Page 11 of Under Locke & Key
The mixture of starlight and headlights on 270 flicker over the car, the whoosh of tires loud against the asphalt. So ironic.
“That’s kind of heavy-handed, don’t you think?” I glance over at my friend, at his bushy dark curls and the boyish mischief on his face that he never quite outgrew.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Hmm.”
Logan turns on the radio, the car filling with some indie song I’ve never heard but that he’s likely ahead of the curve on. The silence between us is familiar—comfortable—and it’s such a relief not to have to scramble to fill it.
Nearly two decades of friendship smoothes any rough edges of expectation and I let my mind still as we leave Dulaney behind for something busier—closer to the capital. When we pull into the industrial building that’s part brewery, part entertainment, Logan turns to me and I prepare myself.
“I might have invited a few people.”
Oh no.
“How many?”
I don’t need to pretend in front of Logan but the thought of having to put on a brave face in front of others holds no appeal.
“Two. James from college and our neighbor, Kate.”
James was pretty chill from what I remember. Kate is a new entity entirely and I can only brace myself before we enter. They’ve got a table already, laden with nachos and a flight that I find out is mine.
“We didn’t know what you like so we figured we’d get a variety.” James's smile is kind, cutting into his bronze cheeks. I haven’t seen him in about a decade since Logan’s wedding but he’s not too different from what I remember—the only change is that all of us look slightly less nerdy. Or perhaps nerd culture has become less of a deterrent as we’ve aged.
Between myself and Logan, and our weird interest in close-up magic and sleight of hand, we were given a hard time at school. College felt like a whole new world where we didn’t have to befriend whoever was in our class and could actually choose to hang out with people that had similar interests—not just a question of proximity for five days a week.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Sipping the first—a sour with a fruity undertone—the cold beer snakes down my throat and silences my mind enough that I can enjoy this moment.
Nachos and beer, and the rest of them chatting in a comfortable groove tells me this isn’t the first time they’ve all hung out together. I am the outlier here, looking in.
Within thirty minutes my flight is done and the beer has started going to my head. We’ve polished off the nachos and I’ve learned a few things about the group I’ve been dragged into.
Kate’s ex-girlfriend is now dating one of their mutual friends. James is thinking about proposing to his college sweetheart and when Kate hits him with “What the fuck, dude? You’ve been holding off for over ten years?” I can’t help but agree.
But then again, jumping in quickly just ended in divorce for me, so who am I to say what works and doesn’t.
“Logan told us a little about your situation. Tough break, man.” James lifts his glass in commiseration for me to clink my own against—though mine is mostly just froth at this point.
“Yeah . . . I didn’t really see it coming and we just had our final walkthrough of the house, which was brutal. She kind of laid into me saying how meek and disappointing I was.”
I shrug because it’s not far off. “She’s right.”
The words taste bitter on my tongue and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. Saying it out loud is harder than I anticipated.
“You are so much better than she deserves. Don’t let her win. She doesn’t get to define you. If that’s not who you want to be, then fix it. Be successful without her and then rub her damn face in it.” Kate’s words are harsher than I’ve considered. Revenge wasn’t high up on my list but as the night drags on and the drinks hit me harder, the anger outweighs the depression.
Kate’s got a point. Stephanie doesn’t have to win. I can turn things around for myself. With or without her.
Before I can get too in my head about it, our server closes out the tab and ushers us toward the “fun” side of the space.
There are air hockey tables, a couple of old arcade games, and a hallway that leads down toward the escape room.
“You are stuck in a snowstorm—your car is out of gas—and come across a cabin in the woods. Once you got inside the door shut and locked behind you. If you don’t find the key to get out and the tank of gas to fill your car with, you’ll be frozen inside.” A bored employee drones on about how we have sixty minutes to escape, three hints, and if we need help (or mess with their equipment) they will speak to us through the intercom. We step into the room and the door clicks shut behind us, and although we’ve been assured it’s not actually locked, my anxiety ticks up.
The room is small, vinyl floors that have been covered up with a plain carpet to make the space less obviously industrial. Wallpaper murals of logs line all four walls to make it look like we are in a cabin but one wall has started to peel in the corner, exposing a Pepto-Bismol pink paint beneath it.
“Okay. Let’s see what we can shake loose,” Logan says and each of us heads into a corner of the room, tugging at box lids and drawers.
