My nostrils flare and I press my hands against my face, my fear so raw that I want to scream out. I hold my breath and when there’s no sound, I realize it was my own breathing I could hear. There’s no one else; I’m alone.
Desperate to breathe properly, I rip off the tape in one painful movement, and with the sting of fire on the skin around my mouth, I begin drawing in great gulps of air. The taste of glue makes me gag. I take a deep breath, calm myself. I need to think clearly.
In the darkness, I turn around and with my hands stretched out in front of me, I walk slowly back to where I think the door is. My fingers hit a wall; I stop. The surface is cold, painted, not wallpapered. I gradually push my palms across, the skin of my hands distinguishing every little bump and scratch, until they reach a doorframe and the rough face of a door. I move my hands downward, find a handle, round and smooth. I wrap my fingers around it, turn it. It doesn’t move.
I pat the wall next to the door, searching for a light switch. But I can’t find one.
I thump on the door.
“Hello?” I shout.
No one comes.
“Hello!” I yell it this time.
There’s no answer.
Dropping to my knees, I trace the outline of the keyhole with my fingers and put my eye to it. Only darkness. My fear escalates.
“Let me out! Please!”
Don’t. Stay in control. You can’t afford to let fear win.
Ned fills my mind. His voice last night, the things he said. Is the room in the basement where he’s being held under this one, can he hear my panic? Tears rise from deep inside me. I rest my forehead against the wood of the door, put the palms of my hands flat against its surface. I can feel the rivets of panels and think of Carolyn. Of her apartment in London, with its wood-paneled doors. Of the home she made for me. I take another breath. I can’t give up, I need to make everything right.
“Move, Amelie,” I whisper. “Find the light switch. There has to be one.”
I turn to face the wall and begin sidestepping along it to the left, moving my palms up as high as I can reach, then down toward the floor. I had expected to find a switch close to the door, but I reach a corner without finding one. I move along the next wall and after a few steps, my fingers find a socket close to the floor. I straighten up, place my hands flat on the wall to continue my search, and my left hand bumps against something jutting out. I run my hands over it; it’s a wooden board with a window behind it, I can feel its frame. I claw along the sides of the panel, trying to get enough purchase to pull it off, and feel the heads of small metal nails buried deep into the wood, too deep to get any traction under them. But the knowledge that there’s a window gives me hope.
I move past the boarded-up window and immediately, my hands find something else, something material, hard. I feel along it; it’s a mattress, propped in a corner. I sniff it tentatively; it smells new. I lay my head against it for a moment, the adrenaline draining away. But I can’t rest, I need to find a light switch.
There’s nothing on the wall behind the mattress so I move around it and sidestep along the next wall. After four small steps, I find a door. For a moment I think I must have lost my bearings in the darkness and have gone back the way I came. But no, this must be another door.
“Hello?” I call.
There’s only silence.
I feel for the handle, turn it. And without any resistance, the door pulls open.
My heart jumps, I take a quick step back. There’s no sound. No movement. I edge inside, both arms outstretched and almost immediately my knee whacks against something. Pitched forward, my hands slam into a wall, and with a cry, I crumple onto the floor. What did I hit? I twist around and my hands find it, cold enamel, a toilet.
I push myself up from the floor, turn, find the door, then feel for a light switch. There doesn’t seem to be one, it must be on the outside wall. I move carefully back to the main room, close the door, search the wall. Nothing. I shiver at the thought of being in such a confined space without light. If I want to use the toilet, I’ll have to leave the door open.
My whole body is trembling now, my teeth tapping against each other as I move past the bathroom door and continue sidestepping along the wall. I reach a corner, turn left along the next wall, in my mind it’s parallel to the wall with the boarded-up window. Still no light switch, only a socket near the floor. Then another left turn until I’m back at the main door.
I pause a moment to regroup; this wall has the main door, the next wall has a boarded-up window. The third wall, parallel to this one, has the toilet. The fourth wall is blank. There are two sockets but no light switch. I’m going to be kept in the dark.