The doorknob begins to slowly turn, and suddenly I can’t take my eyes off it. Doubt creeps in as my finger tightens around the trigger. Did I lock it? I’d peeked into the hallway once or twice, I know. Did I remember to just flip that little lock? My eyes finally, reluctantly, scan up to the chain. Yes, that at least is in place. My breathing slows as my mind works to force out the panic. The chain is in place. I don’t lock the chain unless I’ve turned the main lock. It’s an order. A system. A pattern.
The panic resolves itself into calculation. The door is locked, but will it hold? The chain is at best an illusion of security depending upon the strength of whoever is standing on the other side of that door. I need to reinforce it. At the very least, it’s the only way in without some serious effort on the part of a would-be intruder. I live three flights up, so as long as I can secure the front door, I should be okay. Should be.
The panic resolves itself into calculation. The door is locked, but will it hold? The chain is at best an illusion of security depending upon the strength of whoever is standing on the other side of that door. I need to reinforce it. At the very least, it’s the only way in without some serious effort on the part of a would-be intruder. I live three flights up, so as long as I can secure the front door, I should be okay. Should be.
All these thoughts pass through my mind in an instant, and while they do, I register a change in the situation outside my door. The knob is no longer being turned. There is a knock, small but urgent, and a voice. The voice of a child.
“Hello? Is there anyone in there?” It’s barely above a stage whisper. A girl, I think.
I hold my breath. Independently of my will, my gun hand slowly drops.
“Please. If you’re there. Please help us.”
I hold my breath. Independently of my will, my gun hand slowly drops.
“Please. If you’re there. Please help us.”
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