Blackness enveloped me until I opened my eyes and gasped. I realized the lights hadn't gone out at all, but I couldn't say the same for my consciousness. Lying on the floor next to the stiff, bloodied bodies of the cardigan wearing woman and the mousy man, I pushed myself up to a sitting position while simultaneously pulling the hem of my dress down over my knees for privacy.

Feeling vulnerable to a madman, I scanned the cramped space to get my bearings.

Mr. Macho had removed his shirt and the shirt that covered Ms. Cardigan's face and used them to clean most of the blood from his arms and neck, but the remnants remained in the creases of his navel, elbows, and under his fingernails.

He crouched near the panel as if he were working on it, but obviously had gotten nowhere with his tinkering, leaving bloodied fingerprints smeared on the stainless steel. He quickly retracted the blade back into its handle and tucked it in his rear pocket for safekeeping.

"Why did you do it?" were the first words out of my mouth. Was it impulse or instability? I needed to know where the anger came from so I could better determine if he harbored more of it for me.

"That man lunged at me with the knife." Mr. Macho shook his head. "I did it in self-defense. Didn't you see it? I mean, you were here as it all went down."

I backed away from the growing puddle of red until my back hit the cold metal of the wall. "Self-defense? You want me to corroborate that?"

"You know all about self-defense, don't you?" He tilted his head, and it became apparent he held no remorse. His hands didn't even shake or tremble at the gruesome sight, unlike mine.

There was no sense in denying his true colors were on full display. "What kind of man would kill someone that way in cold blood?" My mind replayed the rhythmic squirts that pulsed from Mouse's neck.

"A man who's not afraid to share his sins." He stood, the sounds of his knees popping reverberated in the space as he lengthened. "You all wanted me to tell my sins, but I believe action speaks louder than words."

I glanced at the bulbous camera lens above the doors, and a shudder quaked down my spine, realizing how confident he was with his alibi.

He must've caught my line of sight as he shrugged. "Thank god you were here to witness the truth. In case my back obscured the camera's view."

"When did you start believing in a god to thank?" My eyebrows threatened to dip in anger, but I kept my expression neutral. I needed to keep up with the act and not rouse him unexpectedly. I needed to stay in control.

"You don't believe that woo-woo crap they were spouting," he went on. "So, we can stop the game about this elevator falling if we don't share our sins. Because I have news for you." He dug into his back pocket to retrieve his cell phone. "It's three past the hour and we haven't fallen yet."

Relief should have washed over me, but dread rose, causing my mind to race instead. "And no one's come to our rescue yet?" My breathing grew, making my chest rapidly rise and fall, but his demeanor showed not one sign of distress. "That doesn't sound strange to you?"

"As long as I'm in this elevator, it's not falling." His confidence did nothing to convince me, but curiosity got the best of me, and I slid toward my phone that lay snug atop the pile of my belongings. After checking my phone for service and no bars were visible, I looked at the time and sighed upon realizing he had been right. It was minutes past eight o'clock. It's been over an hour since the doors trapped us in the elevator and... nothing's changed.

Nothing besides two dead bodies on the floor between us.

I tried to tear my gaze away from the gruesome image of the mousy man lying lifelessly on his side with the front of his neck butterflied open. Although his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, I wondered how long he suffered before Death granted peace to him.

"I just wanna get out of here and go home to Seb." That urge fueled me and kept me pushing, and I needed to hold on to that. I needed to believe that my love for Seb would get me through this.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Mr. Macho's lie fell from his lips as easily as his next breath. "When these doors finally open, I want you to walk out of here as if nothing happened and stroll right back into Seb's arms."

I gulped, understanding exactly what he wanted. I didn't have to think twice to deliver. "You acted in self-defense." I nodded, agreeing. "There's nothing more to say."

"Good girl."

We sat in silence, waiting. Were we expecting the elevator to collapse as Ms. Cardigan foretold, or were we awaiting help to arrive? Part of me believed we each anticipated one of the two.

My body ached in various places, and I knew it was because of the fall after I fainted. I rubbed my aching elbow and repeatedly glanced at the camera and the doors, wondering what was going on out there. Was it still bustling with residents and visitors, or had the world abruptly stop as soon as we became trapped?

"What if we never get out of here?" The thought crossed my mind several times as we sat in silence, but voicing it seemed like second nature.

He snorted, his eyes showing his irritation. "Now there you go asking silly, silly questions."

I gulped, finding my courage to hold on to my control, and put on the act that would keep me alive. Playing it cool and collected, the opposite of what our deceased passengers did, seemed to be the way to go. "You don't find any of this weird?" Even as I fought to contain my composure, I had to point out the obvious.

"I haven't quite put my finger on what the hell is going on," he admitted. "But I'm sure I'm—we're—gonna get through it."

My heart raced so fast at the slip of his tongue that my hands quaked to the rhythm. I licked my lips, sensing how dehydrated I had become because of the sweat continuously gushing from my pores.

"Why don't we pass the time by you telling me about Seb," he suggested. His red stained arms crossed in front of his naked torso as he waited.

"What do you want to know?" I shrugged, angry at myself for allowing my quivering voice to expose my fear.

"How's he in bed?"

I huffed, dropping my head. "How is that supposed to help us out of this situation?"

"Who said anything about conversation helping us?" He teased in a soft-spoken voice that could have been mistaken as compassion by anyone outside of the space. "We're just passing the time. We've been through a lot together. Might as well get to know more about each other."

"Then why don't you ask about me instead of my boyfriend?"

"Because I can find out a lot about you indirectly, by knowing more about the guy you find irresistible."

Talking about sex would only lead to places I wasn't sure I wanted to handle, but as soon as that thought entered my mind, so did an epiphany. If I were to get out of this alive, I needed to get hold of the knife. And to get close to the knife meant I had to get close to him.

"Seb is amazing in every way." I finally looked up, meeting his heavy-lidded stare. "Every way you can think of."

An exaggerated grin curled the corner of his mouth, and a thick eyebrow lifted in intrigue. "Is that right?"

I gulped and took a deep breath, trying to keep my focus and my strength, and hoping I wouldn't regret the direction of the conversation. My mind flooded with scenes and scenarios, predicaments, and possibilities. I needed to pick my words wisely. I needed to stay in control.

"Seb is a good man."

"How good?" He flirted with his eyes, and I successfully suppressed a dry heave. "Real good, isn't he?"

"We met when I was on the job. I had just taken a position as the curator at the downtown museum. When he and a few of his colleagues came in, he caught me in the hall on the way to my office. He literally caught me in midair just as I tripped over my two left feet. I can't walk straight in heels for the life of me." A dry chuckle escaped me and I met his gaze to determine how he would interpret it.

"If that's the case, why are you wearing them now?" His gaze crept up and down my legs, from the tips of my toes to my exposed thighs.

"I only wear them on special occasions." Gulping, I tried my best to match his energy, or at least execute my plan in a convincing manner. "I had just got promoted as curator and it was the first time the company provided individual offices—"

"This sounds all good and well, but those aren't the details I was hoping for." There was a coolness in his tone and demeanor that sent off warning bells. Something other than his recent actions told me to be mindful of his performance.

I swallowed and continued, skipping ahead to the important part. "One thing led to another, and I ended up here, in his apartment."

"In his bed," Mr. Macho corrected. "Go on."

"I—" I opened my mouth to continue, but the words wouldn't come out. What was he up to? It was obvious he had ulterior motives. "I'm thirsty."

"You're stammering."

"Do you blame me?" I dropped my gaze to the grisly sight of the surrounding death. "It's not every day I see the dead."

"But you're no stranger to it." He shrugged. "I'd say that's one thing we all have in common."

Was that a confession? I suspected he confessed with his 'action speaks louder than words' comment, but this was more direct. "Uh..." I paused, knowing I had to choose my next words wisely. Deciding to play dumb, I continued where my story left off instead of taking the bait. I had to keep my mind on my mission, getting closer to that knife. "I knew as soon as Seb laid me down on that bed that he and I would have a future together. He swept me away in bed and he vowed our first child would be a baby girl named Jamie.

"Jamie?"

"Jamie Hugh." I nodded. "He loved that name and always wanted a daughter who would love that name, too."

"Sounds so romantic." He leaned against the panel and leisurely crossed one foot over the other at the ankles, as if we were chatting it up at a public park during a midday stroll.

But this was no casual conversation. I knew whatever happened in this elevator from this point on would determine if I see the light of day again.

I nod. "So that's it."

"I'm sure there is so much more to the story." He scratched his chin. "I don't know. Call it a hunch, but I think you're skipping the best parts."

"What do you mean?" My heart jumped in my chest. Was I reading him wrong? Was there something he was alluding to that I hadn't touched on? Surely, he wanted the nitty gritty dirty details, but I wasn't sure I wanted to go that route so soon. Not yet, at least. It wouldn't be believable. And to get close enough to him to get the knife, I had to sell it. He couldn't show suspicion, but I wondered if it was already too late.

"How does he make you feel?" Mr. Macho asked. The way he casually rested against the blood smeared stainless-steel panel unnerved me.

I sighed, on the verge of defeat. "Look around." I threw my hands up, giving up the game, throwing in the white flag. "This doesn't upset you? You're not bothered by any of this? You're not worried that you may have to take accountability for what's happened here?"

"I thought we went through this?" He shrugged, showcasing his nonchalant attitude. "Self-defense. Remember?"

"And that's it?" I huffed. "You seem so sure that justice won't prevail."

"How did self-defense work out for you?" He stared without blinking.

My dry throat tried to swallow the lumped that formed there. "What are you implying?" The way he looked at me was like he knew something about me I didn't even know. "The guy attacked me, and I fought back. What else was I supposed to do, surrender to his every whim?"

"I just need you to understand that although we're strangers, you and I are one of the same." He smirked.

"No." I shook my head. "You're on a whole other level." I glanced at his dragon and its eight unruly eyes. The red and blue nearly hypnotized me, as it proved difficult to look away.

He, too, examined his biceps, nearly flexing to show off the entire form of the mythical creature. "Each eye tells a story, looking from my past all the way to my future. These eyes look out for me."

"Must be nice to know something or someone has your back."

"You're speaking as if you don't have that luxury?" He lifted an eyebrow. The all-knowing gleam didn't sit right with me. It sent unnerving chills down the back of my neck and spine.

We locked eyes. This time, I narrowed mine as I read the nonverbal language his body displayed. He showed confidence like no other. A cockiness that exhibited assurance that he knew he would be ok. Where could such conviction come from?

I could see in his eyes that something brewed between us. It was far from what Seb and I shared, and nowhere near a kinship, but a mutual understanding flowed between us and I hated every second.

"How do we get out of here?" I started, trying to get the subject back on the important matter at hand.

"We wait."

"We've been waiting."

"You're right." His nods are slow, and his eyes wander as if in deep thought. After a few silent moments, he murmurs, "What can we do to pass the time?" He tapped his chin. "Something that will ensure that once we get out of here, we're safe from anything that happened in this elevator. Hmm."

What was he suggesting? Did he believe I needed his alibi to walk away from this? If so, he must've thought I was stupid. I have hurt no one. In fact, I haven't come near any of these people, but I knew that was about to change.

I knew what he wanted, what that phony tap on the chin suggested, and it worked well with the plan I had in mind. But I had to ask myself, how far was I willing to go to get out of this predicament?

I let my eyes travel to the traces of blood along the rim of his pants. He had tucked the knife away in his back pocket, and there was only one way he'd allow me to get close enough to that pocket. But my intuition had me questioning whether he wanted me to pleasure him, or if his true motive was to lure me closer so he could give me the Mouse treatment.

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