In my head, I could hear my uncles and cousins telling me to walk into one of the other offices, to call them, to letthemgo in and investigate.
There were just as many aunts and cousins, though, who reminded me that I was strong, independent, and capable of checking out my burgled office.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pressed my finger under the twist lock, then touched the trigger.
Then I pushed a shoulder into the door.
I was glad I’d thoroughly greased the hinges when I first moved in because the door was whisper silent as I moved into the threshold.
The lights were on inside, and it was a small enough space that I didn’t really need to worry that someone was hiding away behind a large piece of furniture.
I inched closer to the storage closet and whipped it open, even though I knew the thing featured floor-to-ceiling shelves that would have prevented anyone larger than a toddler from hiding in there.Make sure you clear the room, my Aunt Lo’s voice spoke in my ear.
So that was what I did. I stepped behind my desk.
Then, finally, crept toward the bathroom door, ignoring the way my pulse jumped and my lungs squeezed.
But when I pushed the door open far enough for it to knock off the wall behind, I was met with a small, neat little room. With nowhere for someone to hide.
I turned back, glancing around the space, wondering if maybe I’d misread the situation.
Nothing looked out of place.
Even my coffee syrups were lined up with their labels out, just as I liked them. My desk didn’t look rifled through.
My eyes zeroed in on a red pen sitting crossways over a lined notepad.
Maybe it was silly to fixate on that.
Sure, I usually set my pens back in the holder. But I’d been distracted lately. Maybe I’d left it on the pad.
Only… I didn’t really remember using a red pen at all.
And was my chair pushed out a little further than I’d left it?
I glanced back at the door and slowly made my way toward it, wondering if I’d just… not closed it.
No, I wasn’t careless.
But maybe the lock and the plunger and the edge bore weren’t lining up anymore. That happened once with my bathroom door, and I just… hadn’t noticed.
It wouldn’t have been a surprise. The office building was old. And I felt like I’d needed to fix a dozen little things since moving in: missing lightswitch plates, backward hot and cold taps, a crack in the window, holes in the wall.
The door was original.
It was probably due for some TLC.
Trying to shake the tension out of my shoulders, I moved back toward the desk, pulled out a cupholder, and set my coffee down.
I dropped my bag onto the chair, hearing another buzz from my phone as I slipped my pepper spray back into its little sleeve for easy reach.
Then I made my way into the hall, opening and closing the door to assess the strength of the connection.
“Huh,” I mumbled as I moved back inside and slid the door closed.
I’d love to say I sensed something, heard, smelled, felt my spine tingle. Something. Anything.
But I would be lying.
