered.
“Period Portraits, Kate McGuire speaking.”

“Hi, Kate.
It's John. Have you had lunch?”

It must be fate, she thought, glancing at the sandwich in the trash. She checked the worn khakis she was wearing. No stains. “No, I haven't.”

“Good. I'll come get you and we can grab a sandwich at the Sunshine Cafe, if that suits you.”

“I was just about to leave. Why don't I meet you there?”
The Sunshine Cafe?
Her mouth watered. She dreamed about their chicken salad sandwiches. The sandwich shop, once tucked in the corner of the pharmacy, had gradually taken over until the whole place had become the Sunshine Cafe, but the same family still owned it. It would be a good candidate for the book on
Greenville
she wanted to do one day. Looking through some old photos her father had taken had given her the idea. A bit of then and now.
 

“I'm already in your parking lot,” he said, interrupting her daydreams. “Come on down.”

She hung up and ran to look out the window. Sure enough, the Mustang was down there, and John was leaning on the open door, looking up. As she waved, she remembered the figure in the bushes, but no one was visible now.
 

The phone rang again as she locked the studio door and turned toward the elevator. It continued to ring. She hesitated,
then
went on. For an instant, she thought she could hear
Venice
's voice, calling to her to stop. Shaking her head, she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button marked B. As the outer door closed, all light disappeared.
What happened to the light?
It would only take a couple of minutes to get down and then she would tell James Earl, she reassured herself, staring blindly into the darkness.

A slight pinging, like wire snapping above her head, sounded overloud in the descending cage. She looked up, but the blackout in the shaft prevented her from seeing. More pings. Without warning, the cage lurched and dropped a few inches. Kate grabbed the wooden gate that formed the inner door, terrified. There was another snap, louder, and Kate screamed as the elevator dropped another foot, hesitated, and then plummeted.

It plunged endlessly downward. Kate, petrified, clung to the rail. Abruptly, the cage clattered to a jarring halt, slamming her to the floor. A cloud of dust erupted around her. Stunned, she lay there for a second, trying to catch her breath and determine if she was dead or hurt.
Aachoo
.
She couldn’t stifle the sneeze that erupted into the dust. The elevator box creaked. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
Don’t panic!

Trying to think, she looked around and saw the faint outline of a wide door. The top of it was only a few feet above the floor of the cage. In the faint gap between the ill-fitting upper and lower sections of the freight door, she thought she could see a strip of green, the color of the Principal Player's carpet on the second floor.
 
Oh, God! Two more floors to the basement—it could fall again!
 
Fighting panic, she inched her way across the dirty floor toward the remains of the wooden gate. The top bar was on the floor with
her,
and one end of the lower bar rested on top of it. The cage creaked again and she froze.
Would it hold?

From below, she heard the door open, and James Earl's voice echoed up the shaft. “What happened? Is anyone up there?”

Another voice sounded in the background. She heard James Earl say he thought the elevator had fallen, and then John was there, shouting, “Kate? Are you all right?”

“I'm here,” she called, barely above a whisper. She was afraid to answer for fear the noise alone would disturb the elevator's tenuous position. “I think I'm okay.”

“Don't move. We'll get you. Just stay perfectly still.” His voice faded out of her range as he said, “James Earl, call the Fire Department.”

Hours seemed to pass before John’s voice reached her again. “We're here, Kate. James Earl is opening the door now. He has to override the safety lock. We'll have you out in a minute.”

His calm voice continued. “The Fire Department's on the way. Just stay still. Okay, he's opening the door now.”

Light poured in as the gap between the horizontal freight doors slowly expanded. Kate, still on her hands and knees, held her breath, her heart pounding. The elevator creaked but didn't move.

As soon as the door rose above the floor of the suspended cage, she saw John. Only about three feet separated her from the opening, but she had to get under the cage’s broken door. She guessed it to be about eighteen inches off the floor at the highest point. Slowly she shifted her weight from knee to knee until she crossed the space. She reached for his outstretched hand, her lifeline. “John, pull me out.”

“No, Kate,” James Earl said. “The Fire Department said not to touch anything. They'll be right here. Your friend here made me open the door. I'm going to wedge this board against the wall of the shaft under the elevator. It will hold until the firemen get here.”

Kate barely heard him. She could think again, and she wasn't staying here a single second longer than she had to. “You pull me out or I'll jump.” Drawing up her right leg, she carefully shifted onto her foot.
 

“Hold on, just a few more minutes. I won't let go,” John said. “I can hear the siren now.”

“No. Help me, John.”

Beneath her whispered words, the terror she felt was clear.

“Give me your other hand.” John held her left hand steady, supporting her as much as he could while she eased all her weight onto her right foot and got her other foot under her.

Although ice water ran through her veins, she could see beads of sweat on his face.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Kate?”

She nodded. She launched herself forward in a flat racing dive. John jerked back and pulled at the same time. Kate flew through the opening, scraping her back on the bars of the door, and crashed into him. He staggered but managed to stay upright, catching her in his arms. The elevator creaked but stayed in place.

* * *

When the firemen arrived on the second floor, John was sitting against the wall in a folding metal chair, holding Kate, who was still shaking. She sat on his lap with her face pressed against his neck. He rubbed her back while James Earl hovered nearby, stepping back and forth over the length of two by four he hadn't used.

After the initial jumble of explanations, she forced herself to let go of John and face the firemen. John stood and eased her into the chair. One of the firemen gently checked her for injuries, especially her legs and ankles, while another questioned her. The medic lifted her shirt and examined the scrape on her back. “You may be a little tender, but I think
it's
okay.”

With the firemen's calm concern, she gradually pulled herself together, assuring them that she was all right, and described what had happened.

James Earl and the others were peering into the shaft, now illuminated by several flashlights. One of them snagged Kate's shoulder bag from the floor of the cage and handed it to John.

“Can you tell what happened?” John asked an older fireman who seemed to be in charge.

“Only what stopped it. There are
safety
devices built into it that kick in when the elevator exceeds a certain speed. From what little I can see, it looks to have been pretty well maintained. We'll have to get somebody from the elevator company over here to examine it with our inspector and figure out why it fell. It’s really unusual.”

John looked up the shaft, but couldn't see anything. He didn’t want to think it was anything but an accident, but he had a bad feeling. “As soon as you know what caused it, give me a call, will you? It might be important.” He scribbled his home number on the back of a business card and gave it to the fireman.
“Home or work, anytime.”

“Sure thing.”
The man read the card and stuffed it in his pocket. “I've seen your name in the paper. Why does something like this interest you? Nobody got hurt.”