We all stared at the credit card sized note Mr. Macho pulled from Ms. Cardigan's purse and held up to the light.

The mousy man's interest piqued as he took a step closer to see. "What does it say?"

"It says, 'Wednesday. 7pm. First elevator.'" Mr. Macho pulled a similar card from his pocket. "What the hell?" He turned to Mouse. "Let's see what you got."

Mouse drew it from his pocket, just above the jagged hole in his pants. "Mine has the address to this place, and it says, 'A solution to your most pressing issue. Elevator one. Floor seventeen.'"

They both looked at me, waiting. I reached into my bag to find my note, hoping I brought it with me. As I dug around the pockets, I debated if I should be honest about who I thought had given it to me or if I should pretend to not have it on me to avoid explaining.

Being fully transparent hasn't gotten me anywhere so far, but if I didn't want to be caught in a lie later, I would have to be open and honest now. "Mine looks like a message from my boyfriend asking me to meet him here, but now I know I was mistaken."

"Who's your boyfriend?" Mr. Macho lifted his chin, locking his eyes on me as if gauging and assessing every minute reaction.

"Yeah, what's his name?" Mouse urged, giving me the same strange look.

"Seb," I confessed. "Sebastian Hugh." But before they could chime in, I had to reassure them that Seb was not involved. "But he wouldn't do something like this to me or anyone else. He would do nothing to hurt me. He loved me."

"Loved?" Mouse probed, giving Mr. Macho the eye. "So, he used to love you? I'm guessing he doesn't love you anymore?"

My underarms prickled with sweat. "I mean, we recently broke up. But we still love each other. He wouldn't do this. Trust me."

"Trust is a strong word." Mr. Macho's stare lingered on me, making sure I perceived the skepticism in his eyes. "Who's Sebastian? Where is he now?" 

"I was coming to meet him in his apartment on the thirteenth floor." I reached for the strap of my overnight bag across my shoulder before realizing the bag sat safely on the floor. So, I hugged myself for comfort instead. "I thought he wanted to apologize, to make up. So, here I am, planning to stay the night."

The big guy nodded to the mousy man. "What about you? You know anybody called Sebastian?"

"Never heard of the name," Mouse said with an accent I couldn't quite make out. "Someone dropped this card in my cup last week when I was out there asking for a bit of change."

Suddenly, his rugged attire and unavoidable body odor made sense. He had been going through hard times like I had originally guessed, but worse than I thought. The streets were most likely very familiar to him.

Mr. Macho lifted his handwritten note with smears of his own blood coating its corner. "I found this on the windshield of my car, telling me to be on the nineteenth floor at this location at seven o'clock."

"And you just did what it told you to do?" Mouse narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

That question captured my attention as well. He never scrutinized the cryptic note that mysteriously appeared on the windshield of his car?

"Thought it was from an old boss, alright?" The look they exchanged made me remain quiet and not question who his boss was and why Mr. Macho would answer an anonymous request from him. He nodded to me, "Who's Sebastian?"

"I—I—" The dead woman's cold stare and the blood pooling around her body distracted me from my thoughts. Besides, what more could he want from me other than what I already said? "I can't think right now." I brought my shaking hands to my face to shield my eyes from the gruesome sight and tried to get a hold of myself. Fear, confusion, and anticipation kept me in a high state of panic that I struggled to keep under control.

"You got something in that bag to cover her up?" The bass in Mr. Macho voice startled me, but I registered his words and hurried to my bag. Thankfully, he recognized my issue and helped provide a solution without having me spell it out.

"Yea, I should have something." I crouched and pulled a black and white polka dotted t-shirt from my bag, blindly handing it over. After a few moments, I looked back at Ms. Cardigan and he had draped the shirt over her head and neck, leaving the handle of the knife peeking from the fabric just as it protruded from her chest.

Now, with my mind back on track, I reminded myself that they wanted to know about Seb.

"Seb is a tech geek. He would never hurt no one or do anything to put others in danger, especially me. He's a good guy who deserves his promotion, his apartment, and all the children he could ask for." And although good was subjective, I truly believe every word that left my lips. Yes, he broke up with me out of the blue, but he always aligned his morals and values with good.

"Tech, huh?" Mr. Macho glanced at Ms. Cardigan's driver's license, holding it in his trembling, red stained fingers, while waiting for me to elaborate.

"Yes, he's been in the business for over ten years and now it's finally paying off." I sighed, searching their face for a sense of satisfaction. "He's gotten a promotion, a raise, and recently moved into this building last year. That's all. He's not responsible for any of this. In fact, because we each have similar notes, it tells me he didn't leave the note. These notes are from someone else entirely."

"Someone else like who?" Mr. Macho examined his hand, twisting it inches from his face, showcasing the dark red that slowly soaked into the bonnet and transformed most of the hot pink fabric.

I stared at his display but had an urge to question his aforementioned boss. Still, not wanting to ruffle any feathers, I stayed silent.

"I don't get it." Mr. Macho mumbled, as if speaking mostly to himself. "This whole thing makes no sense."

I checked my phone again, keeping it on my person for easy access. There still was no service, but the clock neared the half hour mark. "We have thirty minutes till eight p.m."

"Shit!" Mouse cried. "She's right, you know? This thing is gonna fall ten floors unless we confess. We gotta come clean if we want to get the hell out of this elevator alive."

"We're fine." Mr. Macho sighed, the annoyance in his face made itself known through his tired eyes. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explaina—"

"The perturbed kind." Mouse paced along the wall, head down, and arms flailing like a rag doll. "That's what this reminds me of. That's probably what this is. Yea, yea, it has to be."

"What's the perturbed—?" I started.

"This is the stuff they'd do," he went on, ignoring me and my question. "This is the shit they do for a sacrifice. A sacrifice to their god."

Mr. Macho scoffed and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with the fingers on his good hand. "What a nutcase."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to put together the nonsense he spewed. "Are you talking about that crazy cult stuff some people warn us about on cardboard signs?"

"It's not crazy." Mouse pointed a damning finger at me and continued pacing. "It's real. Okay? Where do you think luck comes from, huh? Anyone could have anything they ever want, money, fame, pussy. You can have it all for a price. A sacrifice."

Mr. Macho rubbed his brow bone and sighed. "Fucking Christ."

"No, not Christ." Mouse lifted his forefinger to stop and correct him. "The One Which Has No Name, but he demands sacrifices for you to get your success." The black grime beneath his fingernails churned my stomach just as much as the body lying between us. "Lots of people join this thing, you know," he went on. "Celebrities, politicians, religious leaders... And they all had to kill someone for the tradeoff to work. As payment for your sacrifice, the god awards you luck, success, and protection."

"Looks like Cindy Reynolds rubbed off on you." Mr. Macho threw Ms. Cardigan's driver's license. It fluttered through the air and bounced off the rambling man's arm.

"I'm not crazy," Mouse went on. His voice rising in what I could only decipher as fear and anxiety. "I'm... perturbed."

"Are you admitting that you've killed someone?" I put more space between us.

"Maybe I am." He nodded. "Maybe by confessing, they will let us go. Maybe I'll live." His lips trembled as he spoke.

Mr. Macho shook his head. "These kooks that run around spewing this conspiracy nonsense say you're not supposed to talk about it or your protection wanes."

"Yes, two rules." Mouse put two fingers in the air. "Don't speak of it and keep the faith."

Mr. Macho tilted his head. "So, if you're supposedly one of those religious freaks, why are you talking about it, then? Bad guy likes to break the rules?"

Mouse wagged a finger. "The faith part, I'm working on it. So, now my best chance of getting out of here alive is to play by that lady's rules and confess. So, I'm confessing." He took in a few deep breaths, as if preparing to dive underwater into the deepest, darkest trench. "I watched a man get run over on the street and instead of helping him, I took a picture of his crushed body and passed it off as my sacrifice. But because it wasn't my sacrifice, I don't think the offering worked."

I gasped before cupping my hands over my mouth to silence it.

"Are you serious?" Mr. Macho groaned. "Are we stuck in this damn thing because you snapped a few pictures of a dead body?"

"He wasn't dead when I took the pictures."

I closed my eyes and hoped to open them and realize I had been in bed, lying in Seb's comforting arms this entire time. Maybe this whole scenario was part of a detailed nightmare.

"Then this has to be because of you," Mr. Macho accused.

"No, it can't be just me." The man raised his voice an octave. "That lady wanted sins from all of us. She said we all had to confess to survive. So, if you want to get out of this alive, start confessing."

In the brief silence, I opened my eyes to the two men standing at the opposite sides of the space with a bloody, lifeless body on the floor between us. Disappointment and fear seized me again, causing me to tremble. I wasn't sure if I could survive another thirty minutes in an elevator with these strange men, the putrid smells, and a stabbing victim. Giving in, I looked up at the camera and cleared my throat. "I killed someone too, but it was an accident and self-defense."

"This is fucking insane." Mr. Macho scoffed, not willing to hold back his annoyance.

Ignoring him, I continued, keeping my unblinking gaze on the camera above the door. "I used to give money to a guy who lived on the street until he attacked me in an alley one night. I hit him with a liquor bottle, and he fell and cracked his head on the curb. The judge concluded I acted in self-defense and suspended what would have been my two-year sentence."

"Wow." Mouse turned to Mr. Macho. "Now you. What's your confession? Kidnapping? Ransom?" He squinted his suspicious eyes, and I couldn't help but stare and silently wait for the answer.

"I put a blade through an old lady's heart in an elevator she trapped me in." Mr. Macho's glare gave the impression that his confession also served as a reminder and a threat.

We all faced the double doors, waiting for them to open and set us free. However, only silence lingered as excruciatingly long seconds ticked by.

"Why won't it work?" Mouse's anxiety caused him to fidget again. This time, he picked at the skin around his fingernails. "We confessed. I don't get it."

"Something's not right," I said, finally stepping toward the door. "That can't be it. We were wrong."

"No." Mouse shook his head, unwilling to listen to me or my concerns. "All that lady wanted was our true sins. That's all she asked for. So, if we're telling the truth, we should be able to get out of here."

"Maybe that's the issue." Mr. Macho sneered his deep blue eyes at Mouse. "Maybe some of us aren't telling the truth."

"I told the truth. I told you all of it," Mouse went on. "What, do you want the details? You need the nitty gritty?"

I shook my head. "Please. No."

"You see," Mr. Macho began, "I'm starting to think that you, sir, are the problem."

"Me?" Mouse pressed his thumb to his chest. He glanced at me as if seeking confirmation.

"Yea, you." The giant nodded slowly. "Where are you from?"

He shrugged. "I'm from here, American. What does that have to do with anything?"

"What's the accent?"

"Uh, I spent a few years in Brazil and picked it up." Mouse's tense shoulders were stuck in a shrug. He turned to me again, giving me a wide-eyed look of confusion. I made out his nonverbal body language as he asked, "What's with this guy?" without saying a word.

"The thing is," Mr. Macho continued. "That doesn't sound like a Brazilian accent to me. In fact, it sounds like a load of bullshit."

"What?" he responded. "What are you talking about? You don't know anything."

"I know you're full of it." His injured hand squeezed into a tighter fist.

"Mr. Know-It-All over here." Mouse looked to me for approval, but I remained still and silent, not wanting to get involved. "Who are you, huh?" He shot a disgusted look at the giant. "You some kind of cop or something?"

"Why? Because I see beyond your bullshit?"

Mr. Macho hadn't shared a sin, especially the one whoever was behind the camera was looking for. Obviously, Ms. Cardigan wanted us to confess before the knife met her heart, but I was too afraid to say anything. The tension in the air thickened just as the putrid smell of urine and body odor assaulted my senses.

"I have nothing to hide." Mouse tried defending himself. He looked at me again, as if seeking my help. I shrugged, refusing to get involved. "I told you the truth. Maybe you're the reason they haven't let us out yet. Have you thought about that?"

Mr. Macho growled in annoyance. "Maintenance is probably working on getting us the hell out of here while we speak. No one's watching us. No one cares about our sins, but that woman and she was fucking nuts! All of this is ridiculous."

The light flickered, bringing our attention to it before it went out, leaving us in utter darkness. A scream tore from my lips and I slid down the wall to hug my knees to my chest.

"What the hell?" Mr. Macho murmured through the pitch-black space. "What is going on?"

"This can't be happening." The mousy man's voice shook as he spoke.

Before I could emphasize how strange the situation had become, the light flickered back on and soon we were once again standing in the florescent spotlight staring at one another. Looking around the space in anticipation, awaiting advancement or some form of change.

My gaze landed on the body on the floor between us.

Although the body hadn't moved, the knife that had protruded from Ms. Cardigan's chest was no longer there.

~~~

Where do you think the knife went?

Where do you think the knife is going to go?