The Doors to Elsewhere

Chapter 1: Almost

 

Chapter 1: Almost

Graham wiped down the last stretch of glass along the elevator doors, the cold scent of ammonia rising faintly from the polished steel floor. His reflection stared back at him, distorted in the seam where the doors met. It was the face of a man in his mid-forties, dark hair shorn to a bristle and a pair of deep lines forming at the corners of his eyes. He could see the hint of a few wrinkles forming across his forehead, and he tried to smooth them away with the back of his hand, feeling a little self-conscious.

As he exited and headed for the utility room on the other side of the hall, a soft recorded chime rang from the intercom speaker above him in the hallway, and a man's voice spoke. "Graham, this is security. We are showing you as still on the premise."

"Almost done." Graham glanced toward the CCTV camera above him in the corner. He nodded to the elevators, the chrome doors reflecting his face, distorted beneath the glare of the ceiling lights. "I just finished cleaning the elevator and I'm returning the cart."

"Very well. Your shift is almost up."

"Yes, I'm well aware."

The intercom clicked off. Graham walked the cart down the hall, the wheels rolling quietly over the marble. When he got to the utility room, he slid his keycard into the slot on the wall and the door buzzed open. Inside, he could see metal cabinets and shelves of supplies lined against the walls. He took a bottle of window cleaner and a rag from the bottom shelf before walking out the door and closing it behind him.

The cleaning was always the easy part. It was the people that made his job a challenge. People were complicated and intrusive in the worst ways. Still, he enjoyed the job, the routine of his daily tasks — the repetition of it all. Mostly, he liked the peace and quiet of the night shift.

During the day, the hotel was usually an overcrowded hub spot for business executives, families going on long trips, and tourists to the Dallas metropolitan area. But, as the clock crept past midnight, the place grew nearly silent, the halls emptying. Most of the guests retreated to their rooms, and those that did wander the hotel during his shift were often too intoxicated to pay him much attention. The job was good money, and the building was big enough that he was always kept busy, the hours passing by quickly. He had no complaints.

He made his way down the hall, his footsteps echoing faintly off the marble. He glanced toward the elevators again, a faint glimmer reflecting from the doors. The lights overhead flickered and he stopped and looked up. The fluorescent tubes flickered again, a brief shadow flashing over his face, and the hall went black.

"Oh god damn it," he muttered.

The lights above the elevators and exit signs kicked on a moment later, the rest of the corridor remaining dark. Graham sighed, shaking his head as he started forward. He could already hear the intercom beeping.

"Sorry about this, Graham," said the security guard when he picked up. "Looks like the main circuit tripped again. We're sending someone up to reset it now."

"Again?"

"Yeah, I know. Don't ask me what the hell is wrong with the system. The electrician is coming first thing tomorrow morning. Until then, we're going to have to keep fixing it ourselves."

Graham groaned. "I've got floors to clean."

"Just do what you can until they get here," the guard said. "I've got maintenance going to bring you a flashlight."

"That would be great."

The intercom clicked off. The guard knew that Graham had been working the night shift long enough to know his way around the hotel, even in the dark. And besides, if anyone needed help finding their way, all they had to do was head toward the glow of the exit signs.

Graham stood alone in the dim hall. He glanced up and down the corridor and waited for someone to come and deliver the flashlight, but the place was silent and empty. After a moment, he turned and walked toward the utility room again. Once there, he swiped his card and opened the door.

He felt around the top of one of the metal shelves inside and grabbed a box with keychains, lanyards, and tiny flashlights wrapped inside. He pulled one of the flashlights free, unwrapping the clear plastic from around the light. He clicked it on but the batteries inside were dead, and the small flashlight remained dark.

"Great," he said, setting it aside on the shelf.

He opened another box and took out two more flashlights of similar size. Both of them were also dead. He set both of them on the shelf and sighed deeply.

"Come on, guys," Graham muttered. "What the hell?"

He reached down and felt the shelf below him. There was a stack of miscellaneous items. He picked through the boxes around the bottom shelf, feeling around for anything that resembled batteries. He found some spare bulbs and a few rolls of toilet paper, but no batteries.

Defeated, he walked out of the utility room and shut the door, glancing at the elevators as he passed by. He looked toward the lobby, hoping that someone would arrive soon. The minutes ticked by in slow motion for him.

Finally, he saw the elevator doors slide open, and a man with a toolbox stepped into the darkened hall.

"Hey Graham. The damn thing blew a fuse again."

"Do you have a spare flashlight?" Graham asked. "All the ones in the utility room are dead or missing their batteries."

"Yeah, that's why they sent me up," the man said. "They're keeping me pretty busy tonight."

"I bet."

The man dug a small, aluminum flashlight from his toolbox and handed it over.

"Thanks," Graham said, clicking the light on and off.

"No problem," the man said. "Now I gotta get working on the circuit box. I'll let you know when we have power. Or well, I guess you'll know when it comes on."

"Right."

"See ya."

"Thanks."

Graham watched as the man walked toward the emergency stairwell and disappeared down the stairs. As soon as he was gone, he began making his way through the rest of the floor.

He swept the light along the walls and the corners, watching for any messes that might have been made since his last pass. He stopped in the bar and looked around, scanning the floor. A group of women walked out of their rooms, all of them laughing loudly, clearly intoxicated. One of them spotted him and pointed, the others giggling as they passed by, the smell of stale beer trailing in their wake.

Graham followed the beam of his flashlight, looking over the bar area and the couches. When he was certain the area was clean, he left and headed down the hallway toward the elevators.

When he was younger, everyone told him he was good with people. You’re a good listener, Graham. You have a calming presence. The compliments always felt shallow, like people were trying to define him for their own comfort. He was never interested in any of it.

Thankfully, this line of work didn’t require small talk. It didn’t require him to be charming or clever or interested. It only required him to be punctual and efficient. Two things he was good at.

"Still here?"

A voice drifted down the hall. Graham glanced over his shoulder. One of the security guards, Carl Perkins, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a casual smirk on his face. His ID badge hung crooked from his collar. Graham resisted the urge to reach over and straighten it.

“Just finishing up.” Graham answered, grabbing the rag and wiping one of the bergère chairs in the corridor. Dirt clung to the rag as he wiped. "What about you? I thought the shift was over?"

"I'm waiting for my relief." Carl shrugged, glancing down the empty hallway. "They're late, as usual."

"You'd think they would take their jobs a little more seriously," said Graham.

Carl nodded, chuckling under his breath. "I'm not one to complain."

The lights in the hall flickered and then came back on, a sudden, bright glow washing over them. Graham dropped the dirty rag into his bucket and looked up, shielding his eyes from the glare.

"Well, at least that's fixed," Carl said.

"Yup."

"You still have a lot of cleaning left to do?"

Graham shrugged. "Not really. I've already finished most of the floor, I'm just cleaning the public areas."

"Storm's getting worse" said Carl, glancing at the ceiling. "Damn weather. It's been raining non-stop all week."

"You live far?" asked Graham. He didn't really care, but it was intended to continue the conversation.

"Not really. Couple blocks. But, you know, it's no big deal." Carl gave a dismissive wave.

The sound of a door opening echoed down the corridor, followed by the arrival of footsteps. The two men looked up. Another security guard walked toward them, a short man, balding, with a thick neck and a broad chest.

"Speak of the devil." Carl smirked, waving at him.

"Sorry, boss. That storm is really brewing out there." The shorter man grinned, his hand resting casually on the gun holstered at his hip. "I'm here now though. Hope it's okay I'm a few minutes late."

"Yeah, it's no problem." Carl answered. "Bill, you remember Graham, right?"

The man nodded and gave a half smile. "Yeah, we've met."

"Hi, Bill." Graham smiled, giving him a nod.

"Well," said Carl, looking back at Graham and then back to Bill. "I'm off. See you gentleman next shift."

"Bye, boss," said Bill.

Carl waved. "Don't let him slack off," he called to Graham, pointing back at Bill.

"Never," Graham answered.

"Get home safe," said Bill, a sly smirk spreading across his face.

"No promises," the other man answered. With a wink, Carl turned and walked down the hall. As he reached the elevators, one of the doors slid open, and he disappeared inside.

Bill turned and glanced at Graham, looking him over. "Well, looks like you have everything under control here."

"Yeah."

"Cool." Bill nodded, pulling out a set of keys and flipping through them. He stopped on a shiny brass one and held it up. "Time to hit the break room. You want a drink?"

"No, thanks."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I've got more cleaning to do."

"Suit yourself." Bill shrugged, starting down the hall. "Just don't work too hard. It's not a crime if you take a break, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Bill laughed, continuing down the corridor. He stopped when he reached the wooden door at the end, and Graham watched as he unlocked it, his fingers lingering on the keyring for a moment before the lock finally popped open at the turn of the key.

Graham shook his head and looked back at the bergère chair. He picked up the rag from his bucket and began wiping the leather seat again. The cloth moved slowly, his hands methodically scrubbing the cushion clean. He could feel the dirt coming loose beneath the fabric.

The sound of rain echoed throughout the building, and in curiosity, Graham looked out one of the windows. Outside, a low rumble of thunder rolled, vibrating the edifice. The wind howled, shaking the trees near their street and bending their branches. Rain slammed against the roof and splashed onto the sidewalk with unrelenting force.

The rest of the night passed quickly, and Graham soon found himself taking the elevator to the main lobby and exiting through the front doors. The early morning air was cool and damp, and the streets were empty. It was almost 3:00 a.m. He could see the first signs of sunlight forming along the horizon.

A few cars rolled by, their headlights cutting through the darkness. Graham pulled his jacket tighter against the chill as he crossed the sidewalk toward the parking lot. His sedan sat under a streetlight, the windshield fogged over from the drop in temperature. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The drive home was short. The same route he'd driven for a decade of his life. His headlights traced familiar patterns over the darkened storefronts and empty intersections of Dallas. A low radio transmission carrying a familiar 90's song filled the cabin, the volume turned down to near silence.

By the time Graham arrived at his apartment, the storm had passed them by, and the city had settled back into its usual quiet slumber. The tires rolled silently over the wet pavement as the car turned into the parking lot, stopping at the curb outside his apartment complex. Graham turned off the engine and got out of the car. He climbed the narrow concrete stairs to the second floor. His key turned smoothly in the lock to his apartment.

Inside, the place was dimly lit and still. The soft click of the light switch sent a pale light spilling across the room. A small table sat against the wall, empty except for a stack of unopened mail. The fridge hummed dutifully from its corner, the sound blending with the quiet vibration of the heater in the walls. A parrot squawked from its cage near the window.

"Graham," said the bird.

Graham set his keys on the kitchen counter and pulled his jacket off, hanging it over the back of the couch. The parrot squawked again, flapping its wings as he approached.

"Hey, Charlie," he said, reaching into the cage.

The bird stepped onto his hand, gripping his fingers lightly. He brought the parrot to his face and kissed its head.
"Hungry, buddy?"

"Graham," the bird said again.

Graham grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds and reached into the cage, setting the bird on his shoulder as he opened the container. He filled the metal feeder in the cage and dropped a few seeds into his palm, holding his hand out for the bird. Charlie nibbled happily from his hand, his beak gently tickling his skin.

"Hope you had a good day."

He watched as the bird ate, a sense of peace settling over him. As Charlie finished the last of the seeds, Graham reached out and stroked the bird's back. "Mine was uninteresting, as per usual."

The bird stared at him and then continued eating.

Graham set Charlie back inside the wooden platform inside its cage. He then beelined for the fridge and pulled out a beer, a local brand. The cold glass pressed against his lips, the bitter taste of hops cutting through the faint chemical sting still lingering at the back of his throat.

In the living room, his laptop sat open on the couch, the screen dim and dark. He tapped the space bar. The screen brightened, the glow casting faint blue lines across the cushions.

A news site blinked to life. A row of unread emails hovered beneath the header. Graham skimmed the headlines without really processing them. As for the emails, most of them were spam or advertisements about deals for products he had no interest in. He closed the laptop and sank into the couch.

The beer was already half gone. He finished the rest in one long drink, the cold heaviness settling low in his chest.

He dropped the bottle on the floor and stretched out, letting his head fall against the armrest.
It had been a long day, but not any longer than any other day. The same routine. The same job. He wondered when he would start feeling tired of it. When it would become dull and routine, the monotony finally catching up with him.

With a press of the remote, the TV came on with a muted flicker. A news anchor was reporting on the latest political scandal, her mouth moving without sound. Graham watched the screen without interest, the white of her teeth flashing between sentences.

His body sank deeper into the cushions. His fingers curled slightly against the edge of his knee. He could feel the low vibration of a distant train slightly rattle the walls, the coolness of the air coming through the windows. The room breathed in a quiet rhythm.

Then, suddenly, his phone buzzed to life on the coffee table, disrupting the calmness.

He glanced at it. A notification from a social media app.

You have a new message from Sam Fitzgerald.

Graham hesitated before picking up the phone. He swiped it open with his thumb, the soft blue light from the screen illuminating his face in the dark room. The messaging app popped up first.

Sam: Hey. How’ve you been?

Graham leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

Been good, he typed. He stared at the blinking cursor. His finger drifted toward the backspace key. He deleted the message.

He hadn’t seen Samantha in over a year. Maybe longer. They used to talk more. Used to meet up for drinks after work and go out partying on the weekends back in their youth. That was before their schedules got complicated, before the gaps between conversations stretched wider, and before Graham had turned more introverted over the past few years.

Sam had a family now—a husband, a kid. Graham had seen the pictures online. Birthday parties, summer vacations, a life moving forward. Graham had meant to reach out more. He just… never knew what to say.

His thumb brushed over the phone’s screen again.

Sam: We should catch up sometime.

Graham’s gaze settled on the message. He could picture Sam’s easy smile, the way he used to joke with her about the triviality of life and her tendency to overthink everything. It wouldn’t take much to bring her back into his life. Just a simple yeah, let’s meet up—and it could be easy again.

But then he thought about how it would go. The initial warmth of seeing each other again. The casual conversation—How have you been? What are you doing these days?—the inevitable drifting toward the growing gap between them. Sam would talk about her husband, her kid, the house they bought last summer. And Graham would sit there with nothing to contribute except polite nodding and vague answers about work.

Sam’s life had expanded, stretched forward. Graham’s had contracted.

He almost typed: Yeah, let’s meet up.

Almost.

But the memory of other conversations lingered—the awkward pauses, the long stretches of silence where he struggled to find the right thing to say. The creeping realization that Sam had an actual happy life, and he had stayed behind.

His thumb hovered over the call button.

Perhaps a call would be easier. Less chance for misunderstanding. But it was still late, and it was easier to keep the conversation short and sweet and uncomplicated with a simple text message.

He stared at the blinking cursor. After a minute, he closed the app.

Graham sighed and set the phone back on the table.

The quiet settled back into place, but somehow it didn’t feel as comfortable as before.

He stood and carried his empty beer bottle into the kitchen. The fridge hummed quietly as he opened it, grabbed another beer, and twisted the cap off. He took a long drink, the bitterness cutting through the dryness in his throat.

His gaze drifted toward the phone, still face-up on the table.

It wouldn’t take much. Just a simple reply.

He finished the beer, set the bottle down beside the couch, and let his head rest against the cushions. His chest felt heavier now, like something had pressed into it and left a mark.

Maybe this was why he liked the quiet. It was easier. No expectations. No risk of disappointment.

But maybe he liked it a bit too much.

His eyes drifted toward the ceiling. Outside, the occasional sound of passing cars filtered through the window. Somewhere down the hall, a neighbor’s television hummed low through the walls.

These sounds had been with him for so long, they were practically muscle memory.

Graham’s gaze slid toward the outside lights, the way the city beyond glowed in the darkness. Maybe this wasn’t the life he had planned, but it was the one he had now.

His phone vibrated again. This time, he ignored it.

He closed his eyes. His breathing slowed.

The quiet settled in.

His body sank deeper into the couch.

Half-formed thoughts blurred at the edges of his mind: the curve of Sam’s smile, the taste of the beer, the steady pulsing of the hotel’s lights. Fragments of sound and memory layered and dissolved beneath the weight of sleep.

All noise and sound faded as the tiredness pulled him under.