experience involving heights. Newer theories have evolved, casting some doubt on that supposition, but I’d be willing to bet none of those theorists ever cut a safety rope, knowing he’d kill the guy bound to the other end.
The elevator chimed, doors whooshed open, and four other people, close to my back and waiting for a ride up, basically pushed me inside. Buttons were pressed. Floor numbers illuminated. I was going to the highest floor. Figured. The doors closed with a Star Trek –like swoosh, and the elevator blasted skyward like a rocket ship. From behind me, I heard an ooooh and aaah from one of the passengers gazing in wonderment at the rapidly diminishing view of downtown Boston. Meanwhile, my throat closed and every pore in my body began to secrete something: salt, water, and fear.
I felt my face flush, heartbeat fluttering like a bird newly freed from its cage. I held my breath but could feel my knees start to go slack. The roomy elevator seemed to get smaller, as if the four people riding up with me were multiplying, engulfing every conceivable square inch of space.
Don’t pass out. . . . Don’t pass out. . . .
I closed my eyes tight, balled my fists. Then I saw him.
Brooks wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, though. His eyes were nothing but two dark voids, wide and round like a doll’s, while his face had gone entirely black from frostbite. My hands involuntarily jerked upward, as though I’d been holding on to a taut rope that had been sliced in two. My mouth formed an O shape, allowing my silent scream to escape. I kept my eyes closed tight and felt fuel injected with panic.
I used to stand on the top of the world.
Just when the air inside the elevator seemed as thin as it did at twenty thousand feet, the voyage came to an abrupt stop. I opened my eyes and saw we were only on the twentieth floor. I jumped out of the elevator, pushing aside a woman who had planned to get off on that floor. She wasn’t bothered by my abruptness, it seemed. I suspected she’d seen my skin go pale as snow, eyes ringed with sweat, wide and alert. My chest kept heaving, as if I were breathing through half a straw.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked. She looked ready to call 911.
“I’m fine . . . fine . . . ,” I managed to wheeze out. “Think I’m going to take the stairs from here. Quick twenty-floor hike will do the heart some good.”
Her smile expressed great relief in not being called upon to perform CPR and equal degrees of gratitude to be free of my company.
I found the stairs and climbed the twenty floors at a brisk pace. I made it to the top, carrying with me a stark reminder that my condition hadn’t lessened with the years. If anything, it had only gotten worse.
I arrived at Sutcliffe’s office breathless, my face flushed, T-shirt soaked with sweat, and heart still hammering. I took a seat in the waiting room after giving my name to the receptionist. The demure woman seated behind a glass enclosure offered me a drink of water, along with a weary assessment of my condition. I drank in slow sips while waiting ten long minutes for Sutcliffe to show. I guess only one of us cared about being punctual.
Vivian Sutcliffe, a stocky woman dressed in a plaid skirt and black turtleneck sweater, with dark hair to match, emerged through a double set of glass doors. She gave me a congenial smile that somehow conveyed sympathy. It was certainly a practiced reaction on her part, assuming most visitors came to her under the cloud of troubled circumstance.
“Mr. Bodine,” Sutcliffe said, extending her hand. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Busy morning. I hope you had an easy time getting up here. Security can be pretty arduous these days.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” I said.
“Did you love the view coming up? I never tire of it.”
“I’m sure it was beautiful,” I said.
Sutcliffe paused, showed some confusion in her large brown eyes, but didn’t press for an explanation. I kept pace as she led
The elevator chimed, doors whooshed open, and four other people, close to my back and waiting for a ride up, basically pushed me inside. Buttons were pressed. Floor numbers illuminated. I was going to the highest floor. Figured. The doors closed with a Star Trek –like swoosh, and the elevator blasted skyward like a rocket ship. From behind me, I heard an ooooh and aaah from one of the passengers gazing in wonderment at the rapidly diminishing view of downtown Boston. Meanwhile, my throat closed and every pore in my body began to secrete something: salt, water, and fear.
I felt my face flush, heartbeat fluttering like a bird newly freed from its cage. I held my breath but could feel my knees start to go slack. The roomy elevator seemed to get smaller, as if the four people riding up with me were multiplying, engulfing every conceivable square inch of space.
Don’t pass out. . . . Don’t pass out. . . .
I closed my eyes tight, balled my fists. Then I saw him.
Brooks wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, though. His eyes were nothing but two dark voids, wide and round like a doll’s, while his face had gone entirely black from frostbite. My hands involuntarily jerked upward, as though I’d been holding on to a taut rope that had been sliced in two. My mouth formed an O shape, allowing my silent scream to escape. I kept my eyes closed tight and felt fuel injected with panic.
I used to stand on the top of the world.
Just when the air inside the elevator seemed as thin as it did at twenty thousand feet, the voyage came to an abrupt stop. I opened my eyes and saw we were only on the twentieth floor. I jumped out of the elevator, pushing aside a woman who had planned to get off on that floor. She wasn’t bothered by my abruptness, it seemed. I suspected she’d seen my skin go pale as snow, eyes ringed with sweat, wide and alert. My chest kept heaving, as if I were breathing through half a straw.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked. She looked ready to call 911.
“I’m fine . . . fine . . . ,” I managed to wheeze out. “Think I’m going to take the stairs from here. Quick twenty-floor hike will do the heart some good.”
Her smile expressed great relief in not being called upon to perform CPR and equal degrees of gratitude to be free of my company.
I found the stairs and climbed the twenty floors at a brisk pace. I made it to the top, carrying with me a stark reminder that my condition hadn’t lessened with the years. If anything, it had only gotten worse.
I arrived at Sutcliffe’s office breathless, my face flushed, T-shirt soaked with sweat, and heart still hammering. I took a seat in the waiting room after giving my name to the receptionist. The demure woman seated behind a glass enclosure offered me a drink of water, along with a weary assessment of my condition. I drank in slow sips while waiting ten long minutes for Sutcliffe to show. I guess only one of us cared about being punctual.
Vivian Sutcliffe, a stocky woman dressed in a plaid skirt and black turtleneck sweater, with dark hair to match, emerged through a double set of glass doors. She gave me a congenial smile that somehow conveyed sympathy. It was certainly a practiced reaction on her part, assuming most visitors came to her under the cloud of troubled circumstance.
“Mr. Bodine,” Sutcliffe said, extending her hand. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Busy morning. I hope you had an easy time getting up here. Security can be pretty arduous these days.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” I said.
“Did you love the view coming up? I never tire of it.”
“I’m sure it was beautiful,” I said.
Sutcliffe paused, showed some confusion in her large brown eyes, but didn’t press for an explanation. I kept pace as she led
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