Chapter 8: The Lift

On day fourteen the voice gave me a deadline.

"Side quest," it said at eleven that night. "Touch the target's hand before midnight. Reward: five percent. Penalty for failure: one shock."

I was standing in the staff elevator with my coat on, going up to ask Thatcher who had changed my lock.

The doors opened on the twelfth floor, and he got in.

He was in his coat, with his phone in his hand.

"Miss Abernathy."

"Mr. Kincaid. About my lock."

"Don't ask."

"I'm asking."

"That's a violation of the note."

"The note is not a term."

The elevator started up and then stopped with a lurch between the twelfth and thirteenth floors.

The lights flickered.

Every button went dark.

Thatcher pressed the emergency panel, listened to it, and closed his eyes.

"Maintenance is on the way," he said. "Forty minutes."

"How do you know?"

"It's always forty minutes."

I sat down on the floor.

He stayed standing against the opposite wall with his coat buttoned, as far from me as a small box allows.

The clock on my phone said 11:20.

"Side quest," said the voice. "Thirty-nine minutes remaining."

I looked at his hand.

It was on the rail, flat, long-fingered and perfectly still.

I thought about my amendments.

Rule one, no touching, except by accident, except medical, except in elevators.

I was in an elevator. I had a lawyer's right to touch him.

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