Page 22 of Ambiguous
He stands and follows me back out to the elevators.
CHAPTER9
Jules
Iwalk with Sam to the lifts. When one opens, we get in it by ourselves. I glance around. “It’s like a padded cell.”
Sam shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. They’re doing construction. I think they line the elevators so they don’t get damaged when they move supplies and equipment.”
“I see.” I eye it warily. The entire space is covered, except for the area with the buttons. “The one I came up in was normal. This one feels like someone’s great-aunt decorated. She got into quilting and didn’t stop.”
He chuckles. “The one across the way’s all done in crochet and doilies, you know. And there’s one with sequins. You must have missed it on the way up.”
I laugh despite myself.
The doors to the lift close, and he presses the button for the lobby. It starts to descend rapidly, triggering that dipping feeling in my stomach. I reach for something to hold and grip a bar under the padding.
We judder to a sudden stop and both throw our hands out to stabilize ourselves. The doors don’t open.
“Um,” he says, glancing around. “This is weird. I wonder if they’re doing maintenance.”
“Fuck,” I say, not able to come up with a different word. My heart is racing. I’m not fond of lifts to begin with, but having one stop like this is hellacious. I’m starting to sweat.
I’ve been in lifts around the world, from the fanciest high-rise hotels to places with questionable construction and electricity. I was trapped once before, and it took six hours to get me freed. Flashbacks of the darkness and the terror I felt are sweeping over me in waves.
Sam hasn’t noticed my distress yet, still glancing around the metal box as if it will give away its secrets. “Do you think they stopped it because of the construction?” he asks. “I bet that’s it. It will restart in a moment. Do you want me to call?”
I can’t answer.
He pats his pocket and pulls out his mobile. His words feel muffled, but I make them out. “Bruce. It’s Sam. We’re in the elevator, the one on the northeast corner, with the construction padding. And it’s not moving. Could you please call building management and find out what’s going on? Thanks.”
I’m not sure what the person says in response. Everything feels gray and dim.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He pauses, and I’m so out of it I can’t look at his face. But I can hear the change in his voice. “You’re not okay, are you?”
“Not really.”
My legs feel weak, and I’m aware enough to be pissed off that this is happening but not aware enough to control what I’m doing.
A warm hand is firm on my shoulder, and I lean into it, pressing my cheek to his skin. Everything is spinning, but Sam feels reassuring and solid.
Something’s buzzing, and I’m not sure if it’s the lift or if it’s just inside my mind.
The air thickens, and I feel a wave of nausea.
“It’s going to be all right,” he murmurs.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. My throat is dry, and I try swallowing.
“I’ll talk you through this. Come sit down.”
Those hands grip my biceps and pull me to the ground. I’m dizzy and unsteady.
“I never,” I croak. “I never—”
“I’m here, Jules. I’ll help you.” In a moment, the wall is supporting my back and my arse plops onto the floor, my knees drawn up to my chin. Sam slides down next to me, a lean line of warmth. He throws an arm around my shoulders, and I can feel the soft scrape of wool—his suit jacket—against my neck. “This okay?”
I nod, not able to do much more. Not sure how he knows I need the grounding. Not wanting to move. Having him right here feels better than just about anything.
