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Air. I flung open the door and staggered into the hall. With my back against the wall, I took in hyper breaths and tried to clear my head. The elevator sounded another warning bell. Someone was getting off on the floor. Unable to face that black room, I fled down the hall, hoping for any unlocked door. I disappeared behind the first that yielded.
Inside, I leaned my back against the door, pulse drumming in my ears. This place had more locks than San Quentin. The air smelled chemically fluorescent and produced a dull ache in my head. Orchids fanned in front of a mirror that reflected a trio of urinals. I cracked the door and squinted into the outer hall. Footsteps pounded down the corridor as two security guards dashed full tilt past me.
I sealed the door shut and raced by the urinals into the corner stall. I needed a place to think. Think, think. Trembling, I rifled through my purse for my tranquilizers. The contents of my bag spilled and scattered like billiard balls across the bathroom floor. The bottle bounced off the toilet seat, and I watched the precious pills cascade into the bowl. I sank as the tiny tablets settled into the canal of the toilet. I plunged my hand into the water to salvage just one pill. They turned to sand in my fingers.
“The cameras picked her up here,” a voice boomed from the outside hall. I heard the door open, followed by the echo of footsteps against the tile. I crouched beside the toilet, water dripping cold from my hand.
A man spoke, his voice calm and even. “She’s not going anywhere. We’ve got her.”
