“Michael and Gabriel?” Elijah wondered aloud.

  “The names should be familiar. Like old friends, eh, choir boy?”

  The sharp words needled Elijah. “What d’you think you know about me, huh?”

  “Enough. Take care of your new friends. They’ll serve you well. Light on the trigger pull and you’ll notice there’s no magazines. There’s no magazines because they don’t fire bullets and they never run out of ammo. Pull the trigger to your heart’s content. Inflict maximum violence.”

  Elijah was beyond discombobulation and fumed at the needlessness of it all. “What is this?! Let me out of here!”

  “I didn’t bring you here, Mr. Crowe. You brought yourself here. You’re under my roof now and under my rules. You will play by them.”

  “This a game to you?!”

  “It is. And with all of your barking, some of the other players know where you are. You might want to check the door. Don’t forget to bring the heat.”

  Elijah slowed his anger and closed his eyes momentarily to compose himself. “I get to the ground floor and I’m free?”

  “It’s that simple. May Lady Luck shine on you.”

  Looking back into the suitcase, there was a leather double shoulder holster. He set the pistols back into the case, hastily drew out the harness and slung it on, adjusting the shoulder straps before fastening the tie-downs to his trousers around the belt line. Snatching up the pistols, a slight calm radiated through him, feeling the latent power present in their weightiness. He carefully made for the door, unsure of what was on the other side.

  The slithering groans outside the door strangely faded into silence just as he planned to enter the fray. Elijah tucked Michael in his armpit and reached apprehensively towards the door knob again, summoning the courage to finally grab it. It wasn’t hot this time, and when he turned it, the door slowly creaked opened.

  Elijah drew both pistols up, peeking out. There was a corridor running perpendicular to his room. It was eerily dark at both ends of the hallway. The building seemed to creak and yawn, as if it were breathing. Slipping into the hall, the door slammed shut behind him. No turning back now. He slid with his back against the wall as he stalked forward with his pistols hiked up and ready to sing at the first sign of trouble.

  The persistent ambient noise daunted him, but just ahead he noticed the outline of an elevator door. Rushing towards it, he found the elevator to be seated in a bronze frame, decorated with intricate Art Deco engravings and relief patterns consisting of swirling floral and hard, geometric shapes. It resembled a bank vault more than an elevator, but he didn’t judge it further. The heavy doors divided open and he piled in. As he did, he noticed the elevator operator and flinched, reflexively drawing his M1911s and aiming them into the servant’s chest. The operator was daintily dressed in royal-red livery and a service cap tilted marginally on his head. Despite his relatively dapper gear, the man himself looked depleted; his skin was deflated, creased and waxy and his eyes were a lifeless gray. Elijah couldn’t place the man’s age; he looked both young and old, decoupled from time.

  Despite the operator’s harmless vibe, Elijah didn’t trust him and kept his new friends leveled at him as he nested in the corner of the elevator car.

  “Take ‘er down, friend,” Elijah skittishly commanded.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but this elevator only goes up.”

  Elijah was momentarily boggled. “What kind of an elevator only goes up?”

  “House rules. I’m just the operator.”

  Elijah recognized the man’s strange appearance and stiff, lethargic movements and realized he had little leverage. Whoever he was, he was bound to the rules of this strange prison.

  “What is this place? Where are we?” Elijah pressed curiously.

  “The Hotel Erebus, sir.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I’ve always been here,” the operator droned. “I’ll always be here.”

  The listless manner in which the elevator operator delivered his response vexed Elijah. He looked like he’d crawled out of the grave and reported for duty.

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  Shaking off the disillusionment, Elijah peeked out of the car and glared down the long hallway which tapered into darkness. Raucous movement was shifting within it. He quickly distinguished numerous silhouetted forms moving intelligently within the well of shadows. A jerky, thudding cacophony resounded as limbs clattered against the walls and floor. Whatever the source, Elijah didn’t want the chance to introduce himself.

  “Close the door. Close the door!” Elijah demanded.

  As soon as the heavy bronze slabs slid shut, the swarming racket on the other side became undeniable. Disassociated forces clattered against the door and it would be impossible to head back whence he came.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “We’re not the only ones in the hotel, Mr. Crowe,” the operator deadpanned.

  No time to delve into what that meant. The operator—like everything else in the hotel—wasn’t hospitable nor accommodating.

  “How many floors in this building?” Elijah asked hurriedly.

  “Seven.”

  “Okay, and we’re on the sixth floor, right? That’s what the man on the speaker said.”

  “The Broker.”

  “Yeah, the Broker. So, we’re one floor away from the roof. I can get on the roof and call for help.”

  The operator’s face didn’t so much as form a crease in response. The body was present but there was nothing there to generate even false interest.

  The scratching and clawing on the door persisted into a shrill ambiance as Elijah looked up and noticed a panel in the ceiling of the elevator car. Only one way out: up. He holstered his friends and climbed up to dislodge the panel, shoving it aside and climbing up through it.

  When standing atop the elevator, he realized he was in the elevator shaft whose walls were covered in soot and grease with cabling running up and along the walls. There was only marginal illumination in the claustrophobic steel shaft and he had to squint and focus to place structural details. As he scanned upward, he finally noticed what looked like a service area intended for the construction and repairmen that would work the innards of the place. There was a handy ladder bolted to a recess in a wall that led up to a gangway that he hoped offered roof access.

  Elijah quickly scrambled up the ladder to the gangway. Upon putting his weight on it, it creaked but was strong enough to support him. At the end of the gangway was a panel whose utility he couldn’t place. Scurrying over, he noticed that it was a service access panel with a small handle. He excitedly turned it and pushed the panel open. A gust of chilly night air washed across his face which provided beautiful relief.

  Upon crawling through the access, he found himself on the roof. Gravel crunched under his knees and feet until he was able to stand and sweep his vision to assess his surroundings. Sweet night. Elijah loved the dark and all that came with it. The distinct smell of moist air tinged with steam piling out of manholes. Even the stench of trash offered an odd safety. In the city he was home. His eyes leveled forward at the multi-tiered Chicago skyline splayed before him. Pillars of smoke and soot wafted up, seasoning the stone, steel and glass verticals with a hazy, granular texture. Wherever he was, the hotel was near the waterfront. He knew the area, but there’s no way he could’ve missed a seven-story stack in this part of town. In his mind, he had a moment of clarity and confidence knowing where he now was in the grand state of things. The mental gears began to spin and whir.

  Get out of this fucking prison.

  “Very astute,” the Broker’s disembodied voice resonated.

  Elijah looked around and noticed a small stair enclosure behind him with a speaker box fitted near the top of it beside its lone door. The Broker had eyes everywhere.

  “Only seven floors down. Maybe you can jump and—by some miracle—survive the fall?” the Broker chuckled derisively.

  “Fuck you,” Elijah said as he jogged over to the edge.

  “Don’t fall. The game’s just started.”

  Elijah sneered as he peeked over the edge and down to street level. Traffic around the block was sparse, but he could see several blocks away and the automobile traffic shuffling healthily. He looked near the base of the building and noticed someone walking up the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Finally, a free soul.

  “Hey!” Elijah yelled, his booming voice carrying downward. “You there!”

  The sidewalker kept walking as if he heard nothing.

  Irritated, Elijah inhaled deeply before bellowing out with all of his strength. “Buddy! Hey, you!”

  But the man kept walking. Elijah slapped the lip of the roof.

  “Dammit,” Elijah muttered low.

  The building was near the waterfront where traffic density was thin. The man should’ve been able to hear him. Maybe he was hard of hearing? Maybe he didn’t give enough of a shit to respond.

  When his hope began to ebb, he looked back down and noticed a tubular escape chute built into the exterior of a section of the seventh floor. There was no way to get to it from the roof. Hotel Erebus apparently had no fire escapes. To confirm his realization, he looked down the roof on two sides and didn’t see a single scaffold leading safely to the ground. That one escape chute was the only one.

  “Are you hosting a party, Mr. Crowe?” the Broker asked ominously.

  Crowe squinted with suspicion. “No, why?”

  “I thought you might be having a rooftop party. You’ve got visitors incoming.”

  Elijah knew nothing about the Broker aside from that accursed voice, but he knew that the voice seemed to love to impart uncomfortable truths. He ran back towards the edge of the roof and peered over carefully.