in an attempt to see the door handle and what might be preventing it from opening, the rain and the dark blocked any potential vision.
Horror gripped me. What was I going to do now? How was I supposed to get out of here? Any chance for survival was nil if I waited around until someone let me out. I braced myself and leaned on my good ankle, ramming all of myself into the door with my shoulder. I called out with the pain. Worse yet, the door hadn’t even moved. On the opposite side, I wanted to try the other door, but it was against the steel panels of the floor and refused to move. I found myself having some difficulty breathing. Where had all of the air gone?
Like a wild woman, I began beating my fists on the door. I think I was screaming, too, because later my throat hurt, but I don’t remember for certain. Even if someone had been around, I doubt they would have heard me over the rain and the wind. Every so often, thunder and lightning crackled in the sky. I had been buried alive and the weather was drowning me out. But I had to get out before Wallace came back. I would be lucky if I had four or five minutes.
Something tore my hands, and my ankle throbbed, but I continued to hit and throw myself at the door. My feet kicked at the floor of the confessional, hurting both my damaged and undamaged ankle. Still, nothing gave way.
I felt the time pass as the sun was making its meager attempt to break through the sky. And while I probably should have felt relieved, I couldn’t help but wonder why I was still alive. Did torturing me no longer appeal to Wallace? Or had something else occurred? What if something had happened to the ship during the storm? What if Charlie was hurt?
I pulled my hands out of the sweatshirt pockets, rubbing them together. Overall, neither of these methods was very effective, as I could now see the shady underline of purple at the end of my fingertips. Everything about me was numb except the possibility that Charlie could be in trouble.
In the midst of it all, I saw a kaleidoscope in varieties of blue and green, midnight green to be exact. If there was even the slightest chance that Charlie needed me or my help, then I was going to be there.
Now that there was a little light available to me, I strained my eyes and pried my hand through the carved patterns of the confessional door. Even with my slim hands, I could only manage to reach through with my thumb and first two fingers. The fit was tight but I tried not to focus on that and concentrate instead on the cold metal lock.
The rain made my fingertips slip, and the cold made me think at first that the lock itself may have been a block of ice, keeping me inside. But as I arched my back forward and used my weak torso for further leverage to see lower, I could see it was a padlock.
My mind raced while I remembered what Charlie had said about tumbler locks being the most common kind of locks. Though the odds were unlikely, I thought maybe I could pick it without a wrench, or without seeing the keyhole properly. I was half-tempted to start crying again, knowing how unlikely I was of success. Still, in spite of the hopelessness, my inner overachiever wouldn’t be satisfied until I gave the task everything.
I took the bobby pin from my hair and held it between my thumb and forefinger. If there ever was a time to concentrate, now was the time. Although the worst of the storm was over, the rain continued on through the slants of sunlight. I silently cursed the rain for blocking the warmth, for making my teeth chatter. But at the same time, I counted the hollow sound of the pitter-patter as it echoed through the hold. I counted backward from one hundred and began again.
As my thumb and ring finger escaped from the confessional, I continued to count, but I also tried to channel Charlie. Although his large hands would never be able to conquer this, I could imagine him thinking up something clever. A very small piece of me hoped he would be proud of me when I escaped.