In a Dark Space
“Elevator’s stuck between floors again,” says the cop to his partner, on duty in the lobby of the courthouse.
I’m crouched on the floor of the pitch black elevator, with my arms wrapped around my head so I can’t see the darkness. The elevator has stalled and the lights have gone out. It’s darker than anything I have ever imagined. Not just black, but a complete absence of light that presses on the eyeballs. I’m claustrophobic, so I’m sweating, my heart is racing like a greyhound, my legs are trembling so much I can’t stand up. I moan. There is an answering catch of breath. I’d forgotten the other person in here with me. A legal aid client, charged with attempted murder, this is the first time I’ve ever met him. When I interviewed him half an hour ago, he was completely out of it, monosyllabic. I decided he should plead “not guilty” at his arraignment–if we ever make it there and if I’m not a complete basket case by that time.
Through the fingers over my eyes, I suddenly see a flicker. Although the emergency light is on, it’s weak, and doesn’t lessen my fear of being entombed in a cramped metal cube where we’ll eventually run out of air.
My client is pressed against the opposite wall with his hands, in handcuffs, in front of him. He looks like an animal at bay, tense, ready to fight. His head is down. Suddenly he raises his head and glares at me. I am here with a man who took a deboning knife and attempted to murder three of his fellow workers. I have no idea why he did what he did. Was it an argument they had, or did he just go off his head?
I’m terrified. Although at six feet tall in my high heels, I tower over him, he has a compact frame. I think he could overpower me. I look at his hands. They’re strong, used to cutting through animal bones. I imagine him jumping me, pulling me down, kneeling on my back, getting those manacled hands over my head and garroting me. I start to shake and hyperventilate. There is no way I could escape. I watch for him to move. He pulls himself away from the wall and rubs his hands together, pulling the fingers and shaking them out. Pray God he’s not loosening them up. I carefully reach out for my heavy briefcase, with its metal corners.
The elevator suddenly jerks and as it does, the emergency light goes out. As the overhead lights come on, I see a movement.
“Holy shit, holy shit,” says the cop as the elevator doors open onto the courthouse lobby. “Christ almighty,” groans his partner.
