The End Is Never Really The End

Chad McNickles, son of multi-billionaire tech mogul William McNickles, finished his workout and was returning to his hotel suite. The exercise room was, unfortunately, in the basement for some reason. Chad had always disliked walking down, but they couldn't always stay in places he renovated.

They came to New York on a business trip; well, his father did. The reason he tagged along was for a particular kind of fun. On the books, the trip was because he didn't feel like staying home. Unofficially, it was all about enjoying New York's nightlife. Thankfully, his father turned a blind eye this time; he doesn't always.

With exhausted legs from an intense workout, the thought of climbing stairs filled him with dread. William was a paranoid man. He was adamant about only using stairs. He had a deeply seated mistrust of elevators; getting assassinated would be far too simple—a giant metal box hanging dozens of meters in the air by a string. I've tried arguing that it's not a string but a robust metal cable with multiple safety mechanisms, but he seems to ignore logic when it comes to this.

Our arguments end the same way when this topic is brought up. "A metal cable is just a metal string, and strings break. I'll not have a broken string send me on my way, nor will you!"

He is stubborn about the topic but right about most other things. But 60 flights of stairs…

Rules are rules, but he could barely lift his feet after the first flight. "Why did I force out that last set?" no one answered, but that is to be expected. He heaved a sigh while looking at the rest of the stairs. In his current condition, there was no way he could make it to the top floor. The only option was to wait on the ground till his strength returned. Unless he used the elevator, he couldn't do that.

Or could he?

William wouldn't be back until later and wouldn't check the security footage since we don't own the hotel. There should be no way he would know. 'But if I am caught, I could be disowned. But I don't want to climb the stairs.' The staircase would at least be an hour-long climb in his current condition. He knew this from experience. But if he took the elevator, he would be up in five minutes max.

Rules or sanity.

Realistically, what are the odds that the elevator breaks the one time he gets in? Besides, if a tree falls in a forest, or however that saying goes.

Fu#k it, elevator time.

Walking like a penguin, he slowly exited the stairwell and went to the elevator. After pushing the button, the doors slowly opened. It was empty, thankfully.

Waddling inside, he pressed the button for his floor and leaned into the corner.

The inside of the elevator was covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Other than the cleanliness of the mirrors, the room was unremarkable. The ceiling lights were neither too bright nor too dark. "I should get the contact information of the guy who washed these," he thought while killing time.

Looking up at the floor indicator, he saw the number change from 24-25. 'Elevators are pretty nice. It would have taken me like 20 minutes to get to this floor.'

Floor by floor, he saw the indicator change. 26 - 32 - 40 - 44 - 45. On the forty-fifth floor, it stopped. He clicked his tongue in annoyance as the doors opened.

Two people were getting on the elevator: an elderly lady in a green dress and a handsome young man in his 20s wearing an expertly tailored tuxedo.

"53rd floor, please," the man said to me. My eye twitched in annoyance, but I pressed the button, and the doors swiftly closed.

The duo leaned on each other in the opposite corner of the room. The lady wore a necklace of emeralds with a matching bracelet to accompany her dress. They were real stones impeded in 24k gold if my eyes were accurate. It wasn't anything ostentatious, but it suited her ensemble.

The man accompanying her had emerald cufflinks which matched her jewelry. At first, I thought they were a grandmother and grandson. But that thought went out the window once they started to make out.

I had never wanted to gag so badly in my life. I suppose the social etiquette drilled into me has its upsides, though. I skillfully turned my eyes away and avoided most of it; the blasted mirrors worked against my efforts. On top of that, there was no way to block out the noises they were making.

It took a few seconds before it clicked. This poor guy was a male escort. I don't normally judge. I may judge a little. But I do understand that not everyone can have an unreasonably smart father. Some people need to - I shuddered thinking this - pet old cats for a living.

Thankfully, I don't.

Thankfully, the 53rd floor arrived quickly. The doors opened with a ding, and the man had to coax the old bat into the hall slowly. As the doors closed behind them, I saw the man had lost his belt. I had time to give it to them, but I had no intention of doing so. I had no desire to see any more of that nasty duo.

"I can't believe I have to live with that memory. I need to fund eye bleach development; God, just kill me now."

I shuddered at the thought of what the poor guy would have to do tonight, and the elevator shuddered along with me.

I laughed at the funny coincidence, and my mood started to improve, but then the lights flickered. "Fu#k me, no way. Not on the first time I get on one."

I got butterflies in my stomach, and my dad's words echoed in my ears. "A metal cable is just a metal string, and strings break. I'll not have a broken string send me on my way, nor will you!"

"Fuck me. Don't tell me god took that literally." There was a loud snapping sound, and suddenly, I was in free fall. I had just enough time to realize I would die and that my father was right; elevators are death traps.

There was a flash of pain, and everything vanished, including my sense of self.