The Elevator Incident

The Elevator Incident

The morning air was crisp and fresh. With not even the tiniest cloud in the sky, the afternoon promised to be hot. This summer had been unusual. The heat was ruthless and the nights did not do their job of cooling the city streets off properly.

“Thank God it is Friday,” thought Michael as he entered his office building in the business district of Pittsburgh. It was a massive 46-floor concrete giant, with wall-sized windows, soft dark grey carpets and artificial plants in every corner.

The publishing company he worked for occupied the top floor.

Michael came up to the elevators and pressed the button. He checked his watch; it was 7:54. Hopefully enough time to make a cup of coffee before the eight o’clock meeting with Ellie, the editor from New York.

With a pleasant ding, the middle elevator opened its doors and Michael stepped in. Automatically, he pressed 46. The doors closed quietly and he felt the elevator going up. The blue numbers on the display began racing upward. At 42, Michael moved closer to the door, ready to exit.

In a couple of seconds, he glanced up again, a bit impatiently. Number 46 changed into 47 and then into 48. The elevator continued to move up silently.  

Trying to make any sense of what was going on, Michael checked his watch again. 7:59.

He looked up at the elevator display and suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. The numbers kept climbing. Apparently, he was now on the 54th floor of a 46-floor building.

A string of profanities he would never dare to utter at work flashed through his mind.  

Suddenly enraged, he started hitting the Help button, then all other buttons. Then he began kicking the doors.

Fifteen minutes later, Michael collapsed in the corner.  He was sweating, his hands were shaking. The only sound he could hear was the steady humming of the engines.

The numbers on the display kept changing. He was now passing the 109th floor.

“This is ridiculous,” he hmphed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Ellie must be waiting for him in the office now.

They were supposed to talk about his sixth book. The first five parts of a family saga, the story of several generations of the Irish family who came to Canada at the end of the 18th century, were bestsellers and had recently been nominated for a prestigious award. There was even one proposal for a feature film based on his book.

Geez.

Unbelievable, absurd success considering the circumstances.

It was all a lie, fraud if you wish.

***

Michael used expensive AI models to create the saga.

He had always been a mediocre writer, struggling with ideas. Even at university. He was good at drafting the initial setting but could never finish his stories as he quickly lost interest.

He tried AI for the first time three years ago and felt like he won the jackpot. He was not much of a success when it came to descriptions and dialogue, but he could write good effective prompts.

Michael rediscovered the joy of writing. He could now write stories and novels of any genre and length; there was no writer’s block and even tight deadlines seemed possible.

With AI, Michael wrote quickly and successfully. He finished the first part of the saga in four months; the other parts took him even less time.

He became one of the most prolific authors in the USA. The saga was translated into twelve languages. Jake, his publishing director, could not be happier. Thousands of readers were looking forward to the next instalment of the family drama. Michael frequently appeared in interviews and TV shows.

Today, he had to present the sixth part of the saga, which had everything a successful family drama was supposed to have. John, the main character, went through a divorce with his wife of 20 years as she discovered his affair with a young, sexy intern. His teenage son became a drug addict and got expelled from school for smoking crack in the school bathroom, he was also arrested for shoplifting. His daughter suffered a miscarriage after a car crash, and her marriage was coming apart at the seams. John’s business, a plastic surgery clinic, needed some expensive upgrades and he had to borrow a big sum from the bank. He gambled away most of this money and was now in financial trouble.

Michael had briefly considered adding a terminal cancer diagnosis for John’s wife that they would discover before the divorce but decided to save it for the beginning of the seventh book.  

Boy, there was no way Michael could have written any of it himself.

He sighed and looked at the display. The elevator continued its motion up; it just passed the 131st floor.

“It’s insane,” he muttered and glanced at his watch.

10:55.

He had another meeting at 11. A famous YouTuber, Lynn Alder, was probably waiting for him in her studio.

Having written five successful family drama books, Michael was now considered an expert on family relationships. Their conversation about multigenerational trauma and ways to cope with it was supposed to be streamed on Lynn’s channel.

Michael hmphed again, this time sarcastically. Isn’t it pathetic... Family relationship advice from someone who had not been able to keep a stable relationship for the past 10 years, ever since he broke up with Mary, thinking that he was too young for marriage and that she was too plain for him anyway.

Michael chuckled, imagining Lynn Alder and her film crew running around scrambling to find him. This thought amused him for a second. He would have to come up with a credible excuse later.

He stumbled over the word “later”. It suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

He would have to explain his absence later, when he came back or … if he came back.

The realization that he might never return to his previous life struck him.

Michael stared at the display. The numbers kept changing.

186,

187,

188.

189th floor.

Brutal.

“Surely the elevator cannot run forever. It will eventually stop, and then ... what?”

Michael sat up. He needed to think, to make a plan. A sudden urge to do something seized him. Thoughts were racing through his mind.

In a matter of moments, his entire life unfolded before his eyes. The life he had been working so hard to create. The life he had been boasting about.

The life he had become enslaved to.

He was a fake, manufactured celebrity. A fraudulent author whose entire success was built on lies.  

For the first time, he was not afraid to admit it.

***

The elevator continued upward, silent and indifferent. He was now on the 243rd floor.

But that did not bother him anymore. He reached for his laptop and opened the email. Eighteen unread messages appeared, including three “Urgent” messages from Jake, Ellie and Lynn.

Michael hit Compose and found Jake. He started typing the words that he should have said a long time ago.

Hi Jake,

I am quitting the job. Been meaning to tell you this for a long time. Never had the courage.

P.S. I am cancelling the sixth book. Sick and tired of this crap.

Take care,

Mike

After a short hesitation, he cc’d Ellie and Lynn, then hit Send.

Just then, the elevator jerked to a stop. The numbers on the display stopped racing.

On the 256th floor the doors opened quietly.

Michael rose to his feet.  Whatever was lying ahead, he was now ready for it.

He straightened his jacket and walked through the open door.