Page 54 of Victorious Vice

And then quickly again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Oh my God. Why didn’t I notice this before?

It’s Morse code. SOS. Three shorts, three longs, and then another three shorts. Someone is in this room.

Do I knock on the wall? Do I dare make any noise?

I fumble around in the dark, moving against the wall, looking for a doorknob.

There isn’t one.

“Who’s there?” I whisper as harshly as I can.

But no way are they going to be able to hear me.

So I knock on the wall. Lightly at first.

Nothing.

Then I knock again, this time louder.Knock. Knock. Knock.

And then…

“Is…someone there?”

The tone is weak, and the voice is scratchy. It’s female, and it sounds like an older woman. An elderly woman, even.

Perhaps the old woman whose photograph has haunted me since the plane ride to Colombia?

How do I respond?

“Yes. I’m a friend. Here to help you out.”

She doesn’t respond. Maybe she didn’t hear me.

I walk along the wall until I get to the back of the house. And?—

“Yes!” I whisper.

It’s a door. A slider, and it’s locked, of course, but at least I know how I can get in.

On a whim, I try the key Daniela gave me. It doesn’t work.

“Hello,” I say. “Can you hear me?”

“Are you really here to help me?”

“Yes, I am. Can you open the door?”

“It’s locked,” she says.

I sigh. Of course it is.

I look around with something to unlock the door with. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I spy a rusted toolbox. I approach it and crack open the lid. The tools are as rusty as the old metal box. Pliers, a hammer, lots of screws and nuts…and a long screwdriver. I can use it to jimmy the lock.

I return to the door and kneel to start working the lock. The faint sound of metal grating on metal fills the air as I gently maneuver the screwdriver, attempting to unlatch the bolt that seals the door shut.

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