3WW (Errant, Hanker, Murky): Whose Watch Is It?

A murky Saturday morning in Seattle. One of those days on the cusp of winter when darkness looms at dawns and dusks thanks to lingering grey pillow clouds. I walk from my parked Camry along deserted leafy sidewalks. I see only blanketed lumps in doorways, homeless people holding onto the belief that there might be another warm and sunny day in the Emerald City. Perhaps they'll get their wish but not on this day.

I walk into the building where I work every business day. And some weekends. I badge into the lobby and wave to the security guard. A deaf over-the-hill white-haired gentleman who grunts his greetings without making eye contact. I proceed to the elevators and find a young man waiting. He looks up briefly with his bright blue eyes and grins awkwardly. I take no notice and pull out my Blackberry hoping to avoid conversation. No email. So I proceed to the New York Times business news.

The elevator arrives with a ding; the young gentleman and I enter. The doors close. I press 17. The gentleman presses 23. The elevator begins to ascend. I am on Sports Illustrated by then reading about AI's potential retirement. We begin to slow. Then a few errant noises a person never wants to hear in an elevator. Best described in old Batman terms as BANG! CLANK! CRUNCH! The elevator stops. The number 17 is lit. The doors open. Nothing but sheer wall. The doors close. We don't move. Not good.

'Figures,' I hear from behind me. The young man seems as frustrated as I.

'Yep, I should have just stayed home,' I say as I look back at him.

'Yep.'

I ring the emergency bell hoping against hope that the deaf old weekend security guard might hear. Doubtful, I think to myself.

After I try that for a little while, I turn around and see that the gentleman - all of about 25 years of age - is sitting with his legs crossed.

'Where do you work?' I ask him.

'Oh, I don't work here,' he says.

'That makes it worse,' I note with a sarcastic grin.

'Not really,' he says in all seriousness. 'It gives me time to reflect on what I'm about to do.' I don't particularly like the way he speaks those words.

'What are you about to do?' I inquire.

'You promise not to tell?' he asks.

What am I supposed to say to that? If I don't promise, then it's awkward in an elevator where it's awkward anyway. If I do promise, we keep a conversation going and it's less awkward, though still in an elevator.

'Sure,' I say.

'I'm on my way up to kill my girlfriend,' he admits matter-of-factly.

Yeah, I didn't want to know. 'Umm, huh?' I stammer, trying to formulate what I should say to a person that says something like that. And in such close quarters.

'I found a guy's watch in the bedroom this morning. I know it's not my watch. And her family lives in Florida. So, I don't think it belongs to anyone from her family. She doesn't have any male friends about whom I know. I can therefore only deduce that it belongs to a guy with whom she's having an affair.'

I listen to him use 'whom' and 'deduce', and I wonder if I've entered some kind of Twilight Zone. Why didn't I just keep looking at random sites on the Blackberry? I should have checked Don Banks' NFL Power Rankings. Instead, here I am with a lunatic in a small space.

'Umm, well, umm, yeah...'

'Oh, I see.' He says to me. 'You don't have to worry. You seem like a good guy. You remind me of a guy with whom I served in the marines in Iraq. Quality guy. Always kept his word. Very honest. As opposed to that lying bitch on the 23rd floor.' He zones out for a moment staring at the wall.

Cuckoo, I think to myself.

'Sorry, guy. I'll bet your name is Sam. Right, Sam is it?'

I don't know what to say. My name isn't Sam, but I'm dealing with a guy who seems to be missing the entire suit of clubs from his deck. 'Yeah, Sam.'

'Right. See, I knew I'd run into a Sam today. Just had a feeling. Hey, maybe you can help me out and distract her while I sneak into the office to kill her. You want to do that for me?'

I feel like we're talking about playing a prank on someone. 'Sorry. Umm, I have to get to some things. And I'm already late as it is.'

'Yeah, I understand. I didn't mean to inconvenience you. I have a plan anyway. Well, I had a plan. I'm starting to wonder if it's such a good idea at this point. I mean, obviously someone up there doesn't think I should go through with it.' He points up to the ceiling. 'Or else I wouldn't be stuck in here with you, Sam. You know, Sam saved my life in Iraq. He tackled me as some insurgents opened fire. Took a bullet in the fleshy part of his leg. Good guy, that Sam.' He zoned out again.

'I think I'm going to try the bell again,' I tell him.

'Yeah, please. Go ahead. I think I'd like to get out of here anyway. Now that I think of it, the watch might belong to her brother who stayed with us last weekend. As a matter of fact, I saw him wearing it.' He chuckles to himself. 'That's right. It's her brother's. And to think I was going to kill her.'

The elevator comes back to life and descends slowly but consistently until it reaches the bottom floor. The doors open to the security guard surrounded by a few cops and firemen.

'Are you okay?' one of the cops asks.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' I reply.

'Yes, sir. But I have a hankering for a good breakfast. Can you make any recommendations?'

After a brief chat with the cops, the gentleman begins to walk away. But he turns and calls, 'Sam, you want to join me?'

'No thanks,' I reply.

'Okay, well good getting to know you. And remember,' he said in a mock whisper, 'what happens in the elevator stays in the elevator.' He lets out an odd chuckle and exits.

I wait a few moments and walk out the front doors back into the murky morning wondering what to do next. After coming up with nothing, I sit on a wet bench and stare at the barren trees.