The Transfixed

chapter seven

The sound of an old Bob Dylan song began to mingle with the silence of the elevator air. James shot his head up at the noise, but didn't comment. Bridget was in too much of a panicked shock to worry about how embarrassing it was to take a private call in the confinements of an elevator with The President and his secret service dudes a mere four feet away.

She glanced at the caller ID before pressing her phone to her ear. "Fran?" It was her aunt.

"Bridget! I just wanted to call and ask how the flight was. I've been worried sick about you since the White House gave you this mission." She let out a laugh lacking amusement, "Don't get me wrong, I'm very proud of you, but I'm also very worried." Aunt Fran could literally go on for hours talking about everything from her feelings to the latest McDonald's hamburger meal. "Now, wait-" Before Bridget could form a coherent syllable, Fran went on, "Before you tell me about how well you're doing and how nice the flight was, I want to know what you're doing right now. Are you at the White House? It's getting late... you're probably in your hotel room in the Washington mall? Are you in the middle of dinner? I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to interrupt!"

Bridget had her eyes cast down to the metal chip folded into her left palm. The bead of sweat rolling down her forehead glistened under the fluorescent elevator lights. The seconds ticked by as her heart beat sped up. How could she get the bomb away from blowing up the United States infrastructure? Would it even be possible?

Aunt Fran was still rambling, "I hope you eat well. You're too skinny, Bridgy. Speaking of food, who did you leave Pickle with? Well, never mind, I'm sure he's in safe hands. Not literally, of course. He's such a wonderful cat, you really should have dropped him off at my place instead of wherever the heck you brought him. I really worry about you sometimes, you hardly ever talk." She let out a breath, and Bridget fought an eye roll, "Oh, the mail just arrived! My goodness, so many bills. Maybe the next time you have a moment alone with the President, you could ask him to cut back on taxes as a little Christmas present for Francine Baker." 

Bridget glanced across the elevator room and met eyes with the President himself. Such an unfortunate circumstance, though. "Aunt Fran?" She finally spoke up.

"Yes, dear?"

A small vibration went off in her palm, and she glanced down to see that a warning had been set for a 6-minute countdown. "Now's really not the best time to chat about Christmas presents. I'm sort of in the middle of something."

Fran laughed again. "Of course! Is it anything important?"

Bridget ground her teeth together and looked anywhere but at the six other people in the elevator. "You could say that."

"Well, then, sweetheart. I'll let you get back to your important business." She sighed dramatically, "I just wanted to give you a ring and wish you the best of luck on your mission!"

"Thanks. I'm going to hang up now." 

"Okay dear. Oh, and what was that expression your cousin used? You're the bomb."

Bridget's eyes widened slightly at the word. "Great, yeah, thanks. Goodbye, Aunt Fran."

"Bye honey! Have a blast tonight at the Presidential dinner. I'm sure you'll blow everyone away with your brilliance." Then she hung up. 

Instead of lamenting on the horrific timing of Aunt Fran's explosive choice of vocabulary, Bridget mentally searched for ways of bomb detonation that didn't involve leaving a halted elevator. Then an idea hit her and she quickly tapped the browsing icon on her phone screen. A small red circle appeared and then fizzled into a grey box that read, "cannot connect to the internet". All she wanted to do at that moment was hurl her phone into the wall.