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My teeth grind together as I work to keep the calm I’m so desperately clinging to.
Think, Savannah. How do you get through a door?
I’ve never picked a lock before, but it can’t be that hard. It’s simple mechanics. Right?
I mean sure, I don’t have anything on me to pick a lock with, and I know jackshit about the mechanics of a door lock, but maybe I can figure out something. I’m a smart person.
I bend down to look at the keyhole, as though it will give me insight, and blink. Because there isn’t one. No keyhole or slot of any sort.
Tipping my head, I stare at the little black touch pad thing above the handle. Same as the one King used to open the front door and the door to this room.
I roll my lips together. This is a stupid idea. Obviously, my print isn’t uploaded as an approved user, or whatever it’d be called, but not trying seems just as stupid. Becausewhat if…
Staying in a bend, in case there might be something to see, I gently press my thumb against the pad.
And nothing.
No sounds of it working. No lights to indicate that it’s scanning.
But one and a half seconds after placing my thumb in the square, a sharp jolt of electricity zaps up my arm, scaring the shit out of me and making me fall onto my butt.
I yelp on the way down, the pain in my tailbone matched by the tingling in my thumb.
“You cannot be serious.” I shake my hand to disperse the pain. “This cannot be my life.”
Whatever the hell that thing is, it must’ve zapped my brain, because now I’m pissed.
That little shock should probably make me more scared, considering this place is wired up like a damn dinosaur pen, but I’m not. I’m furious.
Slapping my hands onto the perfectly waxed wood floor, I shove myself up.
“Don’t want me to open the door with the handle? Fine. I’ll find another way.” I stomp to the bookcase, ignoring the titles I recognize as books I’ve read and liked, and focus on the statues. I debate for a second between a finely carved mermaid made from Jade and a marble bust of Darwin. “A man got me into this, a man can get me out of it,” I grumble, hoping I don’t lose this battle ofsurvival of the fittest, and yank the old dude off the shelf.
I use both hands to test its weight, confirming that it’s probably just as expensive as it looks.
Not allowing myself to overthink the possible consequences, I take two quick steps towards the French doors, aiming for one of the large pieces of glass, and throw Charles.
My momentum moves me another step closer, and I start to squint my eyes in preparation for the shattered glass. But instead of flying through the glass, the marble bust bounces off.
I yelp, again, and jump to the side, just in time to avoid getting my toes crushed in the world’s dumbest example of a Darwin Award.
The anger inside me amplifies.
“No!”
I don’t know if I’m scolding the scientist or the glass, but I can’t accept this.
I pick the bust back up, find the pointiest part of the base, and swing it like an ax.
Nothing.
Not even a chip in the glass.
Shrieking, I strike the glass again and again, only getting more furious when the marble doesn’t even scratch theclearly-not-fucking-glassin front of me.
“Would now be a good time to tell you that all the windows in this house are shatter proof?” The sound of King’s voice has me whirling around, to find him leaning against the doorframe. “Bulletproof too, if you happen to have a gun tucked away somewhere.”
“Let me go!” I yell, my throat hurting from all the screaming I’ve already done.
