I take a breath, trying to calm my irrational fears, and grab the door handle.
It doesn’t give.
Fuck fuck fuck!
I rattle it frantically, as if I’ve somehow forgotten how a door works, as if I’ll find it magically unlocked. Modern locks are one thing, but I’ve never picked something like this, and any second now, I’m going to be doing it in the dark.
I shut off my phone’s screen and take a few deep breaths. Panicking is not going to fix anything. I take out my pocketknife and find the pick by touch. Picking a lock doesn’t require seeing what you’re doing, anyway. It’s all about feeling what you’re doing, and I’m perfectly capable of that. I slide it into the lock and stark poking around, trying to find the locking mechanism.
That’s when I hear a scuffling noise somewhere below me. I freeze, my blood running cold.
“Did you hear that?” asks a familiar, New York-accented voice. “There must be a mouse down here.”
“Or maybe a rat,” answers another, similar voice. A second later, a flashlight beam falls on me.
I cringe instinctually, too caught up in my fear to play it cool and act tough.
“See?” Baron says. “A rat.”
“Whatcha doing there, Jailbird?” Duke asks, a taunt in his voice. “Leaving so soon?”