Fake Fiancée(44)

Using my flashlight, I walked down the dusty aisles, shelving the non-fiction books in the correct Dewey Decimal order. It was taking longer than I thought it would. The library closed in ten minutes. Getting worried she might forget I was here, I tugged out my phone and typed a quick text to Pam, then shoved the phone back in my pocket.

I’d just shelved a book about Egypt when I heard the creak of a distant door. My stomach jumped to my throat. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone down here but me.

A soft shuffling sound echoed from the main part of the basement, and I stilled.

An image of a giant rat flashed through my head.

Then a gnarly-looking spider with fangs. Ugh.

The door to my room slammed shut, and I screamed, the shrillness shattering the eerie quiet of the room. My hands clenched the cart, shoving it out of my way as I ran for the front of the room. The flashlight fell to the floor in my haste.

A laugh pierced the quiet after my scream, the sound muffled by the door between us.

I twisted the knob but it wouldn’t open. A rattling sound came each time I shook it, and with a sinking feeling, I suspected what the flashlight confirmed when I looked through the rectangular window on the metal door. A chair had been pushed up under the handle, locking me inside.

Fear rose in my stomach.

I took a step back.

“Who’s out there?” My voice was thin and reedy, bouncing off the concrete walls.

Nothing but silence greeted me.

I slapped my fists against the metal door. “Let me out!”

The laugh came again—a girl’s.

“This isn’t funny!”

And then I heard movement and a tapping noise, fading. Someone was running.

I put the light back up to the window, trying to illuminate more of the hallway. It didn’t show me much, but the window in the door across from me caught a reflection of light as the stairwell door down the hall opened and someone slipped inside. Whoever the culprit was, she was leaving by the stairwell that led back upstairs.

Every scary movie I’d ever watched flashed through my head. I fumbled for my phone, but when I tried to call out I realized I was so deep in concrete that I didn’t have any service. Which meant Pam had never gotten my text.

With hands that trembled from adrenaline, I jerked my phone into the air as if that might improve the service. Nothing.

I swallowed down the helpless feeling eating at me, trying to keep it together. My brain scattered in a million directions as I paced a small patch of floor lit by the streetlight coming in from the ground-level window high up the wall.

The room sat directly underneath the circulation desk. Maybe I could make a big racket by pushing down the shelves, but I didn’t think that would be enough noise even if I could manage it. My eyes went up to the ceiling. If I had something tall, maybe I could poke it at the ceiling to get their attention upstairs.

The library was closing in five minutes. I wanted to hurl. Most of the patrons were on their way out, and Pam was probably right in the middle of calling maintenance to start the lock-up process. She always got so flustered around closing time, and she never checked the basement.

I’d clocked out early once or twice last week to study. What if she assumed I’d done it again? I sent up a prayer that she’d check my clock-in ticket in the mail room.

I ran back to the door and took up pounding again, this time using a heavy tome from one of the shelves.

It got me nowhere.

I panted and rested against the metal. For good measure, I kicked at it and yelled obscenities. Not only was I scared shitless, but I had an A&P quiz the next day and I needed to study for it. Randomly I wondered if this qualified as an excused absence. Probably not with Whitt.

Headlights skimmed past the window above me, and I ran to the back wall and pointed the flashlight up to check out the ancient-looking window. It was plenty big enough for me to fit through, but how was I going to get up there?

I pushed the cart over to the wall and climbed to the bottom rung, only a few feet off the floor. It wobbled on its wheels, and I teetered before falling off and hitting my elbow on the floor. Shit.

I sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on calming down. I was okay. This wasn’t the lake. I wasn’t in a car. I had air—albeit a little moldy.

I pulled myself off the floor to try again. I had an idea. When I used to take walks in the mountains and would find myself without phone service, sometimes climbing a tree or just getting a few feet off the ground would do the trick. So, I nixed the more dangerous idea of actually climbing out the window and focused on just getting phone service.

I wrestled with the metal cart again. Moving slow and steady, I stepped up to the first shelf, gained my balance, and then tried for the second shelf. The metal cart vibrated from my ungainly movements, but didn’t tip over. Baby steps, Sunny. Holding my balance precariously, I pulled out my phone and held it up as high as I could.

One, two, three seconds passed and nothing.

Then it pinged!

A text from Max came through. Hey. I’m here.

Then came another one. You okay? I’m here and walking around. Everyone is gone. I’m worried. Call me.

Victory soared, and I typed out a reply.

Stuck in basement room with a window on west side next to parking lot. Come get me!

In my excitement, the flashlight that I’d tucked in my jean pocket crashed to the floor. The cart tilted when I reached to catch it, and I fell straight to the floor.