“I love youtoo.”
I hold the phone against my chest for a few moments after disconnecting the call. Everything seems to be falling into place, but I don’t dare say the words out loud. That’s just stupid. Everyone knows the laws of jinx. That shit’s absolute andfinite.
As I push away off the doorframe, I hear it again and freeze. Shuffling followed by complete silence. Whether I’m imagining things or not, I think the rest of the morning might be better spent sitting on a bench outside. Still gripping my phone, every move seems to be in slow motion as I reach inside the closet for thedoor.
Only I don’t get thatfar.
Two strong hands shove me from behind, knocking my phone out of my hand and sending me head first into the tiny shoebox closet. With nothing but cloths and dustpans to break my fall, I slam onto the wood floor on my hands and knees, skidding across some old boxing equipment before smacking my head against ashelf.
I’m not even sure what the hell just happened, but I don’t have time to figure it out. The only light filtering into the tiny room is rapidly narrowing, and panic I haven’t felt in nine months rages throughme.
“No! Please, don’t!” I scream, turning around and crawling as fast as I can to the door. At the last minute, I fling myself toward the tiny sliver of light that’s left, letting out a grunt as my body collides with nothing but a thick block ofwood.
The distinct sound of a key turning and a lock being engaged touches my ears long before my hands touch the doorknob. That’s why I already know it’s not going to turn when I twist it. However, somewhere between my ears and my hands, the message to my brain gets lost, and I continue to alternately jerk on the unmoving doorknob and beat on thedoor.
“Let me out! God, please, let me out! I can’t be in here. I can’t do this. I can’t…” I repeat the last two words over and over until my voice is hoarse and my frantic pounding becomes weak slaps. From the other side of the door, I hear my phonering.
I have no idea who would do this, or why, and at the moment, I don’t care. The darkened closet is spinning, reality taking a backseat to a nightmare that’s come back for me. Once again, I’m in overdrive with no brake pedal, and one spark of a match explodes a bomb inside ofme.
Absorbing the chaos, I slide my palms down the length of the door and collapse to the floor. It doesn’t take long for the walls to close in, pressing against me with jagged edges and broken glass as the deceivingly sweet, aromatic smell of burning rubber burns mylungs.
And just like that, I’m there. She’s there. It’s real and happening all overagain.
Time has passed. I don’t know how much, but our song keeps playing, so I keep singing it. I’m on rendition number thirteen of Britney Spears’Toxic, so I’m guessing around forty minutes—give or take a few poisonparadises.
I cough, but it doesn’t clear the smoke from my lungs, so I just go straight into rendition fourteen. Barely one verse in, I hear footsteps and muffled mumbling on the other side of thedoor.
Verse two begins and my voice breaks, so I cough again and startover.
Rendition fourteen—taketwo.
“Shiloh?”
The familiar voice stops me, and I listen. When I’m met with silence, I sigh and startagain.
Rendition fourteen—takethree.
“Shiloh? Shiloh, answerme!”
Cary?Impossible.
“Snowflake, it’s too early for Hide and GoSeek.”
Okay, now that sounds just likeFrankie.
“Shy, are you here? Answer me,baby.”
How did they get inside thecar?
Rendition fourteen—takefour.
“Shy?” I jump as Cary’s voice booms from right outside as he pounds on the door and shakes the doorknob. “Why the hell is it locked? Shiloh, open this damn door, right now. I can hear you. I know you’re inthere.”
I learned about hallucinations from one of the revolving door of psychiatrists Bianca dragged me to. They’re experiences involving the apparent perception of something not present. It’s simple logic, and logically, Cary and Frankie can’t really be in my wrecked Lamborghini. That’d becrazy.
Which would make mecrazy.
Rendition number fourteen—takefive.
