The Bitterest Hour

Floor 17. 18. 19.
We ride this elevator every night. Have done for…oh, it’s gotta be about a fortnight, I should think, and it’s always the same; the speed with which the car carries us aloft is startling.

Today, and more so of late, you are fractious. You are crying, and I hug you to my chest so that your face nestles between my cheek and my shoulder. You are trembling and as we make our rapid ascent it’s strange, but if I didn’t know better I would swear that you know what’s going to happen. You know what I’m going to do. Only that’s not possible. This is my dream.

31. 32. 33.

You know what I’m going to do, and you want to cry, so I pull you to me, muffling the sound of your fear. Your face is as good as swaddled between my sweater and my coat that I have open and around you.

It isn’t cold in the elevator but I know that once the doors open, and we are exposed to the night air, it wouldn’t matter how wonderfully warm the day has been. The wind at this height is always colder and blowing much harder than one might expect. That’s why I also grabbed your blanket.

We needed to leave in a rush…

43. 44. 45.

…because he’s coming for us. For you.

48. 49. The elevator slows rapid but smooth to floor 50.

A single tone from some unseen bell announces our arrival at the viewing deck, and I hold you to me, steeling myself against the expected, sudden onslaught of biting wind.

The doors open and the cold stabs instantly. The howling noise is horrendous and you are shocked into momentary silence until, despite the wind’s best efforts to rob you of breath, you inhale deeply and scream every flavour of fear you’ve ever tasted.

It is said that babies have different cries for different needs but this one is new to my ears and I hug you close. Pressing your face into my chest in the hope of subduing at least some of the howling.

I step out onto the deck and turn to watch as the elevator doors close. Before they shut however, I put a foot onto the threshold and the two panels touch and immediately glide open again. I know that I’m only delaying the inevitable but it gives me a slight advantage in assuaging the guilt I feel when I gaze down at you, your tiny hands clenched in fists attempting to push away from me. Attempting to push me away from you. Away from what you can’t possibly know I am going to have to do as once again the doors of the elevator close.

The car begins its descent at his instruction. I guess you have four minutes remaining.

The wind is whipping around us, drawing away what little warmth I had in my cheeks as I walk against its force to the far end of the glass-floored walkway. The sight of the ground beneath would generally have scared me, triggering a visceral pull at my stomach and causing my head to spin, but not this time. It hasn’t been that way for a few cycles now. The first time had been terrifying; I had dropped to my knees, my legs giving out from under me, and as the loud, icy wind had slammed against me, it had been a struggle to reach the end of the platform. Once there, like this time around, there is nothing for me to do save holding you close and watching the arrow.

Our mutual tears had been somewhat of a curse the first time, but now my tears are confused; they’re for the fear I know you are perversely feeling. I can’t explain it but you know, don’t you, little one?

I stare down through the glass at the pavement far below. How can you know?

I know that you have nothing to fear because I always wake up before you will have…

Sheltering below the top of the sidewalls I watch as the elevator arrow indicates he’s on his way up. It’s always him, but don’t worry, baby. He’s not going to steal your childhood, too.

I push my back against the thick glass and pull my feet toward me. Wrapping my coat around your trembling body I struggle to stand. The move itself is not difficult, it’s that it is a move closer to the one we both know is coming that is painful. I look down into your frightened face. Wide with an undeserved fear, your deep blue eyes are instantly dried by the wind as it screams through the exposed steelwork of the viewing deck. The exposed soft, pink flesh within your mouth tells me you too, are screaming. Tasting every flavour of fear you’ve ever known. I take some small solace from knowing…at least I hope, that your inexplicable fear can be nothing but a vicarious memory of my own.

I watch the elevator arrow stop and although it must be impossible, I still hear the unseen bell. The single strike can not in itself be a toll; that slow, steady repetition which signals the end of a life, but it has the same purpose here, and as painful as the coming moment is, there is a harmony between that tone and your cry.

The doors slide open and I can see the silhouette of a figure rushing toward us. I turn to the edge and lift you up, risking a precious second to kiss your already cold cheek. I always wondered why the architects had left this walkway open, but their decision benefits you now. The hand grasps my shoulder and your piercing cry deafens me, drowning out the very wind that will carry you safely from him.

I lift you high and the hand viciously spins me around. I lose my grip of you and watch the horror on the face before me. She is screaming and crouching over. Never has such a pain been as evident to me as there is on her face.

Her face?

I struggle with what is happening. I’ll awaken anytime now. Looking behind me I can see your blanket, snagged against one of the many rusted bolts that hold this edifice together. As for myself? I fall apart and scream at her.

Where is he?

And why haven’t I woken up?

Please God let me wake up before your cries end. Mum is screaming but I can only hear you. I touch my cheek to feel for your residual warmth but the wind has stolen all of you.