© 2012 Phylicia Joannis
“It served you right,” I laughed at the end of the Complainer’s tale.
“Yes, it was my own fault,” the Complainer chuckled. “I’ve learned my lesson, though. Never trust anyone, especially a woman.”
“Oh, that’s not a good lesson,” the Old Woman piped in.
“It made for a good story though,” the Climber stretched and stood. “How long did that dispatcher say it was going to take before someone came to rescue us?”
The Congressman shook his head. “He didn’t say. Just told us to sit tight ‘til help came.”
“Right,” Dreadlock frowned. “Where I’m from, that means help’s not coming.”
“Come on, they’re not gonna leave us out here,” the Nurse scoffed. “Why would they even send one of those drone thingies if they weren’t looking for us?”
The Congressman nodded. “I agree. We should continue to wait for help.”
“Ugh!” I groaned. “I just want to get out of here.”
“We will, soon enough,” the Old Woman tried to console me.
“Is it just me, or does this car feel like it’s getting smaller?” the Climber continued his stretches.
Dreadlock shrugged. “Bigger than a prison cell.”
“It’s probably the humidity,” the Nurse offered. “So long as we stay calm and don’t move around too much, we should be okay.”
The Old Woman chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Oh, this all seems so familiar,” she smiled.
“Oh? You’ve been stuck in a subway car lost in an abandoned tunnel before?” the Complainer sneered.
“Heavens, no!” the Old Woman replied. “But it does remind me of something that happened when I was a little girl. It also reminds me of the story of Joseph in the bible. His brothers were all waiting for him to either save them from the famine or throw them in prison for selling him as a child.”
“I fail to see the connection,” the Complainer frowned.
The Old Woman sighed. “We’re all waiting for that little drone to tell us we’re safe. But we all wonder if we’ll ever make it out of here.”
“You don’t think someone’s coming?” I asked nervously, wringing my hands. “Why wouldn’t they come for us? I mean, they know where we are, right?”
“Oh, I’m not saying help isn’t coming,” the Old Woman reassured me. “It’s just the irony. What if the man on the other side of that drone has a reason not to get us out of here? Like Joseph?”
“That’s ridiculous!” the Climber scoffed. “He doesn’t even know us.”
“I think perhaps the heat is getting to you, Miss,” the Congressman patted the Old Woman’s shoulder.
“No, I’m fine,” the Old Woman shook her head and pursed her lips.
“Oh, don’t get offended,” Dreadlock smirked. “It’s just a little farfetched, you know?”
“Maybe,” the Old Woman conceded. “Perhaps the heat is getting to me.”
“Well, how about you tell us what happened when you were a little girl?” I asked. “Who knows? Maybe your story will help get us out of here.”
“Alright,” she smiled. “If you want a title, I guess I’d have to call it ‘The Girl Who Loved to Dance.’”
***
Chuck needed to cover his tracks.
A part of him was relieved that the technician was still alive, but if he spoke to the police, Chuck would be in trouble. Chuck’s selectively efficient brain began touting a laundry list of charges: assault, attempted murder, falsifying documents, withholding evidence, conspiracy, reckless endangerment. Over and over they spun in his head, threatening to push him over the edge.
Chuck was pulling a double shift because of the investigation, but he’d snuck away from the dispatch office after everyone had been questioned.
He was on his way to the hospital. He wanted to know what the technician remembered and what he was going to tell the police. How Chuck was going to get around the nurses and attendants was still fuzzy, though.
Chuck arrived at the hospital and got the technician’s room number within seconds. He passed the floor attendants without eliciting any suspicious glances and was just about to commend himself when he spotted two officers standing by the technician’s room. Chuck turned to avoid being spotted, pretending to check the room numbers on the doors down the hall.
How was he going to get past two armed officers?
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