“I have a lock here but no key! It’s a combination, like for a locker.” Kate tugs on it but the metal makes no move to release. “If anyone finds any number clues, let me know.”
And so it goes. I stumble around the room, drunker than I expected, as I search for clues but all we find are more and more locks and deterrents. One or two clues come from the fake notebook on an end table, and another from within a drawer, but given how little is in the room, it should’ve been simpler to find stuff.
We use all three of our clues and it’s ridiculous how silly they are. One says we should lift up the coffee table and underneath is a sheet of paper with one of the combinations. The solutions are in such weird spaces, not intuitive at all, and I get that this is supposed to be hard but not so much that four grown adults (most of whom are a functioning level of drunk to stone-cold sober) should be able to solve it in time.
Unfortunately, even with all our clues used up, it’s not enough for us to find the final one—under the mattress of the fake cot they have set up in the room.
The employee lets us out and we leave kind of deflated, the evening coming to a halt soon after.
“Thank you guys for taking me out. I really appreciate it!” I say and I find that I actually do mean it. Getting a break from myself, my mind, and my misery is a nice change of pace.
“We’ll do it again sometime,” James promises and sticks out his hand for me to shake.
Saying our goodbyes, Logan and I head back to his truck and I clamber inside. The spring breeze is cold and I should’ve brought a jacket or something other than just my plain henley but my priorities have been kind of skewed tonight.
Kate’s words dance around in my mind, mixing with memories of me and Logan in high school practicing magic in our spare time, and that shitshow of an escape room.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Logan asks and when my eyes refocus I realize we’re already back on the highway.
“Just trying to make sense of my life now. So much of my time and energy went toward Steph—first being together and then the slow process of us breaking apart—and I’m stuck between wanting to hate her and prove her wrong, or hating that part of me still wants her approval. I have no idea what to do with myself now. I had to leave the job with her father’s company, and I haven’t started looking here yet. The house money and my savings can float me for a while but I’d rather not piss it away on rotting on my parents’ couch.”
Logan makes a little humming sound in the back of his throat as he considers my words.
“If Stephanie wasn’t a factor in all this and you could do whatever you wanted, what would you pursue?”
My mind races back to high school and college, Logan’s and my plans to open a hobby shop. Though looking back on it now, we mostly just wanted to own those things, not sell them. Still, I got my MBA and he got his Marketing degree.
“I keep coming back to that idea from back in the day but I don’t think I’d want to run a store now. Retail isn’t appealing and I haven’t touched my magic stuff since before I even met Steph while I was trying to get ‘serious’ about the trajectory of my life.”
Logan’s chuckle fills the cab of the truck. “We had big dreams back then. Though you’re right, I don’t think I’d want to own a store either. If I was going to take the risk of running my own business it would have to be more fun than that.”
“I don’t mind the idea of running my own business but I agree. It has to be worthwhile, something Dulaney doesn’t already have. Like this escape room thing. We had to drive over half an hour to go to one that’s terrible.”
Not that I’m sorry we came. It’s just a pity the night ended on a somewhat sour note. I’m still not sober enough, the drive feeling like I’m being rocked closer and closer to sleep as my vision blurs at the edges.
“Oh ho ho. Strong words for someone so ‘meek.’ You really think you could have done better?”
The term bristles again, more and more as time passes. There’s nothing wrong with being a more quiet type of person. Picking your battles is smarter than running into every fight recklessly. Why should I have to be mean to people to prove my efficacy?
“Yes. Yes, I do.” Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I sit straighter in my seat.
“How?” Logan asks, and it’s less of a challenge than it should be. There’s an undercurrent I can’t fully pick up on in my inebriation.
“The set up for one. The best they can do is bad carpet and peeling wallpaper? One room only for the whole operation. I get that it’s not a whole escape room business but if you only have one shot at pulling it off then you should do better.”
“I don’t know, man. What could they have done instead? It’s an offshoot of a brewery, not Medieval Times.” That tone again. Soon I’ll parse it out. I’m just too busy trying to prove that my opinion is valid.
Logan is the only person I’ve ever really been able to debate with, so I feel fine pushing my opinion.
“It wouldn’t have to be much. Switch out the harsh overhead lighting for a soft yellow or warmer tone to give it a cozier feel. Play some ambient snow storm sounds instead of having it be silent. Small things to set the mood, even if you didn’t have better decor. Although no matter how good it looked, those clues were ass.”
My best friend’s guffaws spill through the night air and I join in, the first time I’ve felt like laughing in months.
“Theywere. First of all, the clues should be accessible. What if someone is super short and can’t reach the top of things? What if they are in a wheelchair or have a disability that prevents them from lifting a whole mattress? That seems like poor planning on their part. Besides accessibility, there’s the question of assuming everyone has the same level of experience or skill. Why limit it to three clues? Let people decide how many they need. It should be fun, not demoralizing. It’s not just an escape from the room, it’s supposed to be an escape from reality.” My tirade continues and it’s surprising to note how much Idoactually care about this.
“Sounds like you’ve given it a lot of thought already. If anyone could pull it off, it would be you. Remember when we did our magic for the talent show and you were the one that insisted on having a whole routine because it would help with the immersiveness? Start with smaller tricks so by the time we do something risky the audience is already invested? You’ve always been way better at that sort of thing than I have.”
His words whirl around my confused and tipsy ramblings and somehow congeal into something resembling an idea.
