Wit's End

Wit’s End

“Must be dump on Daphne day,” she muttered, pausing to catch her breath. Her feet ached, a burning jolt came from her left knee when she put weight on it, sweat coursed down her face and back, and now she was lost because she forgot which level of the multi-story underground parking maze she’d left her Buick on. She had limped down the ramp of the garage instead of taking the elevator because she thought she’d spot her car more easily. Surely, she would find her car soon. She’d parked near a slope in a corner, she thought. At any moment she’d recognize her car’s familiar blue hind end with its dented bumper. As she scoured her brain for a clue, she felt a surge of panic: was it last week that she parked in that corner? Her memory was not so reliable these days. She hunted in her purse for a Kleenex to wipe her face. Summer in Phoenix was unbearable—even underground.

Few cars passed. She saw nothing but metal and concrete, all lit in a sickly fluorescent glow. Hell on earth, she thought. Her cellphone wouldn’t help if it even found a connection in this dungeon, and what could Jimmy do anyway? It would take him forever to get here; his office was on the other side of town. She could imagine his exasperation. “I’m at work, mom! I can’t leave to rescue you!” Telling him about today’s mishap would just give him more ammunition for his contention that she should give up driving, something she did not want to do. She sighed and hobbled down another ramp, clutching her keys and validated parking ticket in one sweaty hand, the strap of her leopard-spotted purse in the other.

 When she reached the next level, a map with “You are here!” in red letters was posted next to a door that read “NO ENTRANCE”.  Hmph.  No help there. “Redeem your ticket before exiting the garage!” blared from another wall. She had done that. What Daphne wanted was something like that glowing sign in the airport that offered a specific gate for finding a flight. “1999 Blue Buick, floor six, spot 22” was what she wanted, in big letters.

Lightheaded now. Had she had lunch before she came? These trips seemed to take a full day. Her appointment had been for 1:30 so she’d left the house at noon, knowing how long it took to find her way downtown, park, wander around the brick monstrosity that was the Deming Medical Center and then wait in the waiting room. She visited three different offices on three different floors in the Center almost every month – eye doctor, knee doctor, heart doctor. The floors of the Center always looked the same – waiting rooms, offices, laboratories, testing rooms, staff rooms, restrooms, lobbies -- west and east, north and south. She always had to ask for directions.

Her Timex told her it was after four. She’d been with the doctor less than ten minutes, and he didn’t do much for her but order more tests for more appointments. All that waiting. It was her life these days. She comforted herself by thinking of the saltines and Coke she’d have when she got home. Her recording of her soap awaited her, too, and her cat Buddy.

The backside of a minivan she walked by was covered in bumper stickers, many from national parks and other tourist locations, but one orange rectangle stood out. Everything You Know is Wrong, it said.  She could see some smart-aleck teenager pressing it over his father’s AAA membership logo. The sentiment hit a nerve, nevertheless.

“SPEED BUMP!” warned a sign, but Daphne turned her ankle on the rise in the pavement anyway. She cried out and cursed, something she did only when she was at her wit’s end.

“Are you at your wit’s end, Grandma?” teased her grandchildren when she grew testy with them.

Yes, she was. Pain gripped her right ankle now. She could tell it wasn’t too serious, but when you added her bum knee and sore feet, how could she walk? She struggled over to a column nearby, a wide square post sprayed with gritty chunks of plaster, hardly comfortable to lean against. She stayed there, hunched over, taking deep breaths, resting her ankle, and cursing again, under her breath. “Oh, Lord,” she said aloud.

Then she heard a purr, and a gleaming black car rounded the bend and pulled close to her. Shaded glass kept her from seeing inside until the passenger window slid silently into the door frame.

“Ma’am?  Are you all right?” The voice that emerged matched the car—deep, dark, and polished.

Daphne tried to stand, regain her dignity. She laughed a little, pushed her hair behind her ear.

“Just lost my car!” she said. “This garage is too darn big!” She couldn’t see the man’s face when she peered in, but she heard a sympathetic chuckle. An air-conditioned breeze wafted from the car, bathing her face and neck. She nearly swooned.

“How about I drive you around to find it?” offered the husky voice. “I’m in no hurry.”

She was tempted. But get into a strange man’s car? What would her mother say? Her mother was long dead, but the warning buzzed in the back of Daphne’s brain. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, she told herself; she could make up her own mind. And why would a man be after a doddering old lady like her? To rob her? At this point, she was willing to hand him her whole checkbook for a ride. 

“Well,” she said. “I’m sure it’s just around the corner . . . but this knee . . . and . . . if you really don’t mind.”

“Not at all! Hop on in!”

She gathered her composure, adjusted her hair again. The door responded quietly to her touch. She sank into chilled black leather, closing her eyes, inhaling a fresh yet exotic scent. Had he heard her sigh of relief?

Rescued and with such comfort! Daphne had never wanted a black interior for any of her cars; too hot, she thought, but this, this was luxury. Maybe she should splurge and get something like this in her next car. The cold air from the vent on the floor soothed her sore ankle.  She wanted to nestle here and ride forever. She had to force herself to sit up and acknowledge her chauffeur.

“This is so nice of you,” she said. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. . . I’m Luke,” the man said, turning to her with a smile. His age was hard to tell – a few creases in his tan skin – Jimmy’s age, almost 40?  His voice made him seem older. He had perfect white teeth, black wavy hair, and one of those short beards that was popular now. Swarthy – the old word popped into her head. She was glad to see he kept his hands on the steering wheel as he ducked his head to examine the area around them.  

“What does your car look like?” Luke asked.

“It’s a Buick,” she said. “Blue, old . . . nothing special.”

“Hmm. . . and you don’t recall where you parked at all?”

“Well, I thought it was one of these middle levels, but you know how it is when you come into a garage and keep going and going looking for a spot? I was afraid I’d be late, so I wasn’t paying attention very well. I just hate these garages, don’t you?” She rambled on nervously, telling him about her appointment and how she came here often and had been lost before, then how ridiculous it was that here she had been to the medical center to feel better, and now she was feeling worse than when she had entered.

“We’re on five now,” said Luke. He crept along the rows of vehicles as Daphne squinted out the window. She had seen these earlier hadn’t she? Oh yes, there was that minivan with the unnerving sticker.

What a blessing it was that Luke had stopped for her. When it came to cars, Daphne believed, it was best to have a man on your side. Even after all the women’s rights protests, which she supported, of course, she had yet to hear any women discussing transmissions and spark plugs. “You can trust your car to the man who wears a star!” A jingle from her youth; she could sing it.

Luke wasn’t wearing a star, though. She had to admit that it was odd that a dark prince had rescued her at just the right moment. Well, she was lucky, she told herself. She’d be out of here and home soon. She stuffed her keys and ticket into the pocket of her leopard-spotted purse.

Another corner, another level. No Buick. It seemed darker the lower they went; could that be?  Maybe some of the lights were out. Moisture glittered on the walls down here. It was creepy. She knew she hadn’t parked this far down. Just as she cleared her throat to speak, Luke turned to her and grinned, his sharp eye teeth highlighted in the dimness, his heavy eyebrows arching as if this excursion were some sort of joy ride. She shuddered.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “I can make it warmer.”

That voice! Seductive, that’s what it was. She tried to laugh, but a strangled sound came out.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said after a cough. “How many floors are there in this thing?”

He laughed, too. “I’m not sure. Seems to go on forever.”

“Hmph.” It was all she could get out. A part of her wanted to scream for help, but another part, her assumption of goodwill, maybe her polite midwestern upbringing, kept her silent, trusting she was safe. She remembered the parking lots in Kansas where she’d grown up and learned to drive. Those went on forever -- flat stretches of asphalt with huge spaces, easy for pulling in.  When her husband Len was transferred from Kansas City to the Phoenix branch of his company, all her friends were jealous. “Warm winters!” they said. “Lucky you!”

Right. After they moved, she had browned up and then shriveled up. Everything and everyone in Arizona was bone dry. She had grown used to it after all these years. When Len died before retiring, she considered moving back to Kansas, but she didn’t have the energy then, and now she was probably too old. It would have been nice to see her friends again, and she would have liked to make up with her daughter Sarah, too, who lived in Kansas City near the old neighborhood. Daphne had been shocked by Zachary’s tattoos and Lissa’s nose piercing the last time she saw her grandchildren. Sarah had defended her children’s choices even though Daphne suspected Sarah disliked body art as much as she did. She should have kept her mouth shut.

Luke’s bass tone interrupted her memories.

           “The north garage looks just like this, Daphne. Are you certain you parked in the south garage?

North garage? What north garage? Daphne had visited the Medical Center for years and driven around the area many times, hunting for street parking if she could get it, which now required a special card, no coins allowed. She didn’t remember two garages. Had they built one without her noticing? And had she told him her name? She didn’t think so, but she may have. This man, who was he? Would he lie about parking garages? She tried to stay calm. 

“Yes, I parked here,” she said. “This is the Center’s only garage, I believe.”

“Oh, no,” said Luke. “I know this area well. This is the south garage. The north garage extends underneath the Center on the other side.”

“Hmph,” she said, frowning, her mind churning. “Do you live downtown then? Work here?”

“I work all over,” he said. “I’m here often.”

She didn’t like his vagueness. Maybe it was not her addled brain at fault here, but her failure to recognize a character too smooth to be real. Her heart began to pound harder. She gripped the leather armrests and cleared her throat to speak.

“Are you . . . are you in the medical field then?”

He was silent as he turned another corner. “In a way,” he said at last, “Pharmaceuticals.”

Pharmaceuticals. She knew what that meant. Drugs. Of course. She’d seen it on TV, some inside news show about the billion-dollar black market drug industry and doctors who relied on amphetamines to get them through the day. Of course. It explained why he looked like he did, his wealth, his presence here.

“Maybe you should let me out,” she said with a warble. “I’ll just wait inside and call my son later on.”

“Oh no. No worries! Don’t think about it. I’ve done this before.” He chuckled as if to set her at ease.

He’s done this before? Done what before? Captured and murdered old ladies in underground garages?  She knew about his business now, she could turn him in.

They descended to another level. Was it even darker or were her eyes refusing to adjust? They were far from her car now, far from civilization – no cell service, just a few husks of cars looking like they’d parked here for centuries. She wanted out. She had to play it cool.

“Is there a way into the north lot from here?” she asked. “I mean, up from the bottom?” The last word came out in a squeak. She had never been to the bottom of the garage and imagined it like a muddy pit where a car could barely turn around, where some cars failed and never returned. If he were going to kill her, he’d find a murky spot down there to leave her body, maybe under an abandoned truck. No one would find her for days until she began to stink, and no one would suspect a man with a car like this. It would be a big news event, maybe with a picture of Jimmy looking sad, and it would certainly give her friends in Kansas something to talk about. The thought gave her strange satisfaction. She hadn’t had much drama in her life.

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” asked Luke with a deep chuckle.

Now that sounded positively demonic. Daphne clutched her leopard-spotted purse to her heart. Oh, she should have obeyed her mother! She’d told Jimmy and Sarah to stay away from strangers, and here she had hopped right into the devil’s chariot. What a mockery life was! She hoped it would be over fast – one stab or a quick strangle, one bullet in her heart. She almost laughed when she remembered that she had not wanted to die like her mother who wasted away in bed for over a decade. That didn’t sound so bad now.           

Daphne considered her situation. She could not escape. She’d heard the doors lock when she got in, and she knew she couldn’t fight Luke. She decided it would be best to enjoy the last few moments of her life. She closed her eyes and remembered the lessons from her relaxation class at the Y many years ago: deep breathing, counting, letting go. She allowed her to body melt into the dark womb around her, the most comfort she would ever feel again. As the gentle ride lulled her almost to sleep, she heard the soft thump of her purse falling from her hands to the carpeted floor of the car. This is it, she thought dreamily as the minutes passed.

Suddenly Daphne was thrown backwards as the car sped up. Her eyes flew open, and she saw that they were headed uphill now, and there was light ahead. Round and around the levels they went, soaring over speed bumps, zooming past rows of vehicles, including the sticker-covered minivan. They must have reversed direction at the bottom of the garage.

She shrieked and Luke braked.

“Sorry if I alarmed you,” said Luke, abashed. “I thought you might like to see what this baby can do.”  His grin was boyish now.

           She shook her head and turned toward the window so he couldn’t see her expression. She blinked several times, and then she gasped, leaning forward. The Buick was right there – dented bumper and all, exactly where she left it. A spot of sun lit it up.

“At last!” she exclaimed. “There it is!”  

Luke unlocked the door. “Don’t forget your purse,” he said, bending to fetch it for her.