It happened again. I had not been chosen as a contestant. That left me with an entire weekend to manage my escape before the next time I would be in danger of being sent through one of those doors. Of course, I wouldn’t need an entire weekend.

I sat on the edge of my narrow bed looking at the clock. Other than to let us know it was meal time, we “guests” had no use for clocks. When it was time for the show itself, Valerie and Ed always came to get us.

Our daily routines were actually very simple.

For instance, now that we had finished with the TV broadcast, been served dinner, and had enjoyed some leisure time in the lounge, we had all retired to our rooms for the evening. The next scheduled event would be “lights out,” that time when the overhead lighting throughout the place automatically dropped to a faint glow.

I realized this new life resembled my time in prison. And with that analogy in mind, my participation in the broadcast of Serpientes y Escaleras could be likened to a mandatory work detail.

But now I had a key, and I could just walk away from that unpleasant duty. I held it up for closer examination. Nothing special. A single-blade brass key cut for a standard five pin lock. I had already disposed of Michael’s plastic keychain which had the logo of some sports team.

I suspected that the key opened every lock in the place. It had gotten me through each door I tried it on.

Last night, I used it to slip out into that lobby. But there had been a sign taped to the wall explaining that the elevators were shut down for maintenance. It didn’t stop me from trying, but I was unable to summon either of them.

I searched up and down the corridors, thinking there had to be a central stairwell. But there wasn’t. Every place was supposed to have fire exits. Had I found myself sent to some world free of the most basic building safety codes?

I had returned to my room with the plan to try the elevators the following day.

And that day was today.

I looked back at the clock and saw it was ten o’clock. The lights dimmed, right on schedule. I held my breath a moment and listened. Silence. By this time of night, all the contestants were in bed. And because it was Friday, even those few on staff who tended to work late hours had likely left.

When I got to my feet, I turned toward the mirror. I was still wearing the causal clothing the wardrobe department had provided, and I felt confident that in them I wouldn’t attract undue attention when I made it to freedom.

I crept across the lounge and paused at the corridor toward the nurse’s office. I could hear the night orderly quietly snoring. I then pushed my way into the kitchen and peered about. Everyone had left for the night.

Over at the large heavy oak door, I inserted the stolen key, turned it, and slipped out of the lounge. I eased the door closed until I heard the satisfying click of the lock catching.

I stood on a dark brown carpet with a springy deep pile. The recessed lighting above threw a soothing glow about the confined foyer with a gangly artificial rubber tree in a corner. Everything looked exactly as it had last night.

Almost everything.

The maintenance sign on the wall was now gone.

I stepped up to the two elevators. I pressed the Down button on the panel between them.

There was no waiting. The doors to one of the elevators parted immediately. When I stepped in, the doors slid shut behind me.

I learned from the panel of buttons that I was on the 28th floor of a 30 story building. I would, of course, go down. If the basement were labeled G for garage or P for parking, I would have chosen that. But it was just B. I went ahead and pushed the button for the first floor, hoping that the doors wouldn’t open facing a front desk with security guards.

As the elevator began its descent, I was afraid that someone would get on and recognize me as a contestant. Then I realized I was still behaving in the mode of a prisoner, nervous and furtive. I took a deep breath and relaxed my arms and shoulders. I let an innocent and unhurried smile form on my face. Just a man heading home after a long week at work.

Then my arm went numb. A sensation which almost instantly transitioned into what felt like a low frequency electric current running just under the flesh. I looked down. My arm, where it was tingling, was gone. Gone! But, no. It had shortened into a pale shiny stub, just barely peeking from the sleeve of my shirt. Then, like the flickering of a light, my arm shuttered back into existence.

My stomach lurched to the side. The floor had tilted. Or was it some inner ear thing? I tried to brace himself against the wall, but now that both of my hands were gone—and the doughy, abbreviated appendages where my arms should be were of no use—I fell to the floor.

As I struggled to get back up I saw in the empty legs of my trousers some short stubby protuberances moving about. My legs, too, seemed to have transformed. I thrashed helplessly flat on my back. Moaning in pain. Every muscle felt pummeled and violently electrocuted. I clenched my teeth and tried to roll over. I couldn’t. And as I looked at the ceiling, I saw an eye, up there, staring back at me through the grating of a metal panel.

The eye blinked.

And then everything else did, as the world lost focus and went black. Was my head transforming, too? When my sight returned, I glanced back up at the eye in the ceiling. It was gone, but now four fingers and a thumb wiggled through the holes in the grate. Then the metal panel was pulled away. A young woman stuck her head into the light of the elevator. She slid her body through the opening, pivoted, and landed beside me, crouching down, bringing her face close to mine.

“Assistant to the Superintendent of Elevator Services here to assist and serve! You can call me Nora. I was topside tightening the lee side roller guide housing. It’s been rattling like mad. I was sure I got it fixed last night, but boss said I needed to dial up the torque on my ratchet driver, scramble back up there, and…anyway, it looks like you could use a hand. Is this behavior common with you?”

“Excuse me?” I managed to croak.

“The way your body keeps changing—like putty. Wow! There it goes again. Does it hurt?”

“The lower we go,” I gasped, “the worse it gets.”

The elevator doors finally opened onto the first floor. I tilted my head back and looked out onto a marble tiled lobby with wood paneled walls and lighting sconces. Was that to be the last thing I saw? Was I dying? Again?

“Then let’s get you up!”

But instead of offering her hand, Nora pushed the button for the 28th floor. The doors closed and up we went.

I stifled a moan.

So close to freedom.

I clenched my fists in frustration.

My fists?

Miraculously, my body had returned to normal. I had two arms and two legs, just as it should be.

I pulled myself into a sitting position with my back to the wall. I lifted my hands and examined them. Nora watched as well. My fingers flickered, but then they held. The searing electrical pain shifted into mild numbness, and then that, too, dissipated. My pulse still hammered in my ears. I tied my best to catch my breath and relax.

“That’s quite a condition, sir.” Nora stood and held out her hand. I took it and got to my feet. “They have doctors and nurses on your floor, right? I mean, those people in the white coats.”

A bell chimed and the doors opened. It was the 28th floor.

She placed a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to escort me off the elevator. I moved around to block her from getting out.

“Please,” I said, stepping out of the elevator. “I’ll be fine.”

She frowned and narrowed her eyes.

“That wasn’t just a dizzy spell or a sprained ankle. We need to make sure you get safety to your—”

“Like I said,” I told her, stepping back into the reception area, “I’ll be fine.”

She crossed her arms and looked me from head to toe. Then she shrugged and gave me a hopeful smile.

“Well, it’s a strange world, and I know I don’t have to tell you. Even after the Changes have settled down, there are still amazing things to witness. Maybe that affliction is old hat to you, but do me a favor and get it looked at, you hear?”

She moved back to allow the elevator to close, craning her head slowly to the side, maintaining eye contact with me until the doors finally shut.

I pulled the key from my pocket. I took a deep breath, and almost immediately my hands stopped shaking. Then I let myself back into the lounge.

Years ago I developed the mental skills necessary to control the flight or fight response. Impulsive actions could lead to unpredictable outcomes. And when one’s life was on the line, predictability was a wise hedge against chaos.

And along those same lines of reason, I pushed aside—for the present moment—all of the terrible implications connected to my disturbing experience on the elevator. When all you have are questions, but no reasonable answers, conjecture could easily turn into a fruitless mental exercise leading to nothing but paranoia and neurosis.

I saw no one as I crossed the lounge and made my way to the door that led up to the studio. It, too, opened to my key.

As I knew it would.

Earlier in the day, before my fellow contestants had even woken up, I had already made a trip to the TV studio. I failed to discover anything useful or particularly interesting. But before I could finish looking around, I had been discovered. I just knew I would be searched and my key taken away.

But that didn’t happen. No one seemed curious how I got through the locked door at the base of the stairwell. I guess they just assumed someone had left the door ajar and I aimless blundered my way upstairs.

Of course, I do not aimlessly blunder.

I repeated my actions from my previous visit—I climbed up those stairs with purpose, and I pushed my way into the studio. It was quiet and dim, with enough light coming from the window of the control booth above the seats for me to make my way around. I crossed onto the stage. I enjoyed being free to take my time exploring this area which usually was a mass of frantic activity. I stood beside one of the over-stuffed upholstered chairs. What could be more preposterous than to have one’s immortal soul weighed whilst sitting in such an innocuous piece of domestic furniture?

I turned to those two damned doors on the back wall.

If I hadn’t been disturbed by that woman, Rose, earlier in the day, I would have already examined them.

I reached out and tentatively touched the handle to Door Number One, half expecting the same tingling sensation that overcame me in the elevator. When nothing happened, I grabbed it tight and turned until there was a click. I jerked it open.

Inside it was almost identical to the tiny room I had arrived in. All it lacked was the chair. But, white, slightly curved walls, and no other way in or out. I did not enter, but eased the door back shut. I checked the other. The same.

Could there be a compartment beneath? I crouched down and tapped on the floor. No. It was solid.

As I sat there on the floor of the stage, it all caught up with me. I felt overwhelmed with a sense of impotence. I needed to shake it off. A kind of innervated shock, which I hoped was a temporary side effect of the amnesia of the previous week, coupled with the indignities to my physical body mere minutes previous. Too much to process in such a short time. Both biological and psychological.

What was it that elevator technician had said? A strange world. Something she called the Changes. It reminded me of Rose’s cryptic talk about the impossible things out there.

Strange and impossible. My death and my rebirth. And that incident in the elevator—what was that? Some weird security measure to keep the contestants from escaping? What possibly could have thrown me into the throes of some perverse transformation from which that young woman had saved me? I had no idea what I had been transforming into, and I certainly did not want to know.

What now?

I had learned nothing useful from the mysterious doors beside me. Could there be a switch that activated them? Maybe over behind Silverio Moreno’s electric piano?

Before I could investigate Moreno’s station across the room, I heard something. From behind me.

There was someone else in the studio. I eased myself into a kneeling position, still hidden behind one of the chairs. I tilted my head to get a better view.

It was Hal, the director. He carried a step ladder over to one of the light stands. I watched as he climbed up and uncoupled a dull and frayed cable from one of the lighting fixtures. He draped it around his neck and got back down. No doubt to go get a fresh replacement cable.

When Hal climbed back down, I moved behind him.

One of the things I have learned after garroting a few people by coming up on them from behind—throwing the rope around their necks, and pulling them to the ground—was that they invariably struggled to get to their feet in same direction they went down. Very useful to know, as it can make the strangler’s work easier.

I was impressed by the robust nature of the lighting cable, it had a slight spring to it. As Hal opened and closed his mouth, twisting to get up, I maintained my grip firm. I then applied a much greater pull on the man’s noose.

He went limp without ever having seen who had come up behind him.

I maintained the pressure on the cable until I was certain that my victim was not just limp, but limp and lifeless.

The next step seemed logical enough. I opened Door Number One and heaved Hal’s corpse inside. I half expected his weight to trigger some automated system, but nothing unusual happened. I closed the door. Waited a moment. Opened it again. The body was still there.

I guess my daily allotment of the strange and the impossible had run out. No inexplicable forces swept to my aid to magically spirit away the evidence of my misdeed.

I closed the door on Hal. Or more to the point, I closed the door on the results of just that kind of impulsive behavior my mental training was supposed to hold at bay.

Sloppy of me.

However the theory of military engagement suggests that when you lack sufficient information to win the war, reallocate your resources and make damn certain to win the current battle.

With that in mind, I allowed myself a moment to enjoy a warm sense of righteousness. One firm blow against my subjugators. But I needed dispassionate methodology to guide my every step from that point on. I promised myself to maintain that protocol.

Cool intellect over hot emotion. I liked that. It would be the new me. August Mark II.

So, I turned my attention to my cool intellect in search of my next move.

Well, I had the key. There were areas in the building I still had not explored. Both on this floor, and the one below. Also, according to the control panel on the elevator, there was yet another floor above.

Ultimately, I decided the most prudent strategy would be to withdraw to my room. It wouldn’t do to be seen out and about when a dead body was likely to be discovered soon.

Of course, there was that mechanic. Nora. She might tell someone about me. But even if I were to become a suspect in a murder investigation, there was nothing but the most flimsy circumstantial evidence to connect me with Hal. I decided not to worry myself about it.

As for the dead body I was leaving behind, well, over the years I had learned that the implementation of unanticipated blunt force often created unexpected opportunities. When other people’s lives were turned upside-down, you gained tremendous advantages.

So, I headed downstairs to bed, and would wait and see what the weekend might bring.