Standing still, I dropped my bag and stretched out my arms while my eyes adjusted. A thin band of light at the bottom of the door did little to light the small space. The smell of cleaning supplies and old mop water surrounded me.
Moving toward the door I called out, “Real mature.” I tried the handle, but it didn’t move. I pounded a fist on the door. “Let me out.” No response. The handle still didn’t budge.
Pausing, I listened for an indication they waited outside the door. In the distance, I heard other students as they left the school. Nothing nearby. My stomach did a crazy flip and fear slid into my belly. I needed to get out soon or I’d miss the bus. Home before dark…
I pounded and kicked the door frantically hoping someone from the main hall would hear me. When no one came, I changed strategies. Time to be smart, not panic.
Feeling along the door, I searched for a switch. Nothing to either side, but shelves. Raising my hands above my head, I waved them around feeling for a string. Something brushed my fingertips. I slowed down the waving and tried again with success. Closing my fist around the string, I gave it a gentle tug. Light flooded the space and I blinked away the pain as my eyes watered. Between blinks, I studied the tiny space.
Mounted to the wall, a small utility sink occupied the back of the room. In front of it sat the Janitor’s mop and bucket filled with cold grey water. I wrinkled my nose. The shelves held cleaning supplies, bags of liquid absorbent lay stacked on the floor. Nothing that I could use to open the door.
Turning I studied the doorknob. Round handle with the lock on the inside. I frowned at the lock and stepped forward to try the handle once more. It gave a little before firming again. They hadn’t locked me in. Someone held the knob from the outside.
Angry, I gripped the knob tightly. Whoever stood outside held steady. I closed my eyes. I’d only ever gotten visions when touching skin to skin, but I concentrated anyway hoping I could glean who held the door closed. Breathing slowly, I cleared my mind willing a vision to appear. Outside the door, the sounds of leaving students faded replaced by an eerie quiet.
When nothing happened, I grew desperate thinking of the buses pulling away and leaving me to walk home.
“Brian, I know it’s you holding the handle,” I spoke with a false calm pressing my face close to the wood. “I know it’s you just like I know you’re going to grow up to be a raging alcoholic who dies in his sleep.”
The doorknob twisted sharply, taking me by surprise. Still holding it tightly, my knuckles scrapped on the frame as someone jerked the door outward a few inches. Just enough for me to lose my balance and catch sight of Brian’s startled face peering back at me.
Before I recovered my balance, he slammed it shut again and the side of my face smacked against the wood with a crack. The cheap door gave under the pressure, splitting before my cheekbone did.
I cried out and pressed a hand to my face, my fury cutting through the sharp steady pain. Furious, I twisted the knob again. This time I met no resistance.
Pushing the door open, I stepped out searching for my tormentors. The sound of their retreating running feet assured me I need not worry.
Further down the hall, a janitor turned the corner pushing a mop and bucket identical to the one already in the supply closet. Before he spotted me, I grabbed my bag and darted out holding my face.
The deserted halls echoed with my racing footsteps. Each footfall sent a jolt through my throbbing cheek. Holding it hurt, but so did leaving it alone. The pain, which started near my earlobe, seared through the bone carving a slow brutal path across my cheek to the base of my eye. Too angry to cry, I focused on getting out of the building.
Afternoon sunlight poured into the main lobby. An atrium with display cases for the school’s sport trophies, it usually felt warm and welcoming. Not today.
I didn’t pause to look for Brian and Clavin. I needed to get home.
The empty drive in front of the school confirmed my guess that I’d missed the buses. Brian and Clavin had kept me in that closet at least ten minutes. Since we only had the one car, calling Gran wouldn’t do me any good and I didn’t want to call mom at work. She’d insist I wait at the school. I couldn’t tell her why I didn’t want to do that. We had enough to deal with.
I glanced at the overcast sky, shouldered my bag and set off at a brisk pace, calculating. My mom got me to school in fifteen minutes. Of course, she tended to speed. I estimated we lived about seven miles from school. While dashing through the halls, I caught the time on one of the clocks. Almost three. That’d give me two hours to get home. Plenty of time, I tried reassuring myself. When the bus passed the house without stopping, Gran would call mom and she and Aunt Grace would watch for me on their way home.