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I’ll then search the apartment while Nick keeps watch on the stairwell landing between the eleventh and twelfth floors. If it looks like someone is approaching, he’ll alert me with a text. I’ll then leave immediately, using the door, making sure it locks behind me.
We hit our first hurdle as soon as I try to climb into the dumbwaiter. It’s a tight fit, made possible only by curling into a fetal position. The dumbwaiter itself starts groaning and creaking as soon as I’m inside, and for a fraught, fearful moment I think it’s going to collapse under my weight. When it doesn’t, I give Nick a nervous nod.
“We’re good,” I say.
Nick doesn’t look as optimistic. “You sure you want to go through with this?”
I nod again. I don’t have any other choice.
Nick gives the rope a tug, freeing it from the locking mechanism on the pulleys above. The dumbwaiter immediately drops several inches. Startled, I let out a whimpered half shriek, prompting Nick to say, “Everything’s okay. I’ve still got you.”
“I know,” I say.
Even so, I grip the twin strands of rope running through the dumbwaiter. They’re on the move, sliding through my clenched fists. One goes up, the other down, reminding me of the cables of the Bartholomew’s elevator. I descend farther, the bottom of the cupboard level with my thighs, then my chest, then my shoulders. When it reaches eye level, only a two-inch gap remains. Looking through it, all I can see of Nick is his shirt coming untucked from his jeans as he continues to lower me.
He gives the rope another heave and the gap closes completely, plunging me into darkness.
Only once I’m cut off from Nick and the rest of 12A do I begin to ponder the foolishness of my plan. Nick was right. This is not a good idea. I’m literally inside the walls of the Bartholomew. Any number of bad things could happen.
The rope could snap, sending me falling like a sack of garbage into a dumpster.
The bottom of the dumbwaiter could fall away—a serious possibility, I think, now that it’s started creaking and groaning again.
Worse is the idea that it could get stuck, leaving me trapped in a dark limbo between floors. The very thought floods me with claustrophobia so overwhelming I become convinced the dumbwaiter is getting smaller, shrinking ever so slightly, forcing me into a tighter ball.
I flick on the flashlight. A terrible idea. In the sudden glow, the dumbwaiter’s walls remind me of the inside of a coffin. It certainly has the feel of one. Dark. Confining. Buried.
I turn off the light. Thrust once more into darkness, I notice the sudden lack of noise around me.
The creaks and groans of the dumbwaiter no longer exist.
When I grab the ropes again, I find them motionless.
The dumbwaiter has stopped.
I’m trapped.That’s my first thought. Just like I feared. I nudge the walls with my shoulders, certain there’s less room now than there was a few seconds ago.
But then my phone lights up, filling the dumbwaiter with an ice-blue glow.
A text from Nick.
You’re lowered.
I elbow the wall to my left, realizing it’s not a wall at all.
It’s a door.
A cupboard door, to be precise. One that slides upward just like its twin in 12A.
That I never considered the likelihood the door would be closed shows just how little I’ve thought this whole thing through. By bending my arm and using the flat of my left hand, I manage to raise it just a crack. I then slide my left foot underneath the door to keep itfrom falling. After contorting my body in ways I’m sure I’ll regret later, I’m able to lift the door completely and slide out of the dumbwaiter.
In the darkened kitchen of 11A, I take a moment to stretch, my joints popping. I then text Nick back.
I’m in.
Two seconds later, the dumbwaiter begins to move. Watching its rise, I again question the wisdom of coming down here. So much so that I’m tempted to hop in and let Nick haul me back to the safety of 12A. I ask myself what I truly expect to find here. The answer, if I’m being completely honest, is nothing. Which means I’m risking a lot to be here. If Leslie should suddenly barge in, there goes my twelve thousand dollars and that reset button I so desperately need to press.
But unlike me, Nick isn’t wasting any time. The dumbwaiter has already been lifted out of view, leaving me no choice but to close the cupboard door and turn on the flashlight.