Chapter 16: Between Floors

"I wasn't going to make a joke," I said.

"You were."

"I was going to make a very small one."

Cain pressed the emergency button with his thumb and held it.

A voice crackled out of the speaker.

Maintenance had been called, it said, and would arrive within half an hour.

He let go of the button and stood with his back flat against the wall.

His hand was open at his side, and I saw it was not quite steady.

"Mr. Rourke."

"I am fine."

"You're gray."

"I do not like small rooms with no windows."

I stared at him.

The scariest man in Baltimore, who had made a senator apologize to a crane, was afraid of an elevator.

"Is this on the intake form?" I said. "Because it wasn't on mine."

"It is not on anyone's."

"Okay." I slid down the opposite wall and sat with my knees up. "Then sit. It's easier."

"I prefer to stand."

"Sit, Mr. Rourke. That's not a favor, it's just advice."

He slid down, slowly, until he sat across from me with his long legs folded.

The elevator was about four feet wide. His shoes were next to mine.

"Talk to me," he said. "About anything. Not about work."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know." His jaw worked. "That is the problem. I never learned what to ask."

I looked at him.

"Then I'll start," I said. "Ask me what I wanted to be when I was nine."

"What did you want to be when you were nine?"

"A hardware store."

He blinked. "Not a person who owns one."

"A store. I thought the store was alive. I used to say good morning to the drill bits."

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