Page 21 of Don’t Watch Alone

Chapter eighteen

Drew

I shove the walkie-talkie deep into my pocket, the cold, scuffed plastic pressing against my palm as I step toward the elevator, praying to anything listening that the damn thing still has power.

Blaiz had made it crystal clear we’re not leaving until Tony is found, no matter how long it takes, no matter how fucked this whole place feels.

He wandered off, disappeared into the mall like a dumbass, and now the rest of us are just stuck here, wandering around in this dead building.

I press the up arrow, and the button lights up with a pale green glow that makes my stomach clench.

A slow, metallic groan accompanies the parting doors, exposing a dim metal box appearing eager for a second apocalypse after surviving one.

I step in. The silence hits immediately—thick, dense, and unnatural.

I hit the button for floor two, and the doors groan shut, enclosing me in this vibrating, blinking, coffin-like space.

I fucking hate elevators.

It shudders once, then starts its move upward.

The motion is jerky, like the machinery forgot how to function smoothly.

The lights blink above me. Once. Twice. Then everything dies; the lights, sound, and motion are all gone.

I’m left standing in a silence so complete it feels like the atmosphere itself is holding still.

A faint emergency bulb kicks on above the control panel, barely enough to light the numbers.

The car gives one final twitch and just stops.

I hit the buttons; two, lobby, open, alarm, over and over, my fingertips slamming into unlit plastic.

Nothing happens. Not even a damn click. I dig my hands into the seam between the doors, gritting my teeth, straining until my forearms ache, but they don’t move; not even a smidge.

Just cold, stiff steel that might as well be welded shut.

The creeping panic I’ve been swallowing all night rises up from my gut and scratches at my throat, piercing and sudden and ice-cold. How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here?

Then it hits me—the walkie. I yank it out, nearly dropping it in my speed, my thumb fumbling over the talk button. “Anyone copy?” I rasp, twisted by fear I can’t even hide.

Nothing. Just static. Then something like Blaiz’s voice, twisted by the interference, words lost in the static.

“I’m stuck in the elevator!” I shout into the receiver, practically jamming it against my mouth. “I can’t get out! Somebody answer me!”

More static. Louder this time. Cruel.

“Fuck!” I slam my hand against the doors, the metal ringing out like a bell in a burial chamber. “HELLO?! I’M IN HERE! GET ME THE FUCK OUT!”

I’m pounding the walls now, screaming until my throat burns, praying someone—Blaiz, Eva, Derrick, Jade, hell, even that dumb prick Tony—hears me.

And that’s when it happens.

The elevator speaker crackles once and then a voice cuts through, low and icy, like cold water dripping on your back. It’s a man, barely louder than a whisper, but somehow it fills the tiny space like smoke, clinging to every surface, soaking into my skin.

“You should’ve stayed home tonight.”

My heart stops. My breath catches. That voice isn’t one I know, and I know it. This isn’t someone playing a joke.

“You’re next.”

The blood drains from my face, and I don’t even have time to question what the hell that means before the speaker explodes with this laughter; high, shrill, that isn’t right, like a hyena trapped in a meat grinder.

It bounces around the walls, hitting me from every direction, and I can’t breathe, or think.

“What do you mean I’m next?!” I scream, spinning in circles like there’s some direction the voice is coming from, like I can face it down if I just find it. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!”

The voice chuckles again, now slower, and wetter—like it’s choking on something thick. “You die. ”

“Come on! Guys—seriously! This isn’t funny anymore!” I shout. My face is hot and wet with tears I hadn’t even noticed were coming out. “Let me out! Please!”

The laughter doesn’t stop. It just keeps going, rising and falling, hanging over my insanity. My legs buckle. I slide down the wall. The metal is cold against my back, and I hit the floor in a pile, my mind struggling for something to cling to—logic, explanation, just anything at all.

But this? This isn’t a joke. This isn’t one of my friends screwing with me.

This is something else.

I look up, eyes adjusting to the dimness, and that’s when I see it—a panel in the ceiling, just barely visible in the glow. A square outline. An emergency exit.

Hope ignites in my chest.

I scramble up, my feet slipping, and my hands grabbing for the railing.

I brace myself and push. The panel doesn’t want to move.

It sticks, but I get my fingers under it and shove until it opens.

Cold, stale air drifts in from the elevator shaft above.

I don’t think. I just pull myself up, my elbows scraping against the steel, my knees bruising, and finally, I’m on top of the car.

Everything is black. No light, no sound, just the faintest phantom of light from the open hatch.

I look up. The second floor is there, just maybe ten feet away, or maybe less.

I can see the edge of it, the promise of freedom, of safety.

I don’t wait. I start climbing, grabbing at whatever I can—thick cables, the rough concrete walls, grease-slick steel.

My arms shake. My lungs hurt. I can feel my muscles burning, but I’m almost there—my fingers brush the edge. Just a little more and I’ll be out.

And then, without any fucking hint of warning, the elevator springs back to life.

It jerks beneath me, so fast, so sudden, I barely have time to scream before it’s rising, dragging me with it. My lower body is still caught in the gap, my legs still dangling below. I reach, stretch, claw for the ledge, but the space between me and the second floor is closing in too fast.

No .

I scream, but it’s already happening.

The roof of the elevator car slams up against me, determined, and I feel it—first the crush, then the snap, bone after bone breaking like dry branches, a wet, grinding sound that fills my ears and drowns out the world.

The pain is blinding, white-hot and unrestricted.

I can’t scream anymore. I can’t even breathe.

My vision goes blurry, fading to gray, and the last thing I see is the concrete floor inches from my face; so close before everything fades to black.

And then there’s nothing.