The boy — even though Jackson couldn’t see the young man’s face clearly, other than how pale it was in contrast to the black shadows, he was certain the guy was no older than twenty — began crying and begging. “No, please, don’t. Please Uncle, don’t.”
Jackson’s stomach lurched. His throat went dry.
Had he heard right? Did that boy just call the man uncle?
Oh Jesus.
Jackson slammed his fist on the ‘close’ button.
Close! Come on close!
He didn’t want to watch. If the younger person had been a girl, then that would’ve been okay. But not this. Anything but this…
The older man was on his knees now, most of his face shrouded in shadow, only his depraved grin visible, his pants bunched around his ankles, body thrusting with each act of violation.
The boy continued to cry. “No! Uncle, no! It hurts!”
Jackson was crying as well.
What’s happening? Gloria? Where are you? What’s going on, Gloria?
The cries of the young man seared into Jackson’s brain. He wanted so much for them to go away.
(I’ve found out about you. Yes, that’s right. I’ve found out about your past…)
He had already blocked out the vision, but there was no stopping the awful sounds, even with his hands over his ears.
He gasped at the jolt. When he felt the rise of the elevator, he opened his eyes and took his hands away from his ears. He wiped away the tears, looked to the ceiling and let out a shaky breath.
Something weird was going on tonight. First the baby, then the children, and now the uncle and his nephew. It was all so horrible.
And familiar.
That’s what scared him the most.
He knew he should pick up the emergency phone and call the night watchman. Tell him about everything he had seen tonight.
But he couldn’t move his arm to the red phone on the wall.
I’ll call when I’m safe in my room, he decided. When I’ve got a few glasses of scotch in me.
He would be in his room soon enough.
Unless…
The carriage rattled to a stop at five.
No! Not again! Why?
He remained pressed up against the back wall, wondering what horrors awaited him outside.
What have the ghosts got in store for me? he wondered. Gloria? Do you know?
Unlike a lot of the other teenagers, he didn’t want to leave Belford and move to a bigger, more exciting city. He was content living at home. Michael had moved to New York City in the hope of joining a band and becoming famous — he played the drums — and even though his brother often sent him postcards begging him to come to the Big Apple, he just didn’t want to leave his parents and Belford and the friends that remained.
Even his favorite Uncle, his dad’s brother Walter, had come to stay. He took over Michael’s room and was a loving, funny, generous man who often drove out of town on business and would come back with gifts like new sneakers or a bunch of comic books.
He loved living in Belford. He would even help out at the pet store to earn some money, which helped fund his dates with some of the best-looking girls in town. So even though New York did sound exciting, he couldn’t leave Belford behind. There was no need to leave, no reason he could see, anyway. Everything was good.
The doors opened. There was a man. Jackson couldn’t tell exactly how old he was but the man was sitting in a chair with his back towards the elevator, a little way up the hall, where not much light shone onto his still form. He had short dark hair that was closely cropped, that much Jackson could see, and appeared to be doing nothing much at all.
Still, he made Jackson uneasy.
What the hell is he doing?
Jackson swallowed. “Ah, excuse me sir. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
The man didn’t answer.
Jackson wasn’t surprised. He had been ignored by everyone else tonight, so why should this man be any different?
Jackson tried again. “Did you press the elevator button? Who are you? Why are you just sitting there?”
The man responded with a strike of a match.
Jackson moved away from the wall and crept up to the open doors. He watched as the man held the match up to his face.
He’s just lighting a cigarette, Jackson thought with some relief.
Jackson waited for the man to light up the cigarette. When the match burned out, the man struck up another then continued to sit staring at the small flame.
(I know it all. Everything, your entire life has been one big lie. And I know it all…)
Jackson grew anxious. “Get me out of here,” he muttered.
The man threw down another charred match and lit a new one.
“Get me the fuck out of here, Gloria.”
But the doors remained open.
The elevator was playing with him, teasing him, just like the kids had been teasing the poor kid down on three.
“I want out of here.”
He didn’t understand what was happening, what Gloria was trying to tell him, but he did know that the building was supposed to be quiet tonight.
What do they want from me? Who are they? What are they?
Jackson was shaking now. He hadn’t felt the need to fulfill his fantasies tonight, which was why he had only wandered about, but he knew tomorrow he would have to go out and find a willing participant and show her that there were in fact guardian angels in the world and they controlled everyone’s lives.
“Gloria,” Jackson cried, and still the man didn’t turn around.
The elevator seemed to grow darker and smaller. He wanted to escape and leave the damned elevator behind, but he was too afraid of running past the man and seeing his face. He was scared of what he might see.
Of who the man might be.
I’m going nuts. That’s it, isn’t it, Gloria? I’m going crazy.
(I thought you were just a bastard, just a lying, disgusting man. But now I know it’s more than that. It’s worse. A lot worse. The funny thing is, a small part of me wonders if you’re entirely to blame. That you didn’t have the full say in how your life turned out. Maybe, just maybe, you really are crazy…)
The elevator doors closed.
About time, he thought, and was glad when the figure of the man in the chair was wiped away.
Jackson wasn’t well. Aside from the shakes he was sweating cold torrents.
He desperately needed a drink.
It was the longest elevator ride Jackson had ever experienced. He vowed he would never use the elevator again. After tonight he would only use the stairwell, even if it was dark and repugnant and full of dope-fiends. Even the nights when he fulfilled his needs, he would take the stairs; regardless of how much effort it took.
The elevator stopped at his floor.
He eventually moved out when he was eighteen, but it wasn’t because he was sick of Belford or his parents. No, he still loved them, including Uncle Walter. He just felt it was time to see the world, to make something of himself. He took a train to New York to visit Michael. It was supposed to be just a short visit, drop in and say hi, experience all New York had to offer and paint the town red, as they say, but he wound up loving the city and decided to stay. At first he stayed with his brother, but Michael soon fell in love with this black lounge singer, so he had to find his own place, which he did; a small two room apartment in Queens. He got a job at a meatpacking plant while he sorted out just what he wanted to do with his life.