“And they wanted us trapped,” Charlie adds.
“Not a very good trap, though,” I tell her.
“Why? We can’t get out. I’d say that’s a good trap,” she counters, as the door rolls open and the lights blink back on.
Charlie is surprised. I’m not.
“Yoo-hoo!” Ian Turner’s cheerful voice calls out.
“We’re back here,” I respond, helping Charlie to her feet before navigating the maze of boxes.
I still feel too exposed, like my thoughts and fears were too close to spilling out of my mind, filling up this storage unit and another.
“Someone locked us in,” Charlie says as we approach the front, Ian in sight.
“Huh?” He puts his hands on his hips.
“She’s right – there’s no way the door closed and the lights shut off on their own.”
“Looks like we have another set of security cameras to hack.” Ian shakes his head and turns back the way he came.
“How did he know we were in here?” Charlie asks me.
“My tracking dot. I hit the alarm on it as soon as the lights went out,” I explain.
“Tracking dot?” Charlie asks.
“Oh right.” I haven’t told her about this yet. “I have a tracking dot on me at all times.” She nods, accepting this. “We should probably get one for you too,” I add.
At this, Charlie crosses her arms and scowls at me. “I don’t plan on being trapped in any more storage units any time soon,” she announces.
Do I have to say the quiet part out loud? That she’s in danger because she works for FIRE and by putting any effort into stopping the Order?
Before I can warn her, she is already down the hallway, putting distance between us as quickly as she can. She may not want to heed my warnings, but I think we just had our own team-bonding moment. An escape room without any cheesy prize at the end. We stuck together as a team, didn’t argue, and made it out the other side. Charlie is my colleague, an equal – and maybe a friend.
23
CHARLIE
Beep-beep-beep.
My alarm clock reminds me of the poor choice I made yesterday. Or, well, a good choice, I guess. To get up at 6 a.m. and go for a run. I slide into my shorts and sports bra. And my shoes.
They’re well worn, these sworn enemies. Stored in a box at the top of my closet, I couldn’t leave them behind. They’re a part of me. Is this how an addict feels? It’s so easy to make the wrong choice, the bad decision. So close to getting that runner’s high once more. The action that you know will hurt you. And yet . . .
The irony of my life is that the things everyone else is prescribed, I’ve been told to avoid.
I guess I’ve been feeling it for a while. Sensing it was time to try again. Yesterday, being locked in that storage unit made me realize I can’t spend the rest of my life being afraid of my own body. Weak and cowering.
I pull the box open and peek inside. There they are: bold blue with pink accents worn from hours in the sun. The smell hits me first. The distinct odor of every puddle of rainwater they’ve been through, of the mud caked on, dried, and flaked off. My sweat mixed in with each aroma. To me, it’s a smell of freedom. Of a defined trail through the woods that demands my presence, my commitment. The tingle at the start line knowing I’m about to push myself again. The dopamine rush when I cross the finish line.
It’s a dangerous aroma. Like a grieving ex-girlfriend who breathes in her lover’s cologne. The sense-memory too strong.
I slip on my old sneakers and promise myself I won’t push it. Won’t fall over into my old ways. Just one mile. Just one run. I’m a recovering type-A athlete.Can I really limit myself ?Only one way to find out.
A text from Ana flashes on my phone.
Ana Alonso
