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My hand instinctively rises to touch the small mark just below my ear. My grandfather always said that a birthmark’s location tells the story of how someone lost a battle in a past life. Looks like you got stabbed in the neck. Probably a quick death, though. I smile, uncertain whether to feel unnerved or amused. Despite his rather morbid introduction, he doesn’t seem all that dangerous. His curved posture and unsteady stance suggest he’s well into his eighties.
elevator. With a grunt, he lowers himself into the seat and gazes up at me.
“Heading to floor eighteen, are you?” he asks, catching me off guard. It’s puzzling how he knows my destination, considering it’s my first visit to this apartment complex and my first encounter with him.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, my tone cautious. “Do you happen to work here?”
“That I do,” he confirms.
drawing my attention to the glowing
“I’m the one who pushes the button for the elevator,” he remarks. “I doubt there’s an official title for what I do, but I like to call myself a flight captain, given that I send people up as high as twenty stories.”
His humor makes me smile, especially since my brother and father are pilots. “How long have you been the flight captain of this elevator?” I inquire as I wait. This feels like the slowest elevator I’ve ever experienced.
I became too old to handle maintenance duties around here, I’ve found a new role. I spent thirty-two years working before I was promoted to captain. For over fifteen years, I’ve been organizing flights, I believe. The owner offered me this role as a way to keep me busy until the end of my days. He chuckles softly, musing to
has given me so many wonderful
that I’ll never catch up—and so I’ll never meet my end. I can’t help but laugh as
Samuel, but everyone calls him Cap, introduces himself with a smile.”Do you have any birthmarks, Cap?” I ask.He chuckles. “Funny you should ask. I’ve got one. Supposedly, in a past life, I was shot right in the rear and must have bled out.”I return his grin and give him a smart salute before stepping into the elevator. As I turn to face the open doors, I take in the lavish grandeur of the lobby. With its majestic columns and shining marble floors, it feels more like stepping back into a historic hotel than entering an apartment building.
offered me a place to stay until I secured a job, I never imagined he’d have such a sophisticated lifestyle. I expected it to be similar to my last visit, just after I graduated high school, when he was embarking on getting his pilot’s license. That was four years ago, in a rather dubious two-story complex. That’s the kind of situation I envisioned.
So, I was caught off guard by the prospect of staying in a high-rise right in the heart of downtown San Francisco. I locate the panel and press the button for the eighteenth floor.
brown like my usual eye color, is piled in a loose knot on top of my head, held together by a pencil since a hair tie wasn’t accessible while on the road. Right now, my eyes appear much darker, accentuated by the bags beneath them.
I rummage through my purse, searching for a tube of ChapStick, hoping to refresh my lips before they look as exhausted as I feel. The elevator doors begin to close, but then they slide open again. A man hurries toward them, stepping inside while nodding at the elderly gentleman standing outside.