I’m stuck in an elevator with Pandora, who’s frantically pressing the buttons like they’re going to magically fix everything. I swear, it’s like she thinks the elevator is just being stubborn on purpose.
“Come on, come on!” she mutters, jabbing at the panel like she’s trying to win a prize.
Meanwhile, I’m over here thinking this is exactly why I hate elevators. They’re basically metal coffins with better lighting. And now we’re trapped in one. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
I glance at Pandora and try not to laugh. She looks like she’s about to have a full-on breakdown. Her eyes are darting between the buttons and the doors like she’s expecting a secret escape hatch to reveal itself at any second. At this rate, she’s going to wear out the buttons before we get rescued.
Just as I’m starting to think things can’t get any worse, I hear a faint meowing outside the elevator.
Of course.
Mr. Whiskers.
John Mercer’s annoying cat is probably sitting out there “helping” by yelling at the doors like he can summon us out through sheer feline willpower. Because that’s exactly what we need right now—a cat trying to rescue us with psychic energy.
Pandora looks at me like I’ve lost my mind when I start laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, clearly not in the mood.
“Mr. Whiskers is out there,” I say, still chuckling. “He’s trying to rescue us.”
She gives me a look that suggests she’s reconsidering every life decision that led her to this moment, then goes back to aggressively pressing buttons. I shake my head and lean against the wall, trying not to think about how long we’re actually going to be stuck here.
As the minutes drag on—could be ten, could be an hour, time has lost all meaning—Pandora starts pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged animal slowly upgrading to full panic mode.
She mutters something under her breath about this being my fault, which I choose to ignore for my own safety.
I, on the other hand, am busy calculating survival odds. No food. No water. Limited ventilation. If this turns into a multi-day situation, I’m definitely not making it past day two.
Suddenly, Pandora stops dead in front of me.
“Hal,” she whispers.
That’s never a good start.
“What?”
Her eyes widen slightly. “What if someone did this on purpose?”
I blink. “Who would do that?”
She glances around the elevator like we’re in a low-budget spy movie. “Someone who wants to trap us here.”
Okay.
Now I’m a little concerned.
Because that idea is just plausible enough to be annoying.
I try to brush it off, but now my brain is doing its thing. Running through possibilities. Connecting dots that probably shouldn’t be connected.
John Mercer has been acting weird lately.
Mr. Whiskers definitely knows more than he lets on.
I look at Pandora. “Do you think John’s behind this?”
Her eyes go even wider. “Shh! Don’t say that out loud!”
Great. Now we’re both whispering conspiracy theories in a broken elevator like that’s a completely normal activity.
The meowing outside has stopped.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Now it’s just us, the flickering overhead light, and the quiet realization that we may have completely lost our grip on reality.
I lean my head back against the wall and stare at the ceiling.
And then it hits me.
What if we’re not actually stuck?
What if this is one of those social experiments? Like those shows where they trap people in a fake environment just to see how long it takes before they mentally unravel?
Because if that’s the case, I feel like I’m performing extremely well.
Pandora looks at me, clearly waiting for me to do something useful.
I shrug.
“You know what?” I say. “I think we just wait it out.”
She stares at me. “Wait it out?”
“Yeah. Why not? We’re not going anywhere. Might as well make the best of it.”
Her expression says she’s seconds away from either yelling at me or accepting defeat.
“We could play a game,” I add. “Elevator trivia.”
She blinks. “Elevator trivia?”
“Yeah. First question: how long before you break the buttons completely?”
For a moment, she just stares at me.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughs.
Actually laughs.
“You’re insane,” she says, shaking her head.
I grin. “Hey, someone has to keep things interesting.”
Somewhere outside, I swear I hear a faint, approving meow.
And honestly?
That’s the most reassuring thing that’s happened all day.