I wanted to yank the door open and rip it out of her hand, but knew that was stupid. I had a window of escape that was, statistically, already cranking shut. I glanced at the doorways on either end of the room. Flute Girl had probably been in bed, so that one led to the bedrooms, best guess. I headed for the other. The hallway was dark, lit only by the thin stream of light from the living room lamp. I felt for a switch, but didn’t find one. I made my way down the hallway, my hand on the wall. The adrenaline running through my body masked the pain in my shoulder. I came to a door and flung it open. Cooler air hit me, and the feeling of a larger space. It reeked of motor oil. I felt the wall, found a switch, and flipped it. A single-stall garage with dark stains on the cement floor. I stepped down the one stair and looked on the wall for an opener. A white box was there, and I punched the button. Nothing. “Come on.” I punched it again. Could those things be locked? As fast as I could manage, I traversed the hallway back to the living room.
