going down
Your story must take place entirely in EITHER of the following enclosed spaces: a lift/elevator OR a sauna/steam room.
Your story must include at least TWO characters.
Your story must include the words STICK, THUMP and VALUABLE. (Longer variations are acceptable as long as original spelling is retained, e.g. “valuables” or “matchstick”.)
Today’s crime scene is a grisly one.
Ducking under the police tape, I try to avoid the blood smeared across the floor. It’s splattered all up the wall, red droplets clinging to the mirrored glass. The elevator shaft's access hole opens in the ceiling, a dark void beyond view. Next to it, one of the roof panels drip, drip, drips.
No sign of the body. Or my partner.
“Anderson?” I call.
There’s a loud thump from above, a muffled curse. A second later, medical examiner Hayley Anderson appears in the opening. She looks pretty today, even though a tuft of her blonde hair sticks out the side of her protective glasses.
“Up here,” she says before disappearing from view.
Two rungs up the step ladder, and my head pokes into the dark elevator shaft. The sight that greets me is not pleasant. There’s a body, a young woman, I presume, her legs contorted in a tangled heap. Hayley crouches on the other side. She turns the woman’s face towards me so I can see the gaping wound visible on her forehead.
“Victim’s name is Maggie,” she says, nodding toward the name badge pinned to the woman’s chest. “Cleaning staff. One of the hotel guests noticed the blood dripping early this morning.”
“What a wake-up call,” I mutter, snapping on my gloves. “Find a weapon?”
From a glance around the elevator shaft, everything looks in order. The cabling is intact, and the concrete walls are smooth and grey—nothing else in this cramped space except me, Hayley, and poor Maggie.
“Not up here, at least,” Hayley confirms. “Uniforms are doing a full sweep of the hotel.”
“Any valuables?” I ask, hoping for a quicker lead. Even just combing through the security footage will take hours.
Hayley shakes her head. “No, but I did find something you might find interesting.”
Bingo. “You treat me so well, Anderson.”
I know that look. She looks seconds away from rolling her eyes. But instead, she tilts her head, a smile ghosting her lips. “There was a note in the victim’s mouth.”
Now things are getting interesting. “What does it say?”
“Haven’t checked yet.”
She leans forward, gently prying open Maggie’s mouth with her gloved fingers. There’s a folded square of paper sitting on the victim’s tongue. She lifts it carefully, opening each flap slowly until it’s unfurled in her palm.
I don’t have the patience to wait any longer. But as I reach forward to take the note out of her grasp, every muscle in Hayley’s body tenses.
“Hayley,” I say urgently. “What is it?”
“Shit, Samson,” she curses as she turns the note in my direction.
In the darkness, I have to squint to see the contents. It’s not until Hayley presses the paper into my fingers, her face etched in worry, that I finally see the message written on it.
There are two words scribbled in messy, black ink.
Samson Carter.
My name.
