Page 40 of The Intruder

I shake my head. “No, I’m not doing that.”

“But I showed you how to pick the lock. You should be able to—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

Anton rubs his chin. “What if I got my little brother to lock the door, and I’ll stay in the closet with you?”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, he’d be into helping. He’s got a crush on you or something.”

I’m not thrilled about this idea. I don’t want to voluntarily get locked in a closet after everything I’ve been through. Yet he’s right. If I want to learn how to do this, I have to do it all the way. It’s not a very useful skill if I can only pick a lock on an open door.

“Fine,” I agree. “Only if you’re with me.”

Even so, I’ve got this bad feeling in my chest when Anton and I get into the closet. Same as in my hall closet, there’s a pull string to turn on the light, and just like in my closet, it’s still really dark. But at least it isn’t full of junk. It’s mostly clothing and shoes. And instead of rotting fruit, it smells like Anton—maybe his laundry detergent—which is not so bad.

Brad locks the door to the closet and then leaves us to it. The second I hear the lock turn, my stomach drops. A cold sweat breaks out on my palms. I try to stick the paper clip in the lock, but before I can even get it in, I drop it.

“Sorry,” I mumble as I fumble around the floor, searching for the tiny metal rod even though it’s hard to see what I’m doing.

Anton crouches down beside me and helps me look. It’s a tiny space, and his arm and knee keep bumping against me. He finds the clip first. He holds it up to the dim light, then hands it over to me. “Do it just like you did with the door open,” he says.

Easy for him to say.

My hands are so sweaty, I’m scared I’m going to drop the paper clip again. It’s a miracle when I manage to fit it into the hole. But my heart won’t stop beating quickly, and I’m having trouble focusing.

And then I start smelling something sweet and rancid.

Anton does not have any rotten peaches in his closet. I know that. I have never smelled them before in his room, so I recognize this is all my imagination. But it feels really real. It permeates my nostrils like the fruit is right in front of me. And I feel that same panic that I feel when I’m in my closet at home. I start to gasp for air.

“I…I don’t think I can…” I pause to wipe my hands on my jeans. “I don’t think I can do this, Anton. I need to get out of here.”

“Ella.” Anton drops a hand onto my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. How is he so calm? “Don’t give up. You can do this. You just did it before. Three times.”

“No,” I whisper. “I can’t…”

“You can,” he insists. “You got this.”

“I don’t got this.”

“I swear, you do.” He squeezes my shoulder again. “Ella, you’re the most badass girl I know. You gave Devin a concussion and saved my ass. Because of you, my dad has been puking all week, and he poured his whiskey and bourbon down the drain. You can do this.”

He’s right—I did it before and I can do it again. Besides, I need to learn to help myself. It’s not like anyone is ever going to come rescue me.

Anton keeps giving me words of encouragement, and after another sixty seconds, I hear a click. The door to the closet is open. I can’t even believe it.

“You did it!” Anton cries.

At first, I think he’s going to give me another high five, and I’m waiting for it, but then he surprises me by throwing his arms around me. I’m so surprised, I just stand there, stiff as a board, while I guess he’s hugging me. My mom isn’t a hugger. I can’t even remember the last time she hugged me. Maybe in his house, hugs are more normal? Although looking at his mom and from what he has told me about his dad, I kind of doubt it. Anyway, he quickly realizes he got carried away and backs off, his face all pink.

“Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have…”

“That’s okay.”