Blue Words Page 2

  George could have happily sat and soaked in the morning sun for hours with her daughter, but unfortunately there was no time to linger this morning. Today was the first day of her new job. George had been forced to desert her career as a primary school teacher after Tabitha was born. She loved teaching, but the wages alone simply weren’t enough to support her and Tabitha. So, like many other teachers in recent years, she left education and sought out a position in the state’s highly lucrative mining industry. Today George started her new role as the training co-ordinator of Drake Mineral Resources. The hours were longer, but the income was nearly double that of her former salary.

  The change had not a been a simple one, but after hours of soul searching George had concluded that there was not much point in having a few extra hours a week to spend with Tabitha if she couldn’t afford a home to spend them in.

  George quickly washed and dressed Tabitha before carefully fitting her favourite pink bows into very precise points amongst her curls. Failure to get that right could signal a disastrous morning for all concerned. Tabitha twisted her head side to side in the mirror before accepting her mother’s work. George exhaled a relieved sigh and plonked her in front of the television, so the morning cartoons could babysit.

  George opened her closet to reveal the outfit she had wasted hours fussing over the night before, all meticulously hung out before her. A conservative, black, knee length dress formed the outfit’s core with a newly purchased pair of shoes, which cost far too much, adding accent. She gave the mirror a wry smile, pleased with her selection, and began unsteadily applying her make-up.

  Make up was not something that George often wore, not since Tabitha had been born anyway. Her deep, blue eyes and jet black hair were a striking combination and her faintly freckled cheeks added individuality. It was a natural, early twenties, girl next door beauty which blessed George, one which really didn’t lend itself to heavy make-up. Normally she wouldn’t have even bothered, but George decided she should make an effort; at least for the first few weeks of the new job. Finally she slipped a gold, delicately inscribed locket over her head. George placed a gentle kiss upon it before letting it fall and dangle gracefully between her breasts.

  The clip-clop of high heels drowned out the television as George frantically gathering essentials into both her and Tabitha’s bags respectively. Then, resembling an over laden pack mule she deftly swooped Tabitha up, flicked the cartoons off and slipped out the door; all in one fluent motion.

  Once in the hall George only had to lug her load a few doors before she stopped and knocked at apartment 402. Muffled sounds were struck up from the other side of the door before a cheerful, white haired old lady appeared, her face alight with excitement. “Good morning princess Tabitha,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. Tabitha giggled, her legs running wildly as George lowered her. The moment those feet touched ground she mumbled some gibberish and shot straight through the open door, not giving her mother a second thought.

  “Use your big girl words honey,” George cried after her. “Thank you so much Edna, I will try not to be late home.” She handed Tabitha’s bag over. Edna was one of her friends from self defense class.

  “Don’t even think twice about it dear, I love having her. Bring a nice bottle of red over this afternoon and fill me in on how things go.” George waved goodbye and trotted down the hall to the elevators.

  Footsteps echoed and danced through the concrete parking basement as George scurried over to her car and fussed with the keys to get in. She briefly paused as if ticking boxes on an imaginary list then turned the ignition.

  Click, click, click, click.

  The theatrics began instantly. “No, no, no, please, not today!” she pleaded.

  Click, click, click, click.

  “Arrrrrgh!” she screamed, slamming her fist into the steering wheel. The horn squealed in response startling her. George looked down to see Tabitha’s portable DVD player on the floor, joyfully looping the Toy Story 3 DVD menu. She traced the cord through the seats to find its end plugged into the car’s outlet. Woody and Buzz smiled mockingly at her and her misfortune.

  Now, George had never reacted well in a panic; a personality flaw she was all too aware of. In fact she usually flipped out and started throwing punches at anyone stupid or ignorant enough to be within reach, but today was not an average day. Today was a day to keep her cool. So, George drew in a couple of quick breaths and talked herself down a little. “There is still plenty of time,” she reasoned out loud to herself. “This is not the end of the world.”

  Calmly she climbed out of the car and gathered up her belongings. George took another breath, much deeper this time. She checked her reflection in the window and shot off like a mad woman across the parking basement. Now, there is nothing elegant about running in heels. In fact, as she scuttled along she actually resembled a hyperactive penguin, but at that stage George’s urgency far outweighed her pride.

  After being coughed over during the bus ride, awkwardly rubbed against on the ferry transfer and running more than she had in the past two years combined, George finally arrived at the Drake Mineral Resources building. The brand new, neck craning behemoth sat right on the edge of the winding Brisbane River. It towered above the neighbouring high rises, greedily obstructing their view of the lush waterway. At the peak of the concrete mountain it proudly touted the company logo in full neon splendour ‘D.M.R.’. A dragon’s tail wrapped from behind the R, settling around the bottom of the letters.

  George entered the lusciously appointed lobby. A cavernous space absorbed her; alive with people shrouded in habitual morning routines, teeming in a seemingly infinite number of paths. Littered amongst the rabble were beautiful artefacts from throughout the world, all incarcerated in decorative glass cabinets. It was in one of those display cabinets that George briefly caught her reflection and flinched. A combination of the warm Queensland morning and all that running had caused her makeup to run and streak. “Grrrr…It looks like I have just staggered home from a dirty night of clubbing,” George mumbled, raising eyebrows from passers by. Frantically, she searched the lobby for a restroom. In the far eastern corner she spied her salvation. George trotted through the crowd, past the elevators and into the bathroom.

  A much, much more refreshed and collected woman emerged. She slipped straight into the nearest elevator, which sat empty, its doors open wide as if awaiting her arrival. Finally her luck was changing for the better. “About time too!” she thought.

  Unfortunately, George had failed to notice a small black sign elegantly framed in gold. It sat but a few meters out from her private elevator.

  “Service in progress.

  Please use other Elevators”

  As the doors glided closed George scanned the buttons. The numbers glowed in the soft, mood lighting of the lift, as the dulcet tones of elevator music hummed in George’s ears. There were ten basement levels below the building and fifty odd floors above ground. The first twenty levels were labeled with the departments housed on them, while the next twenty had more obscure descriptions. From what George could gather, they were inhabited by board rooms and big wigs. The remaining floors were accessible only with key card permission and had no labelling at all.

  George located the training department on the nineteenth floor and pressed the button. Nothing. She pressed the button again. Still no response. George sighed and mashed the ‘Open Doors’ button and the ‘Emergency Call’ button repeatedly as her frustration grew. Once again her efforts were met with absolutely no response. “Ok don’t panic. Be patient. I’m sure help will be along anytime now,” she silently assured herself.

  That patience lasted for around two minutes. “Hello!” screamed George as she bashed on the tightly clamped doors. Unfortunately the loud bangs were all but impossible to hear from the outside of the shaft, lost amongst the noises of a busy Monday. Scrambling through her handbag George found her mobile and began trying to dial anyone she could think of. Alas the signal was
all but nonexistent inside the elevator car and any calls she did manage to connect were nothing more than two people repeatedly shouting, “Can you hear me?” at each other. Defeated, George sent a confusing text message to her best friend and slumped onto the floor in the corner of the elevator car where she sat for what seemed like forever.

  The power continued to run in the lift, so the lights shone; though it proved to be a mixed blessing. The power also allowed the music to chime ceaselessly and it soon evolved from a gentle hum to a screech with all the melodic pleasure of Chinese water torture. Before long, George found herself pining to be sitting in a pitch black and silent elevator car.

  “Ok relax. This is not my fault,” George told herself in silence, once again talking her blood down from its boil. “They will understand. Won’t they? It’s not the end of the world. Is it? Stay positive.”

  “Always try to find the silver lining,” a counsellor had once told her.

  “Find the silver lining.” George looked around, but struggled to find even the tiniest skerrick of anything positive about her current situation.

  “Oh, at least I am stuck on the ground floor,” she mumbled out loud, desperate to hear something other than the music.

  “I could think of nothing worse than being stuck in a malfunctioning elevator hundreds of meters up.” Although it was nothing really, that one small thought did make George feel better. In her current mental state it was probably for the best that the existence of the ten basement levels below had escaped her reasoning.

  Upon finishing her thought the elevator car suddenly whirred to life and began steadily climbing. “Why do I even bother opening my mouth,” George groaned. She hastily leapt to her feet and began randomly poking at buttons again. Still the elevator seemed to be running on its own agenda. It climbed on to the nineteenth floor, where her only chance to salvage the job lay, and it continued. It moved on through the corporate floors and up into the restricted levels without any sign of hesitation. Finally at the very pinnacle of the building George came to rest and the elevator doors heaved opened.

  She hadn’t realised how hot and stuffy the elevator car had become until the fresh air from outside swirled in. She breathed the sweet chill deep as it beckoned her forth from the moving prison. Cautiously George looked out of the elevator doors and into a palatial penthouse. It was a level of luxury which George had never seen before, the kind of thing reserved for movie stars and royalty. “I should not be here,” she whispered, poking her head further out the door. The elevator doors began to move again, and before she even had a chance to think, George instinctively leapt out. There was no way she wanted to be stuck in that tiny, dangling death trap again.

  Once out though, George immediately regretted her instincts. Up until now she had merely failed to show up for her first day of work. Now, in an instant, she had managed to escalate it to trespassing in what appeared to be her new boss’ home. “How the hell did I manage this?” George thought. Her heart leapt into her throat with each nervous beat. She turned and quickly hit the elevator call button again and again. Still it misbehaved.

  She crept awkwardly through the large entrance room, each step echoing through the space. Marble floors shone, reflecting the light pouring down through the massive glass skylight above. Small blue tiles inlaid into the floor caught that light and made it dance. They glimmered a geometric design woven of ancient, flowing characters spiralling in a circular pattern.

  The artefacts and artworks which dressed this massive space defied belief and made the ones in the lobby downstairs resemble trinkets from Nanna’s mantle in comparison. There were stairs running up to the next floor on each side of the room. The stairs were linked by a long balcony which regally overlooked the first floor lobby on one side and on the other opened through imposing, glass doors onto a rooftop garden. Under the balcony were many ornate arched doorways which led into the other decadently appointed rooms on the first level. Overall the dwelling was spectacular, as if someone had raised an ancient palace to the top of a skyscraper. “Hello!” George called shakily, “Is anyone here? The elevator isn’t working.” No answer came.

  George set about exploring the penthouse in search of a stairwell or something which would allow her to escape and maybe even salvage the disaster of a morning. Most of the rooms were nothing really of interest to her. The first she ventured into was a bar. It was lined with shelves and stocked to the brim with every kind of booze you could imagine. Its walls were scattered with an eclectic mix of mantiques and assorted memorabilia. Running off that was a library, filled with hundreds of hardcovers, paperbacks and even leather bound tomes. Through the library lay an office. It was large and luxurious like everything in the building, but with nothing out of the ordinary, other than a speckled blue stain beneath one of the leather chairs. “Enough!” George realised her curiosity was getting the better of her. “I am trying to get out, not critiquing his taste.”

  George returned to the main hall and continued along, glancing into doorways as she passed. The remainder of rooms seemed to consist of a large media room and a disturbing amount of bedrooms, each decked out like the set of a different cheesy porno; clearly the work of a man with far too much money for his own good. George moved quickly past those rooms. In the final space she poked her head into however, there was something which caught George’s eye.

  Against the far wall of the dimly lit room, there were some pieces of medical equipment and an I.V. rack with two empty blood bags dangling from it. Beside the medical equipment sat a long wooden bench. It was old and solid with a thick, red grain snaking through the timber. Into its sides were carved a series of symbols which would have been at home on some dusty, ancient tome. On top of the bench lay a long, low shape loosely veiled in back cloth. Curiosity stirred again. George took another glance around and crept in to investigate. She already held strong suspicions about what was under that black cloth, but on some level George refused to give heed to those suspicions, not until she had actually seen it.

  She stood over the black shroud, her eyes running the length of it. A brass medallion sat atop the shape, encrusted with a number of crudely cut stones; a mixture of black gems and beads which resembled dollops of crystallised honey. The chunk of jewellery was not something George considered beautiful, but it was certainly interesting in a raw kind of way. Cautiously George leant closer; she licked her lips nervously and lifted the corner of the black sheet to steal a peek.

  She stumbled away in fright, flicking the corner of the sheet back. “Fuck me!” she shrieked, immediately covering her mouth to push the words back in.

  Under normal circumstances at home George would never drop the ‘F’ bomb, especially since Tabitha began parroting everything she said. This was very different but. George stood dumbstruck, staring at the exposed face now peering lifelessly at the ceiling with cold, clouded blue eyes. It was gaunt and pale with dark circles around the eyes, a thick, blonde beard and a scraggly mop of hair to match.

  That was it; a patented George style meltdown was in action. Screw the job! George wanted out of this freaky building, with its penthouse corpse and demonic elevators. But as she turned, something snagged her. Nothing physical, but it may as well have been. The tantrum disintegrated, melted away, there was only the distraction. Calmness washed over her. The medallion seemed to glow, beautiful and blue. It was an incandescent glow which seemed to drive back the gloom of the dark room. It was a warm radiance which seemed to reach deep within and draw George on, encouraging her closer. It all but erased her natural instincts to flee, instead pushing them far to the back of her mind and replacing them with a tingly, comforting fuzz.

  George moved closer to the medallion, her eyes transfixed on it as she closed in. She reached out. Her fingers quivered with anticipation, so strong was the inexplicable desire blooming within. Her fingers touched the alluring temptation, and encouraging words filled her mind and body, spurring her on, until...... “Step away from the relic!” The sudden
voice was like a hammer in her mind, shattering the serenity of the room. The security guard was dressed all in grey, a scowl graced his face.

  George was instantly snapped free of her trance, the fuzz gone. The amulet was once again cold and dark. She snatched her hand back and spun around in startled reaction. As she turned, George stumbled back slightly, bumping into the shrouded body. She shivered and cringed at its cold touch. As if stealing an opportunity, the amulet slid from the dead man’s chest and straight into George’s open handbag.

  “Look I’m sorry,” she responded, “But your elevator is crazy and I got stuck up here. I didn’t touch anything, I was just looking at your little necrophilia playroom here,” stammered George before being once again interrupted by the security guard.

  “Hands where I can see them. Now!” His hand hovered above the gun on his hip. George took note and followed his directions. The guard snatched George’s handbag from her as he glared angrily.

  The cold steel of the cuffs crushed her wrists tightly behind her back as the guard led her through the apartment, along a maze of hallways and down a poorly lit flight of stairs. The one light which still illuminated the stairwell flickered and pulsed amongst its dead brethren. For some reason it bothered George immensely that no one had taken the time to replace the blown bulbs. It added to her frustration.

  The guard shoved her forcefully into a small holding cell which was positioned a few meters before the ‘Surveillance Room’, as it was labelled. “Hands on the wall, feet apart,” ordered the guard. George complied and he proceeded to pat her down in a very thorough fashion. George patiently waited and bit her tongue as long as she could, which in George’s case wasn’t really very long at all.