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The hospital elevator clunked and came to a halt. A groaning metallic noise echoed from outside, running down the shaft like a shiver down a spine. Despite the shuddering of the occupants, the temperature seemed to rise.
“Ohh. We’re dead,” Benrey said flatly. The energy in the small space turned on its head instantly, shoulders rising in sync.
“We aren’t,” Barney assured; though to everyone else or himself, it was hard to tell. He pressed the call button on the elevator.
“Ugh… not again,” Barmey whined, tilting his head back until it rested against the faux-wood wall. He tossed his cane up and snatched in the middle, then used it to point accusingly at his more competent counterpart. “I knew we should’ve taken the stairs!”
“They were blocked off,” Barney reminded him, voice steady. “And for a good reason. Probably.”
Beauty crossed their arms, but didn’t say anything. His hand gripped his bicep as his bottom lip slowly pushed out.
“Barmey’s, uh…” Benrey smacked his lips and made a popping sound. “Clumsy. Clumsy boy.”
“Well, we’re in a hospital already! I fall down the stairs and then they can fix me right up again!”
Combarn’s gray eyes slid between each speaker, his scarred face never showing an iota of fear. His back remained to the wall. On guard, as always. Maybe more than usual. It was hard to tell his micro-mannerisms apart. Freebine was the only one who could do that, and he was at the house doing his perimeter checks.
Molly tugged on Beauty’s pants to get their attention, then signed something with a tilted head and a frown. Beauty nodded tersely.
Then the lights flickered.
“Oh, jesus…” Barney murmured.
The static of the speakers clicked on — hopefully that system was running on emergency backup generators. “Hello?” A feminine voice chimed.
“Uh, hi miss,” Barney greeted, ignoring the knot in his throat. “We’re, uh, civilians leaving the charity dinner, and the elevator in the east wing is—”
“STUCK!” Barmey finished his sentence; Barney flinched.
The lights flickered once more, encasing them in the glow dim of the emergency light for a few seconds. It came back on.
“Awh.” Benrey hung his head. “We’re so dead, man.”
“Shut it,” Beauty snapped.
Combarn’s eyes narrowed minutely.
“Yes,” the call crackled. “We seem to be—sir?” The woman’s tone shifted from reassuring to stern, alarmed. “Sir, you—”
“Guys?” The new voice was posh and concerned — it was the damn reason they were at the event in the first place.
“Freemercy,” Barney sounded equally relieved and frustrated. If anyone could save them, it would be Freemercy… but the whole reason for Freemercy volunteering at the charity dinner was to do good and feel fulfilled by something other than his obsessive compulsions to save people. “Go back to the charity dinner. I’m sure they don’t appreciate you wandering off to—”
“How’d he know we were here? He set us up to get a kick out of saving us?” Barmey accused, raising his voice to make sure the mic picked it up. He leaned heavily on his cane as he bent forward.
“What? No! I wouldn’t trap you in an elevator.” There was a very, very heavy pause as everyone remembered what Freemercy was capable of. “Without due cause. But I have none, I swear. I’ll get you out of there as fast as I can.”
And then the lights went out. Three groans emitted from the chatterboxes of the group.
The next voice to come out of the speaker was feminine. “I’m so sorry, I don't know who that was, I—” she cleared her throat to regain her professional composure. “Yes, we will get you out as soon as we can. I will call back when I have news.”
“Thanks.” Beauty huffed.
Barney spun around to face Barmey, expression pinched with the vague notion of exhaustion. “Freemercy of all people is the last person you need to worry about. Why are you mouthing off to him?”
Barmey’s annoyance shifted to one of anguish. “I’m hungry.”
Beauty scoffed. “We just ate.”
“Uh, yeah, I know.” He rolled his eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got three legs today.” He brought up his cane and shook it with unenthused jazz hands. “Because my frickin’ leg hurts like hell. That tends to limit how much nonsense I can tolerate. And now I’m trapped in an elevator with you clowns.”
Benrey emitted a flat sound that was the approximate noise of a laugh. “I got tricks.” His jaw distended and out came a glowing red bubble. “Clown, uh, nose.”
The others, used to Benrey’s Benreyisms, ignored him. Barmey continued, “And so much for Freemercy getting ‘better’, look at him; swooping to save our asses yet again.”
“It’s what he does best.” Barney crossed his arms and sighed. This really was going to be miserable if they didn’t escape soon.
“Ugh.” Barmey slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He stretched his bad leg tentatively and winced. Who knew a bullet wound could hurt like hell? He did NOT recommend getting shot to anyone. One out of five stars. If he could rate a zero, he would. Sullenly, he observed the calves of everyone around him.
Molly, who was now at eye level with Barmey, waved. On the opposite side of the spectrum, getting shot was one of the happiest days of her life. It was a mutual shooting between her and her partners, of course. She often got confused between the colloquial phrases 'tying the knot' and 'biting the bullet.' That meant the same thing to her.
“Hi Molly.” Barmey waved back. “We never talk. That’s because of the double language barrier. But I could still talk at you. You want to learn about what OSHA has to say about elevators?”
Her mouth twisted up and her button nose flared, the universal sign of “No, Barmey, no one wants to talk about OSHA but you and Tommy”... but he began to speak anyway.
Barmey’s background chatter eased the tension of the tight space; but, still, it was small. Compressive. Four grown men, a Benrey, and a hobbit didn’t leave much breathing room. And the way Combarn’s dull eyes slid between everyone didn’t help. Like a predator stalking its prey from the camouflage of a bush. Or a middle-aged freaky space soldier observing his counterparts half his age cope with an elevator — one of the few things they all had in common with. Though, Benrey’s was a much more pleasant experience than everyone elses.
And Benrey remained unbothered, just standing in the corner with his eyes slightly glowing beneath the rim of his winter cap. Arms at his side in an unnaturally stiff pose. He really wasn’t helping clear the air, either.
As every one of their nerves caused them to sweat, their freshly minted prison cell grew warmer and damper.
Barney’s heart beat steadily. The blood pulsed in his neck and ears. He could hear it rushing, hear the red blood cells clashing into each other down the highway of veins. He flexed his fingers as his palms sweat. Something, anything would be better than this. So he stepped closer to Benrey.
“Need to, uhh… see an ID before you can press any buttons, sir,” Benrey said.
Barney ignored him, instead inspecting the guidelines for the elevator. As his eyes trailed down each line, two holes were burning into the side of his head. Combarn, of course, never had any consideration for that type of thing. Barney was acutely aware he was being studied by a killer, and tried to read on. The distractions were proving to be too much for him, and then he got to the recommended weight section, his eyes trained onto the number and—
“Shit, we’re over the recommended weight,” Barney mumbled.
“By how much?” Beauty asked. They were the more chatty out of all the pretty people from the sexy universe: it said something that Beauty was being so reserved. He was nervous. Nice looks didn’t prevent you from dying to an elevator.
“Uhh… roughly…” Barney turned his head to survey the room. He wasn’t the greatest at visual calculus, and he didn’t have 20/20 vision, but he definitely could see. The majority of the people in this room were heavyset. And even though this was a hospital, this elevator specifically obviously wasn’t for transporting patients in gurneys. There was barely enough room for them! He shuddered at the thought; they stepped into an old elevator. “Five pounds.”
Barmey’s eyes narrowed at Molly. “This is all ‘cause you ate dinner and supper.”
Molly huffed, unamused but not offended.
Barney opened his mouth to speak, but his voice sounded… older, gravely-er. He realized very quickly that it wasn’t him speaking, but Combarn! He rarely ever spoke, leaving his voice always weak with disuse. And this time, he decided it was important to say out loud, “Sitting on the floor of an elevator during free-fall often results in death.”
One of the rarest things happened: the Calhouns synced. Well… not all of them. Barney, Barmey, Beauty, and Molly’s lips all parted, jaw opening in disbelief with the only thing Combarn had said that week. Like a chorus on mute.
“Ohhh-uh. I know this one.” The high-pitched noise of sweet voice filled the air as Benrey opened his mouth too.
The white of the emergency light was overwhelmed by the iridescent bubbles, each glowing vibrantly soft, painting their hues on the closest surface, be it metal, faux wood, or skin.
Barmey white-knuckled his cane, “God, fuckin’... fine!” He bent his knees, putting his weight on his good leg to pull himself up. His face twisted in obvious discomfort. It was Beauty who offered a hand. Barmey took it and was heaved to his feet with an undignified “Guh!”. He wobbled until he could get his cane firmly on the tile.
A large metal thunk shook the cabin. Barney squawked and Barmey startled hard enough to lose his balance again. He slammed into the wall and yelped. Combarn reacted for the first time, his feet sliding farther apart to sturdy himself, staring directly at where the noise came from; the ceiling.
“Big dead,” was Benrey’s helpful words of encouragement.
“If you don’t cut the shit, you’re big dead!” Beauty hissed, jabbing a finger in his face.
Benrey blinked slowly, unfazed by any hostility. “Huh?”
“Calm down!” The edge in Barney’s voice did not go unnoticed, further entrenching the unease in those who usually felt the full spectrum of human emotion.
Molly wrapped an arm around Barney’s leg. To sturdy herself or comfort him, it remained unclear.
“It was nice knowing you guys,” Barmey mumbled out, his words jumbling in their earnesty. “And I mean that like actually. Spend your last moments thinking about how cool I am and how you should’ve been way nicer to me, please.”
Beauty’s head snapped between Barmey and Barney, then he gave a shaky choke. “I don’t want to d—”
One of the ceiling tiles popped off like the lid of a pickle jar. A head stuck down, curly low bun and laurels basked in a multicolor glow. “Don’t worry.” The familiar face smiled. Of course they recognized him. They saw him and his dozen or so lookalikes every day. The tension of the room melted like butter in a pan. “I’ve got you now.”
Freemercy saved the day with his unconventional methods of vent crawling and elevator shaft scaling. In other news, water makes things wet and there are seven days of the week.
If relief were tangible, the elevator definitely would’ve started its gravity-free descent, plummeting towards the earth at mach ten — even if that wasn’t how gravity worked. That’s how relieved they all were. It broke physics.
Freemercy helped each of them through the ceiling tile, offering a rope to climb up with to begin with, then their calloused hands clasping their brothers to bring them ashore. There was a ladder against the wall; nothing that surprising after Black Mesa. They all knew the drill from here. Beauty scooped up Molly and put her on his shoulders with the firm, but gentle instructions to hang on. Combarn had settled back to his usual catatonic-like stupor. Barney was the first Calhoun to go up, and Barmey was the last, muttering to himself how much he hated ladders and how inaccessible this place was. Freemercy followed just behind him, carrying his folded cane in a shoulder bag and offering encouraging words that slipped right off Barmey like oil and water.
The elevator door on the nearest floor had been opened somehow; perhaps through an override key that Freemercy definitely wasn’t authorized to have access to. They returned to the same floor as the banquet, though now the lights were all replaced with the emergency backups. It sorta looked like what a hospital in a zombie apocalypse might look like — each of them expected to hear the cry of a headcrab or the groan of a headcrab zombie. They'd seen enough of those to last a lifetime.
Luckily, no alien or zombie groans here, just the familar chastizing from one of the more critical guests attending the charity dinner.
“I told you not to leave,” Freemind growled at the Calhouns as Freemercy got to his feet. He put his hands on his hips as he lectured. “I said something bad was going to happen, but nooo, I’m just paranoid!”
“How are you?” Gordon signed, brows upturned with his head at a tilt.
“We’re fine. We lived. Weren’t in there for too long, hah…” Barney tried to sound jovial, but it just came out as strained.
Gordon gave a curt nod. He stepped closer, his movements a little stiff. Barney recognized the way his arms were slightly raising. He was trying to initiate a comforting hug. Barney, despite the stressful twenty minutes he just had, smiled warmly and helped, wrapped his arms around Gordon and pulling him into a tight hug. Gordon tensed, surprised, but relaxed and patted Barney’s back. The elevator had done more to him than he would like to admit.
Freemercy whistled in a very not-suspicious and normal manner, fiddling with the elevator door panel until it shut again. He fished out Barmey's cane to give back to him.
Barmey took it, but he was too busy defending himself to thank him. “I was peer pressured,” he insisted stubbornly to Freemind, gesturing with his free hand to prove his innocence. “If all the dudes who look like me are leaving, I should leave too.”
“No, that’s not how it works,” Freemind snapped. “ You leave when I leave.”
Barmey smirked. “Were you worried or jealous? Or both?”
“Whuh—! No!” His face was red. “Neither!”
After a snicker, Barmey maneuvered around to stand next to him, and slid his fingers right to the small of his back. “Uh-huh. Sure.” He wasn’t really smiling, though. Instead, with a furrowed brow, he admitted. “I don’t think I’m ready for elevators, as much as it pains me and my leg to admit.”
Freemind said nothing about elevators. That was probably the nicest response he could come up with. Instead, he said, “I want to go home. The party’s a bust. Power’s out and no one has any glow sticks or hallucinogenics.”
Barmey looked so badly like he wanted to kiss him, but he used what little willpower he had to restrain. If they were going home, they'd have plenty of time to do that later. Alone. Where Freemind would be slightly more receptive. "Sounds cool to me."
Cicero bounded towards Beauty and Molly and wrapped his spindly weird arms around them. “Ah , Molly , Beauty !” His voice was as flutey as ever. He buried his head into Beauty’s shoulder. Molly, still sitting on his shoulders, patted the curly hair of her badly translated partner.
Martini, who had remained silent this whole time, waved awkwardly, standing a few paces back. “Gorgeous is with Joshie. She said to tell you—”
“Salutations and milk mindfulness , processed chip ,” Cicero finished, their face unwaveringly honest. “Invitation fest , delightful .”
“Uh…” Martini scrunched his face up. “...yeah. Sure. That.”
Beauty visibly sagged, most likely from the relief of being surrounded by friendly faces outside of elevator hell world than whatever the hell Gorgeous had said via their garbled messenger. He put Molly down and kneeled to smile warmly at her. It was the type of smile seen in movies or photographs, the kind that make other people self-conscious because how the hell could someone be so photogenic?
Cicero smiled as well, but their photogenicism was more inline with the type of pictures taken when someone says 'and now let's do a silly one!'
Benrey and Combarn stood quietly to the side, watching the reunion unfold. Benrey turned to face the ex-soldier. “You like milk?”
Combarn, despite his name having the word ‘barn’ in it, did not know what milk was, nor did he remember what a cow, goat, or boob looked like. He shook his head. No, he did not like milk.
“Feetman said, uhh… your bones are brittle, and stupid.” Benrey smacked his lips. “I said, whuh? No way. And he said yeah. Fucked up if you ask me. You should do something about it.”
Martini could not hear Benrey setting him up to get jumped over the yapfest that everyone else was. Freemercy did, however, and he placed himself firmly between the two. His small smile was firm. The lights lit up his glasses just right to obscure his eyes.
“You two play nice.” A warning.
“No fun.” Benrey sulked.
Combarn did not react.
Freemercy patted their shoulders and left them be. There were probably some other people in distress — a sudden power outage could cause all kinds of mayhem. His housemates could handle themselves. He was needed elsewhere.
As Freemercy near sprinted off, Martini sighed. "Dammit. There he goes. He was almost normal today."
"Well, sorry for fucking that up," Beauty snipped.
Barmey latched on immediately. "Next time we'll just die if that's more convenient for you."
"Feetman so mean..." Benrey blew out a string of sweet voice.
"Oh my god. Seriously guys? Chill out, I was just..." Martini sighed and rubbed his face. "Yeah. Whatever. Way more convenient."
Barney laughed. There was something warming his body up; it wasn't stress or sweat or nerves, but... comfort. Comfort because he felt like he's known these people his whole life. And in some ways, he had.