He gestures for us to enter. It’s pitch-black inside.
“Are you ready?” I ask Art.
“Yes. Let’s get this over with.”
We shuffle a few steps inside, and then the door slams shut behind us. I reach for Art’s hand. A few hairs stand up on the back of my neck. We can’t see a thing. It smells of old paper and flowers. A few moments pass, and all I can hear is the sound of my heart racing wildly and our heavy breathing.
“Should I pull out my mobile and use its torch?” he asks.
“No, let’s wait a little longer.” Another minute passes, then another. “Escape rooms are about being resourceful, so maybe we’re supposed to find a light switch?”
Tentatively, we take measured steps backward until we come in contact with the door. I brush my hand along the wall. It’s uneven and bumpy.
“Anything?” he asks.
“Not yet.” I chew my lip. “Ow.” My hand hits the sharp corner of a piece of furniture.
“Ma’am. Alice. Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I shake out my hand. “I just wasn’t expecting to have something like a desk be right there.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Go ahead and use your phone. There’s no point in us stumbling around blindly if we’re going to get hurt.”
“Mm. This escape room challenge isnotimpressing me so far.” The lock screen of Art’s mobile flashes the time as 11:20 and he selects the torch icon.
Light floods the space. We’ve been placed in a circular library room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves take up every available inch of wall space, except for the door we walked through and a second door opposite where we’re standing. There’s a small L-shaped sofa in the center of the room, with a leather-bound journal placed atop one of the cushions.
“Here’s the little bugger,” Art mutters. The room is filled with the hum of electricity and an overhead chandelier clicks on. “Right. That’s one problem sorted. Now what?”
“We explore, starting with that journal.”
Crossing the room, we seat ourselves on the sofa next to one another and huddle our heads together. With shaking hands, I pick up the journal, carefully opening it. Inside are a series of handwritten notes and drawings. “Where do we even begin?”
“At the beginning?” Art suggests, subtly brushing his arm against mine. He turns the journal to the first page and begins to read. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that every couple locked in a room must be in want of a way out.” He glances at me. “What do you suppose that means? Of course we want to leave the room.”
“A truth universally acknowledged... Why is that line so familiar?”
“It’s a take on the first line ofPride and Prejudice.”
“That’s right!” I snap my fingers together. My attention darts to the shelves of book. “Maybe that means our next clue is in a copy of P and P or another Jane Austen book.” I jump to my feet. “See if you can find one.”
“As you wish.” Hebows.
I giggle and playfully push his shoulders. We pick opposite ends of the room and begin scanning the collection of books. There’s an eclectic mix of titles ranging from children’s fairy tales by Hans Christian Anderson to modern-day biographies on celebrities, like my brother.
“Do you think they picked up whatever books were in the bargain bin at Waterstones or Oxfam to fill the shelves?” I ask.
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Any luck yet?”
“I’ve foundNorthanger AbbyandMansfield Parkso far. Nothing inside them.”
“Keep looking.” I kneel down and begin investigating the books on the lowest shelf. It bothers me to no end that there is no order to these books. At the very least they should be sorted by size or title, not haphazardly tossed together. The organizational side of my brain is fighting the urge to do it.
“Eureka! I have it!”
I drop the books in my hands and dart over to Art. “Open it!” I urge.
“It looks like there’s a letter.” He breaks the seal of a yellowing parchment envelope to reveal a second message in swirly, elegant cursive writing. “The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.”
