Jenn McKinlay - Due Or Die

“Edmund, are you ready?” Bill called to his nephew.

He did not acknowledge Lindsey, letting her know he still considered her responsible for his removal from office.

She sighed. Edmund put his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll come around. You’ll see.”

“So long as he’s still a member of the Friends and is talking to Carrie, I’m fine,” she said. “I can handle a little misdirected anger.”

“That must be why you’re such a good librarian,” Edmund said. He looped her free hand around his elbow and led her back to Carrie. “All of those unhappy taxpayers blaming you when the book they want isn’t in must have given you a thick skin.”

Lindsey smiled. He certainly understood the life of a public servant. Carrie and Beth met them halfway to their cars.

“I’m just going to check the last few boxes,” Carrie said. “I want to make sure they’re sealed up tight.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lindsey offered.

“Me, too,” said Beth, cradling her own cup of cocoa.

“Thanks for your help, Edmund,” Carrie said. “You and Bill were great.”

A horn honked and they all glanced up to see Bill sitting in his car, glaring at them. Mimi and the other volunteers returned his glower, but Bill didn’t seem to notice.

Edmund sighed. “I’d better go.”

The three women waved and trooped down to the new shed. It was dark, but Carrie had brought a flashlight. The boxes were stacked floor to ceiling, with a narrow aisle running down the middle to give access to the books at the back.

“We’ll have to schedule a warm day in the spring to do that inventory,” Beth said. “It’s too cold in these sheds to do much in the winter.”

“Maybe we’ll get a nice day in the sixties soon,” Carrie said. “I’d really like to find those rare books that were donated. It seems a shame that no one remembers what boxes they were in.”

“Not even Bill?” Lindsey asked.

“No, he said he couldn’t recall,” Carrie said. “I didn’t press since it was nice of him to come out and help.”

Beth and Lindsey exchanged a look. Lindsey didn’t voice her doubt aloud, but she couldn’t help but feel that Bill probably wouldn’t have told Carrie even if he knew. She suspected he could be passive-aggressive like that.

“So, how about those open boxes?” Lindsey asked.

“Right here,” Carrie said. “Beth, will you hold the flashlight?”

She handed the flashlight to Beth, who aimed the beam at the top of the box. Lindsey held the lid closed while Carrie fumbled with the roll of box tape. She taped down the lid and they moved on to the next two, with Beth following them with the beam of light.

Once they were done, Carrie pocketed the tape and Beth handed back the flashlight.

“Okay, now where did I put the Master Lock?” Carrie asked as she shone the light across the floor and over the boxes. Lindsey and Beth began to look, too, but there was no sign of it.

“I must have left it on the latch outside,” Carrie said. She stepped forward toward the large steel door, but it slammed shut with a clang.

“Whoa, the wind must be picking up,” Beth said. “Let’s get going before we all freeze to death.”

Carrie turned the handle on the inside of the door, but it wouldn’t budge. She handed the flashlight back to Lindsey and said, “Could you shine that on the handle?”

Lindsey did and watched as Carrie struggled with the door. The handle would move just a fraction of an inch but wouldn’t open.

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” Beth said.

“Don’t panic,” Lindsey said. “Here, let me try. You’ve had your gloves off, Carrie; maybe your hands are just frozen.”

Carrie stepped back and took the flashlight while Lindsey put her muscle into turning the handle on the door. She couldn’t get it to unlatch either. She put her shoulder into it, but no luck. The door was stuck.

Lindsey turned to face the others. In the reflected beam of the flashlight, she could see they both looked wide-eyed and worried. She hated to confirm their fears, but there was no getting around it.

“We’re locked in,” she said.

BRIAR CREEK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

“That can’t be,” Beth said. She handed Lindsey her cocoa and tried the door herself.

Lindsey watched her struggle, popping out some rather salty language for a children’s librarian before she gave up and slumped against the door.

“This cannot be happening,” Carrie said. “I don’t like enclosed spaces. I don’t even use the elevator at work when I can avoid it.”

“Maybe if we all try it together, we can open it,” Lindsey said.

Lindsey put down Beth’s cocoa and the three of them shuffled around the boxes until they each found a spot against the door.

“On three,” Lindsey said. “One, two, three!”

With an ear-jarring clang, they all rammed the door at once. It didn’t budge.

“Again,” Carrie said. She counted off and they did it again.

“I think I felt it move,” Beth said. “Come on, one more time.”

They tried several more times. In the end, they created quite a racket, but the door remained shut and locked.

Exhausted but warmer from the exertion, they each found a stack of boxes to lean against. To Lindsey, the flashlight beam seemed to be getting dimmer.

“I think we’re going to need to conserve that light,” she said.

Carrie looked stricken, but she nodded. Lindsey switched off the light and the shed went dark.

“So, any idea how we ended up locked in?” Beth asked.

Her voice had a disembodied quality, probably because Lindsey couldn’t see her, that made it creepy coming out of nowhere. Lindsey kept waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, allowing her to make out shapes but, no, it was just relentlessly black.

“I’d blame it on Batty Bilson, but she wasn’t here tonight,” Lindsey said.

“Unless, she arrived late,” Carrie said. “Maybe she was watching from somewhere else and came when everyone else had left.”

“Maybe,” Lindsey said. She remembered the message on her phone this morning. Batty had said she’d be watching her. Lindsey shivered and not just from the cold. Although, now that she wasn’t moving, she could feel the cold closing in on her extremities. Her nose, her fingers and her toes were beginning to stiffen and prickle with pain.

“So, who has a cell phone?” Beth asked brightly. “Mine is in the car.”

“Mine, too,” Lindsey said.

“Same for me,” Carrie said.

Beth sighed.

Lindsey pulled down her glove and pulled up her sleeve. She felt her wrist. Yes, she was wearing her sports watch and it had an indigo light.

“I have a light on my watch,” she said. “Hang on.”

She had to remove her glove to press the button. When she did, a faint blue glow lit up the storage area.

“It’s just after eight o’clock,” she said. “It’s not too late for someone to come by.”

She could see hope flare in both Carrie and Beth’s faces. She hoped she wasn’t wrong.

A scratching noise sounded at the door and they all jumped. Someone was out there.

“Hello?” Lindsey shouted. “Is anyone out there?”

Beth went to cry out, but Lindsey held up her hand. They were all silent, straining to hear a voice or a footstep or anything that verified that someone had come to their rescue.

Then very softly, Lindsey heard a whimper, followed by a scratching sound, the sort made by claws against metal. Heathcliff!

“Heathcliff, is that you?” she cried.

The whimper turned into a yowl, and his puppy feet pounded frantically against the door.

“Turn on the light!” Lindsey said.

Beth reached over and flicked on the flashlight. Lindsey ran her hands along the bottom edge of the door. Maybe there was a way to pry it or jimmy it open. There was nothing.