Chapter 1
"Shit."
Of course, the dress was red.
Not that red was bad. The dress was undeniably flattering. It was a bold crimson silk that hugged her curves before landing attractively at her ankles in a slight flair. It was the kind of gown that women fantasized about after watching Julia Roberts go to the opera in Pretty Woman. Except Christine Derring wasn't here to make goo-goo eyes at Richard Gere. She was here to produce the annual masquerade gala and fundraiser which was scheduled to begin in 90 minutes.
She had asked Meg to provide a few dress options having no black-tie gowns of her own and Meg had come through with three beautiful options. The first was a black velvet floor length gown that would have been perfect if Christine could force the zipper up all the way. Meg likely forgot that Christine was two cup sizes bigger in the bust area – an understandable hazard. Meg was a dancer with the company and her figure tended more towards lithe where Christine was curvy. The black dress was out.
The next option was an adorable navy dress with a faint metallic sheen that made it dressier than the cut would normally be but unfortunately it was cocktail length. Christine knew she would never hear the end of it from her manager Mindy if she showed up inappropriately dressed. Dress two was a no go.
This left the red gown. It was beautiful – show stopping really – and Christine could see she looked good in it flattering her blonde hair and blue eyes. That said she knew Mindy would make her pay for looking good. Mindy tended to punish Christine whenever she showed up looking slightly better than normal.
New haircut, Christine? How nice! By the way, I need you to stay late tonight to fix the invitations. Hope you didn't have any after work plans.
Nice manicure! By the way, the copier isn't working – can you get in there and take out the broken ink cartridge?
Christine sighed. That once in a blue moon splurge manicure had lasted all of one day. She regarded her reflection with a kind of resigned apathy while she touched up her make up. It couldn't be helped. Perhaps she could stay out of Mindy's line of site until the evening was over and Mindy would be too tired or elated at the event's success to punish her.
Christine snorted. More likely Mindy would ask her to help pack up leftovers and mop the lobby.
Christine had started working as a Foundation Assistant for the Gardner Opera 18 months prior. Her job included helping to organize fundraising campaigns and connect with donors to help keep the endowment healthy. Christine didn't particularly care for opera but she was a very large professional admirer of the opera's Chairman, Erik Gardner, and hoped her work with the foundation would help gain her entrance to for profit arm of the Gardner organization. A letter of recommendation from him would be her entrée to the career of her dreams.
So, she toiled as a low paid assistant at a non-profit while she attended Columbia University's part-time MBA program. In a year she would have her graduate degree and a ticket out of the arts and into a smart business suit and a career in corporate strategy.
Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center herself to be disrupted by the sound of her cell phone alarm.
"Shit!" She said for the second time in ten minutes. It was time to be downstairs. She turned around grabbed the box of auction clipboard and pens. The silent auction was always the biggest contributor to the evening's bottom line. The items were already displayed on tables in the mezzanine: A 25 Carat diamond tennis necklace with its own security guard, courtside seats to a Knicks game, a weekend at a vineyard in France and a dozen contributions from Prada, Gucci, Ferragamo and Bulgari. Each company fell over themselves to contribute to anything with the Gardner name. Tonight's glitterati happily overpaid for each item in a game of one-upmanship that was as fun to watch as it was mind boggling. Why not just pay retail for the purse and donate cash to the foundation?
Between the heels and the giant box, Christine could barely see in front of her, but she was familiar enough with the hallways on the upper floors of the opera house to feel her way to the elevator. She side stepped a water fountain and vending machine. The elevator was a few steps down from the women's' restroom. Once she saw the door out the corner of her eye, she knew the elevator was coming up soon and in her first lucky moment of the evening it was already open. While the offices of the opera house were planned somewhere in the late 1990s the elevators reflected the opulence of the gilded age, even if that look was a cosmetic addition done in 2017. Who knew how old they actually were? Perhaps their exteriors were older than the interiors pretended to be.
As if the elevator could hear her private thoughts its doors closed and started a plodding decline from the 7th floor to the lobby. And when the decline stopped it was sudden and partnered with a blackness that was complete and brokered no question that things had gone quite wrong.
"Shit." She said much louder this time. She dropped the box beyond caring about its contents. "Shit. Shit. Shit!"
"Agreed." A smooth male voice said in the darkness behind her. She hadn't even noticed there was anyone else because of the box blocking her line of sight.
Shit.
"I'm so sorry…" she began and then paused when she felt a gloved hand on her elbow gently maneuvering her aside.
"No need to apologize… if you'll excuse me." She heard the soft sound of fabric as the man walked towards the side of the elevator doors where the panel a rested beneath a burnished gold colored metal. He took out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight function. "Miss - would you be so kind as to hold up the flashlight?" Christine popped out of her panicked brain fog and hurried to take the phone. She held it on the panel and watched in fascination as his black gloved hands worked to open the panel door. She could tell his suit was black as well - perhaps a tuxedo? The light from his cell phone caught the edge of his chin and lips. Whoever he was she could tell he was already wearing his mask for the masquerade gala. She thought it strange that a donor be on the high levels of the opera house but perhaps he was a board member.
And you swore like a sailor in front of him, you idiot!
It couldn't be helped at this point. She needed to get out of his elevator and down to the event floor. The gentleman managed to pry the panel open (while Christine watched on half grateful for his efforts and half mesmerized by the grace of his hands). With the panel open there should be an emergency phone. Later model elevators had emergency buttons but as an historic landmark the Gardner Opera house hadn't needed to make the update and so they hadn't.
But it was immediately apparent that the phone line wasn't working. The tell-tale buzz was silent. Their groans of frustration echoed one another. She felt the man deftly take the phone from her hand and she ignored the slight electronic feel of his touch.
"No service on my phone either." The man groaned.
"This is not normal." She said aloud.
"Yes, I'm aware." The man said, dryly.
"No, I mean," she got on her knees and dug through the fallen box for her own cell phone, "I'm in the elevator every day. I always have cell phone service. I've never lost a call a single time. If there is no service, it is because there is no service at all right now."
"I hope you are not about to suggest an apocalyptic event." She swore she could hear the smile in his acerbic remark.
"I was more thinking a blackout. Like the one in 2003?"
The August blackout of 2003 had hit the entire eastern seaboard north of DC and into Canada. The power grid had been hit by lightning which triggered a domino effect. Some people were without power for more than two days.
"I was about to start high school when that one happened. I still remember my mother raging when the air conditioning failed."
"I was in pre-K - my father and I finished all the ice cream in the apartment. It's one of my earliest memories." Christine smiled, despite herself. It was also one of her favorite memories of her father. She could still taste the black raspberry ice cream they devoured on their fire escape.
"Both of those sound more appealing than being stuck in a metal box."
And both have bathrooms, Christine thought to herself glad she had gone before she changed. She hoped the same was true of the man in black or things could get awkward in a hurry. She watched the light of the cell phone track to the back of the elevator and watched a pair of black men's shoes follow the path they created as the man took off his jacket and sat down. One leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee. She tried not to admire their strong length and failed. The man in black was tall. She had always been a sucker for a man with height.
"Please sit down, miss?"
"Christine," paused,
"Derring - the Foundation Assistant." She saw him take one shoe off and then the other.
"Have we met?"
"There is very little at the opera with which I am not intimately acquainted. Please, sit." He indicated a spot next to him and she vacillated before sitting next to him. She felt his height next to her. She was not petite at 5'6" but this man clearly towered over her. He reached out a hand to her and she took it, again feeling the slight jolt of awareness at what was a perfectly innocent handshake. "My name is Erik."
"Erik Gardner?" She whispered. He was the chairperson of the Gardner Opera and the CEO of Gardner Industries the one whose career had inspired her since sophomore year of college.
"The same." She knew she heard a smirk then. Perhaps he was remembering her colorful words earlier.
"Well, the good news is we won't be stuck here for long. I'm pretty sure I'm about to dig a hole into the floor of the elevator. Mr. Gardner I am so sorry for my language earl…"
"Don't worry about it. You thought you were alone, and I was thinking the same thing. Please call me, Erik."
"Thank you, Erik." She took off her own heels and considered her phone screen. Still no service. "I wonder what's happening downstairs right now. The gala is supposed to start in an hour." She tried not to imagine Mindy's reaction to her disappearance. She wondered if her employment would make it through the blackout. Though there could be worse alibis than the chairman of your organization.
"Oh, I think it is safe to say that there won't be a gala tonight."
"You don't sound terribly disappointed." In the dark it was very easy to converse with Erik Gardner. This was unusual for any number of reasons, but foremost Christine had always been extremely shy when she was in front of strangers or anyone in authority. She had stammered her way through school presentations. It was frankly a miracle that she had gotten through her job interview at the Foundation with employment. She was certain she had bungled it at least three times. In front of Erik Gardner, a man whose presence she had longed to engage, she should be barely coherent.
Perhaps it was her colorful language that broke the tension?
No, she decided. In the dark it was…different. Not seeing Erik Gardner, not looking in his eyes while he spoke somehow made the interaction more intimate. She decided she liked his voice. It was elegant and almost smoky. It reminded her of the actors in movie musicals like Ewan McGregor and Hugh Jackman.
"In truth, I'm not. These galas do help raise our endowment, but our endowment has been quite healthy in the last few years as supported by my family and Gardner Industries as a whole. The real point of the gala is to publicize the new season of the opera to keep the arts front and center in the city and to publicize how we are outreaching to the community with new youth programs. Were there even to be a gala tonight it would likely be overshadowed by whatever is happening in the city." He mused, as if considering next steps. "We will reschedule - perhaps a new year's event. That will make a splash and every donor will be looking to contribute before midnight to claim their contributions before the end of the year."
"Will it be a masquerade like tonight?" Each year's gala was a masquerade with a different theme to answer the costume designers and their work at the Gardner opera house. Each year the costumers auctioned off their services for the following year's event, an item that was one of the biggest favorites at the silent auction table.
"I don't see why not. People will still want to show off their costumes. Fortunately, venue won't be a problem one of the benefits of having an event at the opera house. I think this could work out very well. Perhaps we will make it a new tradition."
Christine was in awe. She had been following the career of Erik Gardner since her undergraduate days. He had taken over his father's private equity firm at 24 and built the organization to a publicly traded juggernaut on the New York Stock Exchange. His understanding of growth potential and market dynamics featured in more than one of the Harvard Business Review articles she read in her strategy and finance classes. He understood opportunity even in a piddling non-profit gala and his understanding of what would be successful made her bashful in his presence.
She had wanted to work for Gardner Industries since college, but the company only hired students with degrees from IVY league schools. As the daughter of a single father (a musician!) she was lucky with her scholarship to a small state school, but she bided her time. She got straight As even if her degree was unlikely to impress the HR team at Gardner. She worked as an executive assistant at other PE firms picking up what she could while applying to grad school. When she got into Columbia's part-time program, she decided to take the riskiest jump of her life quitting her $90K a year job and taking half that working for the Gardner Opera House hoping the connections and name she made there would give her a leg up in May when she finished her degree.
Now here was her opportunity to impress her hero and her first words in his presence were expletives. He seemed unconcerned if not amused by her response to the situation, but people were amused by small children. She wanted to impress him. But it was hard to impress someone in the total darkness in which they now sat. She could be sycophantic - that was always Mindy's play, but she never admired obsequiousness and Erik Gardner didn't seem the type to appreciate it either.
"New Year's Eve will be risky." She cautioned. "People like to go out of town for the holidays - St. Barts, Hawaii, you will need a bigger draw than normal to ensure good attendance. Does Gardner still have an ownership stake in Borderline Records?"
"We do. You follow Gardner?"
Christine smiled, she wanted the opportunity to brag a bit or at least drop a hint or two about her aspirations. "Yes, I've read up on the organization as part of my finance class…in grad school. It was interesting how they created new sources of revenue in the face of flagging record sales." She continued, too nervous now to stop speaking. "I believe you recently signed Taylor Lipa to your label. Do you think she would be willing to perform at the event?" Christine's eyes darted about her as though putting together a complex puzzle, something she did when in the midst of a brainstorm though Erik could not see her blue eyes in the darkness. "She is a big fan of musical outreach in Nashville. Perhaps you could offer to split the proceeds to the event with the Nashville Opera community. This might sway some donors from there to fill in where some local socialites might be on their winter travels."
"I doubt anyone would stay away from a Taylor Lipa concert. I'd have to see where her contract lies. It's a good idea - I'll give it some thought."
Christine considered this a win. She wouldn't push further. She wouldn't even talk unless he spoke to her first. By some gift of heaven and the angels above she was presented with the world's most bizarre networking opportunity and for once she wasn't metaphorically choking on her words. She wasn't about to ruin what could be a life changing moment. She took out her cell phone to check for service and then calmed herself by playing solitaire.
"You might want to be careful of draining the battery." Erik cautioned. "We might be here for a few hours."
"Of course," she murmured wondering what the world was like outside the steel cocoon in which she found herself.
—
Erik saw the light of her screen go black and in relief he peeled away the mask from his skin - or what was left of it. His doctor strongly objected to prolonged mask use, but he refused to be in public uncovered. As a result, the masquerade was one of the few nights in the year he left the confines of his tower. He had been visiting with Marie Giry to review the minutes from the board meeting earlier that day and to voice his opinion on what updates needed to be done. He would need to speak to her about the elevators, clearly.
Erik was always grateful for the darkness, but tonight he further appreciated that it helped to conceal the surprise at being stuck in an elevator with Christine Derring. He wasn't lying when he told her there was little about the opera house was beneath his notice but what he didn't share what how much he had been overseeing her position there. His presence at the opera house was rare - typically he oversaw everything with a deft hand from his Manhattan tower, carried out by Marie-Therese Giry the executive director of the organization.
But Christine's well-being was a mission he had taken on after the death of her father, a man he had greatly admired. He couldn't, shouldn't interact with her more than necessary but he could be a guardian angel if nothing else. The girl deserved that after all she had been through. He hadn't planned this close contact, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued at the prospect of getting to know her. That she had been curious about his organization caused him a wry smile. They were circling each other like some bizarre animal mating ritual - minus the mating of course.
"Do you live in the city, Christine?" In the dark it was easy to whisper, and they were so close to each other. When was the last time he had been so close to a woman? In his mind Christine had been a young girl, barely more than a child, crying on her doorstep after the death of her father but that was many years ago - she was about ten years his junior - 25? 26? He couldn't remember. Definitely not a child.
"Yes, I rent a small apartment on West 84th." She whispered in response. "It's really more of a glorified coat closet."
"Is your salary at Gardner so appallingly low that you can only afford a coat closet?"
"Well, you have to admit non-for-profit organizations are not exactly known for their high salaries but I'm also working my way through my MBA and grad school is pretty spendy so I'm living lean for another 9 months."
"And then what? You leave Gardner for greener pastures?" Erik raised an eyebrow that she could not see. When he realized she wasn't answering he prodded further, "What is the focus of your MBA?"
He heard a slightly shuddering breath, as if she were steeling herself. "I always pictured myself in the corporate strategy space. I like the idea of supporting market disruptors."
Oh - this was becoming a job interview! "You want to work for me?"
"Technically, I already work for you but yes I am hoping to transition over to Gardner Industries if I am allowed to interview."
Erik chuckled audibly. He would have gladly given her money from his own pocket so much he felt he owed her, but a job interview was next to nothing as was a job on the ground floor of Gardner.
"I'm sorry - that was forward of me." He could hear her voice, almost broken, in response to his laugh and he realized his mistake.
"Forgive me, I did not mean to offend. Of course, you will be considered after you complete your degree. I was laughing because I was thinking this is the oddest job interview I've ever had with a potential candidate. Anyone who is so passionate about working for me that they take a low paying job in the hopes of interviewing for me is someone I would be foolish to turn away."
"Thank you, Mr. Gardner. I promise I'll show you how much I can do for the opera until that time comes."
"I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table - but please call me, Erik."
"Thank you, Erik."
They sat in silence for some minutes, but it didn't feel uncomfortable.
"It's so quiet." Christine whispered next to him, and Erik couldn't help but agree.
"Yes, that gives further credence to the blackout theory. Back in 2003 the city was so quiet with so many air conditioning units and other power systems failing and with the lights gone the sky didn't have to compete with light pollution. They say you could see the Perseid meteor shower from Central Park."
"Were you in New York at the time?"
"No, I was living in Princeton. I was 14 years old. What about you?" He realized he was avoiding using her first name. In the dark it felt too intimate.
"East Village - my father was a musician. We lived in Alphabet City back when it was dodgy."
"Isn't it still dodgy?" He chuckled and was thrilled when she huffed a laugh with him.
"Hardly. It's all independent boutiques with jeans for $500 and 15 twenty something's shoved into three-bedroom apartments paid for by their parents while they take unpaid internships and drink every night."
"That seems harsh talk from a fellow twenty something." Erik considered. "Don't you consider yourself among their number? Young and dumb and enjoying your youth?"
"Maybe it's jealousy? Between school and work I don't think I'll get to be a real 25-year-old. Maybe I'll get to be 25 when I'm 35."
"As someone who was 25 when I was 17, I don't recommend it." He let his head fall back on the wall of the elevator and felt Christine's shoulder butt up against his. He heard her intake a quick breath in response, and he moved an inch away so that they were no longer touching.
Erik had a sudden flash of memory of himself at age 17. He was in the city for a weekend with some friends. He had gone to the Blue Note in the West Village with his buddy, Simon, from boarding school and Simon's older sister, Rebecca. She was 21 and seemed worldly and gorgeous. Erik had a girlfriend and didn't dream this beautiful woman would even consider him. The three had sat at a table courtesy of phony IDs and a healthy tip to the bouncer. They were watching the musicians perform when Erik felt Rebecca's knee press against his. He was sure it was an accident when he felt her move closer and her hand rested on his thigh.
He wasn't entirely naive nor was he a virgin but the idea that anyone beyond a cheerleader or study partner would be interested in him was incredible. He sat there dumbfounded by both luck and stupor as he downed his vodka tonic without tasting it and Rebecca proceeded to caress him under the table. He slept with Rebecca and cheated on his sweet high school girlfriend - an act he didn't regret until much later in life. At the time it felt like being alive. Maybe it was. It just wasn't kind.
But as much as the feel of a beautiful woman brought back that shameful act, it also brought back a desire for intimacy that he tried so long to suppress. She had been so beautiful in the red dress. He swallowed and gave himself a slight mental head shake. This wasn't just a young woman under his employ, she was also the child of Gus Derring, a man he had greatly admired.
"How long do you think we will be down here?" Christine asked. Erik enjoyed the sound of her voice. It was low pitched and quiet as if respecting the peaceful sanctity of their temporary metal prison. He considered her question.
"I have no idea. I suppose it depends on how long until they realize we are missing or how long it takes for the city power grid to come back online."
"I think it is likely they will notice your absence before anything else." She considered and Erik agreed. Garrett would already be searching for him.
"You're probably right. I'm extremely important." He responded blithely and when she burst into delighted laughter, he felt about ten feet tall. He was several years out of practice with strangers and that had managed to charm Christine Derring felt like winning a marathon he didn't know he was running.
"Well then rescue should be coming any minute." She said resolutely.
Any minute, however, was not one of the next 240 or so minutes. Erik set an alarm to go off on his phone every half hour to keep track of the time without draining the battery. Erik and Christine alternately sat sedately before randomly jumping up to stretch or pace to stave off boredom and pins and needles.
"Do you like opera?" Erik asked her at length.
"Honestly?" She vacillated, "I appreciate it more since beginning to work here. I struggled to understand it. I don't think it will ever be my 'thing' but there are moments that I find beautiful. I have a hard time when I don't understand something literally and so much opera is…"
"Much."
"Yes." She paused. "Don't be offended. I was never into Dad's jazz music and he had me listening to Charlie Parker in utero."
"Do you like music at all?"
"Of course. I enjoy classical music and going to the ballet - especially anything with Tchaikovsky. I enjoy rock and roll, some pop, musical theater. I listen to what I enjoy because I don't have time to cultivate a deeper appreciation. Between school and work I don't have much time for hobbies and opera is a hobby. It is not an art for the casual user. Anyone who says they are a casual fan of opera is full of it."
"You are brave to confess these feelings to the, for lack of a better word, owner of an opera house." He tried to make his voice stern and failed. He understood her feelings about opera even if he did not agree.
"I am too tired to be toadying or insincere."
Erik smiled at that genuinely. He somehow doubted that insincerity was something that Christine struggled with. "But now you appreciate it? What changed?"
"Marie Giry plays videos of productions at the Gardner productions in the offices. Knowing what goes into the behind the scenes from production to rehearsal to set design and interpretation… It gave color to my understanding of the enjoyment of opera itself."
"It almost sounds as though you appreciate the music from a business perspective?" Erik raised an eyebrow.
"No - well - yes - but you must understand I grew up in a world where music was part art and part commodity. If my father didn't perform one week it might mean we couldn't afford my school field trip. If there was a snowstorm and the city shut down… if schools were closed for a holiday and he couldn't get childcare… you can't eat music, but music was our way to eat. And when my father died, and I was on my own I got very good and looking at things in my life from a perspective of profit center and cost center. Enjoyment of music was usually a cost."
"One would think that being the daughter of a celebrated pianist would mean an inherent love of the art." He paused, "Did your father ever try to teach you to play?"
Christine nodded. "Yes, as a child he gave me lessons twice a week - Mondays evenings and Wednesday after school. I'm… fine, I guess. I played well until he passed when I was 12 but then I lost the desire for it. It brought back too many memories." She paused, "Wait - I didn't tell you my dad was a pianist!"
Shit. Erik thought quick and decided to stay as close to the truth as possible.
"In college I used to go to the Blue Note on weekends. I saw him there a few times. He was very good."
"I'm glad you enjoyed his music. I preferred when he played Billy Joel songs."
Erik laughed softly. "Billy Joel is pretty good too."
"Hmm…After my father died, I couldn't bear to listen to any Billy Joel. Uptown Girl or We Didn't Start the Fire would come on the radio, and I would break out into sobs."
"Those songs are terrible." Erik couldn't help but add.
"I know it. But one day in foster care I was miserable missing him - it was around Christmas. And then Vienna came on the radio. It was our favorite song. My foster mother, Valerie, said it was a sign from God. I'm not religious but I'd like to think it was him sending me his love." She closed her eyes and rested her chin on her arms wrapped around her bent legs. "Slow down you crazy child…"
"So ambitious for a juvenile…" Erik added.
"But if you're so strong tell me why are you still so afraid?" They sang together but he wanted to hear her sing more.
"Where's the fire - what's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out. You've got so much to do and so many hours in day. But you know that when the truth is told you can get what you want or you can just get old. You gonna kick off before you even get halfway through - when will you realize. Vienna waits for you."
"You have a beautiful voice, Christine." Her voice was not for opera, but he could see her in a smoky bar crooning for the scotch and soda set in a sequin gown and elbow length gloves like something out of a 1940s noir film.
"Thank you - it's too unreliable for a career but I'm great at singing into my hairbrush."
Erik considered her sadly and wondered if she would have had different dreams if she could have afforded to do so. Then again, his love for piano became more pragmatic as an adult as well. Christine knew better than most that the life of an artist could be as equally fulfilling as one in a corner office. It just depended on your particular dream.
Christine had relaxed her pose half lying on his shoulder half leaning on her arm. Her other hand draped lazily next to his barely touching. Without thinking about it, his fingers intertwined with her in a careless tangle. He could hear a slight catch in her breath but she didn't move away and Erik could feel himself getting aroused by this light caress. He shouldn't be doing this for so many reasons, but the dark had cast a spell. He was a man, and she was a woman and there was nothing wrong with holding her hand.
He wanted to help make her dream come true. She had been vulnerable with him. He would never be able to do the same with her, but her openness was a gift he didn't receive anymore. It surprised him how much he missed the gift of another person's vulnerability. It felt good to know he could still be a human even though he looked the way he did. He wished he be human with her. He wished for a lot of things.
He wished he could kiss her.
Lost in a swirl of melancholy, Erik pulled his hand away and lay his head back on the wall of the elevator. He didn't hear the sound of a click and hiss and the white noise of power returning. Christine stood up next to him, her foot inadvertently kicking his mask about a foot from its position near Erik's hand. She stood up to look at a blinking light on the power panel. "Look at that" - she pressed the button without thinking and the lights went back on, and she turned to Erik with a relieved smile.
Christine's mind wouldn't quite comprehend what she was seeing. Hadn't Erik taken off his mask? What was she looking at? The eyes that stared back were dark blue but set into a face that defied explanation. Erik Gardner had been the victim of a horrifying ordeal as evidenced by a nose that no longer existed. The gaping cavity was bordered one it's right side by skin that looked melted into a series of keloids and raw red flesh. It petered out towards his forehead and lower cheek in a faint web of scar tissue. The left side of his face was relatively unscathed - handsome even, making the lack of symmetry even more unsettling.
What had happened to him?
The look on his face went from shocked to horrified to furious in short bursts. Before she could react beyond a dropped jaw Erik had wrapped one arm around his face.
"Where is it? Where is IT?" He growled, the gentle voice in the dark replaced by a fury she couldn't process. What was he looking for? "Where is my mask? What have you done with it?" She did know how he could see blocking his face like that, but she saw the mask wrapped around the heel of her shoe and she picked up quickly and handed it to him. He turned towards the corner and quickly affixed it to his face.
"Erik - I…" she reached towards him, tentatively. Wanting to comfort? She wasn't sure. But she liked him and didn't want him to feel embarrassed. Just as quickly he turned around, cold, and furious.
"That's Mr. Gardner." He walked to the panel with military precision. Now that the power was on, he was able to reset the requested floor and soon the elevator hummed to life. He turned to Christine the wrath on his face terrifying. "Miss Derring let me make myself perfectly clear. If you tell anyone what you have seen tonight, I will make it my mission to ruin your career prospects not just in this city but entire industry. You will be lucky to be a bank teller in Bumblefuck, Arkansas. Do you understand?"
He bent down and stared her in the eyes forcing her to stare at him. She couldn't breathe. Why was the mask scarier than the destruction beneath it?
"Do you understand, Miss Derring?" Erik Gardner growled again.
"Yes," she finally spoke, no more than an exhalation, "Y-Yes, I understand." She swallowed, tongue tied and terrified. "I promise, I won't tell anyone." The last word was swallowed and inaudible.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the bright lights of the lobby. Erik stalked out and grabbed his phone. "Garrett," she heard him call. "Yes, I'm fine. Stuck in a fucking elevator - come get me…"
As his voice faded away Christine picked up her box of items without really looking at them. She dragged them into the lobby before collapsing in a pile of wrinkled red silk."
Shit.