Page 98 of Ice Ice Maybe
“I was thinking of doing the same thing, actually, but let’s keep our pants on this time, shall we?” I chuckled, trying to keep the mood light, then pulled my shirt off for some relief from the heat. “This reminds me of a hot yoga class I hated with a passion, speaking of the worst days of our lives.”
As Mitch paced, I glanced at the tattoo on his chest that said, “Through adversity to the stars.”
“What’s the significance of that tattoo?” I asked.
Mitch ran his fingers across it. “Got it after my first major injury. A reminder that challenges make us stronger.”
“I can relate to that,” I said with a nod.
The elevator jerked again.
Mitch’s eyes widened. “We’re going to die.”
“We’ll be fine,” I said. “That means they’re working on the elevator.”
He shook his head, his breathing quickening. “How could you know that?”
“Because the guy said the technicians were on their way, remember?” I answered. “It’s just a matter of time and we’ll be out of here. Breathe.”
Mitch started pacing in front of me again, his movements becoming more frantic as a clanking, metal-on-metal sound reverberated around us. “Time? We don’t know how much time we have! What if the cables snap and we plunge to our deaths? What if we run out of air?”
“That will not happen,” I said, trying to calm him down again. “Modern elevators have multiple safety features.”
“Then why is it so freaking hot in here?” he asked, his voice rising. “What if we’re trapped in here for hours? Or days? I can’t take this anymore. I need air.” He started sweating even more profusely.
I tried to stay calm. “Mitch, listen to me. We’re going to be okay. Take a few more of those deep breaths, like you did before. It will relax you.”
“Deep breaths? I amwaypast the deep breath stage.” He laughed, but it was tinged with hysteria. “How am I supposed to breathe when the walls are closing in? There’s no air.” He wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes darted around the elevator, panic evident in every movement. “We need to get out of here. Now.” His gaze was fixed on the ceiling panel above his head, then he pointed to it. “That’s it. That’s our way out.”
As Mitch reached for the panel, a cold dread washed over me. There was no way I could let him crawl out of the elevator. What if it started moving with him halfway through?
“Mitch, stop!” I lunged forward, but he was quicker, shoving me back with surprising strength. We grappled like two wrestlers in a sauna, our sweat-slicked skin making it nearlyimpossible to get a firm grip. I desperately tried to pull him down while he fought to reach the ceiling.
“You’re going to get yourself killed!” I said.
“Let go of me!” Mitch roared, his elbow connecting with my chin in a burst of stars.
I stumbled back, momentarily dazed. In that split second, Mitch made his move. With a primal roar, he launched a punch at the ceiling panel. The impact echoed through the elevator, and to my shock, the panel popped open.
Seizing the moment, Mitch leaped up, his fingers grasping for the edge of the opening. For a heartbeat, he dangled there, muscles straining, a look of wild determination on his face.
But then, as if in slow motion, I saw his fingers slip. His eyes widened in panic as he lost his grip, his body twisting awkwardly in the air.
I lunged forward to help him, but it was too late.
Mitch crashed to the floor with a sickening thud that seemed to reverberate through my bones. The sound, amplified by our confined space, made the impact seem even more brutal.
No, no, no, this can’t be happening.
I dropped to my knees beside him, forcing myself to stay calm as I checked for any signs of life. The relief when I felt a pulse was almost overwhelming.
“Come on, man, wake up,” I pleaded, gently shaking his shoulder.
Mitch’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and confused. “What happened?”
“You took a nosedive, Rocket Man,” I explained, carefully lifting his head. “Here, use this as a pillow. You should get checked out by a doctor to make sure you don’t have a concussion. You hit your head pretty hard.”
Just as I slid both of our bundled-up shirts under his head, the elevator lurched to life with a jolt that nearly sent me sprawling across Mitch’s chest.
