Cecil came close to dying so often that it was just part of life. It wasn't that his death was impossible, just improbable. He didn't like to think about why too much. His mind would turn toward ancient men in soft meat crowns and a disturbing feeling of vast…something? Vast nothing? He wasn't sure, but he didn't like it. He shuddered and turned away from the endless stretch of time that threatened to fill his mind. It almost felt like an empty warehouse, endless and full of…
He stopped, focused on not thinking about death. He was very busy not thinking about death at the moment. He was very busy not thinking about a lot of things. Most of all he was very busy not thinking about Steve Carlsberg, who wouldn't stop talking nearby.
"And I see the arrows," Steve continued. He had started talking when the elevator had stopped with a sickening jolt, and he hadn't stopped since. He paused only to hit the ground floor button every few minutes, stabbing at it with his stubby forefinger and mildly cursing.
Cecil wondered if Carlos would remember to take the roast out of the crock pot if he didn't come home. Didn't come home on time, of course. Not didn't come home at all. That was just ridiculous.
But his palms were sweaty, and he was breathing too fast to pretend to be as calm as he tried to be. He tried to force his tired mind into its usual community conscious, genial radio host mode, but it wasn't possible without his microphone. It would have been useful to have an audience as well, and a radio. Hard to be a radio host without a radio station, microphone, or audience. Not impossible, just difficult.
He tapped a foot as he thought, his open toed ostrich skin sandals making soft sounds against the elevator floor.
The elevator jolted under them again, and Steve lurched into him, his larger bulk slamming Cecil into the wall, right against the raised protection glyphs, which glowed slightly as he impacted against them.
"Steve Carlsberg," Cecil snarled, his voice low and growling. "This is all your fault. You and your arrows."
"But I had to follow them, Cecil," Steve said. "They led me here. They're a lot closer today - too close - but they didn't cause the earthquake. Or did they? I don't know. This town is so weird."
Cecil rubbed his shoulder where he'd hit the wall. Steve was a large man, and he'd have a new bruise to explain to Carlos later. Carlos didn't like it when he had unexplained bruises.
"There are no arrows," Cecil said. "There are no mountains, or angels, or any of the things you've been babbling about for the last hour."
Cecil sniffed. Something acrid and distant barely reached his nose. "Do you smell that?" he asked.
"I smell smoke," Steve said. "You do believe in smoke, don't you?"
Cecil ignored him. He heard station management roar somewhere in the building, a deep almost animal sound with a twangy metallic finish. Fortunately it didn't sound like somewhere close.
"What was that?" Steve whispered.
"Station management," Cecil said. "They're probably angry about the unscheduled earthquake."
"It's all a government plot," Steve said.
Cecil looked upwards at the service hatch above them. It was small, but he was thin and could possibly fit through. It was worth the effort to get away from Steve. Even if he couldn't escape the elevator shaft he could sit up there while Steve monologued to the air about his crazy, dangerous theories.
"The government did this as part of…"
"Stop that kind of talk," Cecil said. "I'm tired of hearing you talk negatively about people that are just manipulating us for our own good. The secret police and the sheriff regularly put their lives in danger for us, and the hooded figures gave up their corporeal beings – if they ever had corporeal beings to serve our town. Shadow lives matter, Steve."
He jumped, but he couldn't reach the ceiling. Of course maintenance had their foot pedestals, the giant, hairy three foot protrusions that were required to become a maintenance technician. Not many people grew the protrusions, so maintenance were valued personnel. Without a foot pedestal Cecil was stuck.
"I'm supposed to pick Janice up from school," Steve said.
His niece's name caught Cecil's attention. "Why are you here then?"
"Well, I was following the arrows - like usual, but also I wanted to come by and give you this before I picked her up," Steve said. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Cecil. Cecil turned it over, looking at the intricate rune that had been inscribed. It was an ancient love spell, but a sweet platonic one. It was how Janice signed all her letters.
"She's been writing again," Cecil said. "I hope you aren't letting anyone know."
"Not in this crazy town," Steve said.
"I won't have you talking bad about Night Vale!" Cecil snapped. "It's a good town."
"No it's not," Steve said. He kicked at the door experimentally, but it didn't budge. It hadn't budged the 14 other times he'd kicked it either.
"Ok, but it's our town," Cecil said. "Good or not it's ours."
Station management roared again, closer this time. Cecil shuddered.
"I worry about her," Steve said. "She's really smart, but I still worry."
Cecil held up his hand to try to silence Steve. "Listen," he whispered. A soft, slithering sound was coming from somewhere nearby. A wet slapping followed, as if a maritime creature was dragging itself slowing along the corridor outside, struggling as it suddenly found itself outside of its natural element. Even Steve knew enough to keep his mouth shut until silence returned.
Cecil opened Janice's letter. He saw a detailed drawing of a squirrel, its dewflap wide and welcoming, and its sandstone necklace glowing. Actually glowing. He wondered how she had managed the effect, or if it was an effect at all. Pride swelled in his heart at his niece's brilliance.
"It's ok," he said. "It's just a drawing. No writing. Drawing is approved as long as nothing that shouldn't be spoken of is drawn, and squirrels are approved, as long as they are appropriately dressed."
"She's so smart," Steve said. "She's going to be something amazing. I just know it!"
Cecil tried not to see what was on Steve's face. He didn't want to admit it but…
"You're a good father," he said begrudgingly. "Not good at much else, but a good father."
He never knew what Steve would have said, because the elevator jolted again. He slipped and fell against the wall. The protection glyphs glowed again, but weaker.
"We have to get out of here," Cecil said. "If I stand on your shoulders I might be able to reach the maintenance shaft."
Steve obligingly crouched, letting Cecil climb unsteadily onto his shoulders, keeping one hand on Steve's shoulder until he gained his balance. As he stood slowly, Steve grasped Cecil's ankles tightly. Cecil wavered unsteadily as he reached toward the ceiling.
"Almost got it," Cecil said. He could just touch the metal grate with his fingertips.
The elevator jolted again, and they both fell, Steve hitting the floor hard, but Cecil slammed into the floor. Steve heard a loud "crack" as Cecil's head hit the floor.
"Cecil?" Steve asked. He hadn't been hurt, so he crawled over to his brother-outlaw. Brother in-law? Brother lawyer? Cecil's head was bleeding from a cut near his temple, and Steve saw blood flowing slowly across the floor, feeding and revitalizing the protection glyphs.
"To the parents of intern…" Cecil muttered, his eyes rolling in his head.
"Don't move," Steve said. He took off his jacket and put it under Cecil's head, using the sleeve to make a simple bandage. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Steve wished he'd taken first aid.
Steve glared at the elevator door. It was the enemy, standing between him and help for his family. Cecil needed a doctor, and Janice needed him. She knew earthquake safety, but he needed to get to her school. She could be hurt.
"You are driving through the desert with a crate in the back of your car," Cecil said weakly.
Steve said a few chants and planted his feet against the side of the elevator, pushing the door with all his might. It slid open just the slightest bit, but he could see light through the crack. After 10 more minutes of struggle he had only a few inches of open space.
He sat on the floor and tried to collect his thoughts while he caught his breath. Cecil hadn't spoken in 5 minutes, and Steve checked on him. His eyes were closed, except for his third eye, which was partly open.
"Cecil?" Steve asked. When Cecil didn't respond Steve checked his pulse, glad to find that he was alive. Janice needed her uncle. Cecil's skin was pasty and clammy, and Steve felt panic pull at him.
He glared at the door again. Janice needed her father too. He had played quarterback in high school and he charged at the door, hitting it hard with his shoulder. He bounced off and landed on his back.
Cecil groaned quietly and put his hand to his head. "What happened?" he asked. He looked at his hand, which was covered in blood. He tried to sit up and lay back on the cold floor.
"You hit your head," Steve said.
"We need to…something," Cecil said.
"I'll get us out of here," Steve said. "My little girl needs me, and no door is going to stop me from getting to her."
"You're not so bad, I guess," Cecil said. "I was afraid you'd abandon her like her father. She could do worse."
Steve had to stop and decide if he'd really heard that. "You must have a concussion," he said. It would be the only reason Cecil would complement him without some backhanded insult built into it.
Steve braced himself against the wall again and put his hands against the doors, gripping the small hole that he'd made and pushing.
"Listen you," he said to the door. "You're not stopping me from getting to Janice!" He pushed hard, and the door began to move agonizingly slowly. Cecil was talking, going on about the community calendar, but Steve wasn't listening. He had put all of his focus, all of his being into defeating the elevator.
He only managed to get a two foot wide opening before he had to rest, sitting against the wall near Cecil while he panted and sweated.
"And now the weather," Cecil muttered. Elevator music began to play.
He moved back to the door, pushing and straining until he saw someone in the hall walking quickly away. "Hey!" he yelled.
She stopped and looked around, stepping around the slime trail on the floor, left by the wet creature decomposing in the middle of the hallway.
"Behind you!" Steve yelled.
She turned and headed toward them slowly, hesitating.
"We're stuck in here!" Steve yelled. "My half-brother is hurt." He looked at the arrow hanging over her head suspended in the air. "Follow the arrows," he said. "Or don't follow them. I'm not sure. Look over your head! The arrows are right there!"
"I'll get help," she said, and she turned and ran.
"I have to get home," Cecil said. "Carlos will be working on his science and forget to turn off the pot roast."
Steve paced, growing more impatient with each passing moment. When the intern came back with two men they were able to make a lever out of a crowbar which all interns carried. Steve lifted Cecil to his feet, pulling an arm around his shoulder and almost carrying him out of the elevator.
The men hurried off, leaving him with the intern and Cecil. They made their way slowly to the studio, where Steve lowered Cecil into his chair, adjusting it so that he could lay at a 45 degree angle. It was the flattest the chair would get. Cecil smiled and pulled his microphone to his chest, cuddling it like he was child with a stuffed animal. He muttered something about balaclavas and passed out.
"Call the doctor," Steve said. "I have to go get my daughter."
The intern nodded and picked up the phone, wondering who the odd man was who was fleeing the station. People fled the station lots of times, but they usually didn't talk about arrows in the air.
Steve raced through the streets, avoiding a few crashed cars and one double bike. He heard a man cursing in double Spanish, and he ran past a hydrant that had been hit by an old Ford Escort. A jet of water shot into the air, and the driver stood nearby, staring at the wreck.
The arrows were moving. He didn't know what it meant, and he didn't like it. They grew larger and smaller. Some flashed and some didn't, but all of them were there – so very, very there. They weren't pointing toward or away from Janice's school though, and that seemed like a good thing.
The school was undamaged, and he almost cried when he saw Janice wheeling herself toward him, waving happily.
When Cecil woke in the hospital he was surrounded by cards, flowers, and the traditional poison cakes left for sick people. He broke a piece of poison cake and put it under the bed to appease the night gaunts, as was traditional. He saw a few other broken pieces, and he wondered who had been protecting him while he was unconscious.
Carlos sat nearby, slumped in his seat and snoring slightly, his re-grown hair falling haphazardly around his beautiful face.
Cecil reached over and touched his cheek, being careful not to move too quickly. His head throbbed with every movement.
Carlos jerked awake.
"You're adorable when you snore," Cecil said.
"Cecil, I'm glad you're awake," Carlos said. "I was worried."
Cecil lay back on the bed and looked at Carlos wistfully.
"This has to be the most scientifically interesting earthquake I've ever seen," Carlos said.
"Uh huh," Cecil said absently. He wasn't listening to the words so much as that passionate musical voice. As Carlos talked about tubes and beakers, Cecil drifted back into a comfortable sleep.