Page 110 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“Over here, we have the blow dryer. And if you want to fetch your toothbrush from your room, you can brush here with running water. The dental floss is beside the toothpaste, and if you need a beaker…”

Peter tapped his watch. “Tick tock, Emma. You both get fifteen extra minutes since it’s Noelle’s first time, but that’s all. I have a function to attend this evening.”

I’d hoped he’d leave, but no, he leaned against the doorjamb, watching. Waiting. Emma was clearly used to it because she dropped her robe without hesitation, then nodded at me.

“Do you mind if I go first? My hair’s thicker than yours, and it takes ages to dry.”

“Go ahead.”

I brushed my teeth, stalling for time, searching the wall in front of me for any sign of the escape tunnel Josie had claimed was here. About two feet square, she’d said. Somebody had painted, but not recently, and yellowed paint peeled off in flakes, making the job even more difficult. Nothing. I could see nothing. No crack, no seam, no change in texture. And as Emma turned the heat up, steam rolled through the air, and I almost cried.

Athumpsounded, then a gasp, and I turned to see purple conditioner splattered all over the shower.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I dropped it.”

“You need to be more careful, Emma. I only have one bottle spare.”

“We can manage without.”

“No, no. I’ll get it.”

Peter disappeared, and Emma jumped out of the shower. “Quick, get in before that fucker comes back.”

“Huh?”

“You were looking uncomfortable, so I got rid of him for a few minutes. If you turn the heat up as hot as you can bear, he can’t see much through the steam.”

She’d done what? Emma had sacrificed her dignity for me? She clenched her teeth, somehow looking determined and defeated at the same time.

“Quick!”

I dropped my bathrobe and leapt into the shower cubicle. The glass door didn’t shut properly, and the whole thing looked to have been built by a drunken monkey with no plumbing qualifications whatsoever. Peter had just shoved a shower tray into a corner and cobbled together some piping and a heating unit that ran off a portable gas canister connected by a rubber pipe. For a moment, I wondered if we could blow the place up, but we’d all die too, which kind of defeated the purpose.

The water was blessedly warm, and after a week of festering in my own sweat, the shower felt better than it should have. I grabbed a bottle of shampoo, but as I straightened up, I saw the faintest crack in the wall. A line, too straight to be a natural imperfection. Ohmigosh! I’d found it. I’d found the freaking exit. I tapped on that section with my knuckles, detecting where the hidden door ended and solid concrete began. Yes, about two feet square. I gave it a thump. Nothing. It didn’t budge, not even a little.

So I kicked it and hurt my foot.

Dammit.

If I couldn’t break through the wall today, another week would pass, another girl might get taken, and Peter would probably fracture one of my toes.

I poked my head out of the shower door.

“Uh, Emma?”

She looked around from her spot by the sink.

“I realise we’ve barely met, and this might sound crazy, but could you help me to pick up that gas canister?”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t ask me how I know, but there’s a hidden passage in here, and we need to use the canister to break through the wall.”

“You’re right. Thatiscrazy.”

“If we don’t do this right now, Peter’s going to come back and it’ll be too late.”

“Are you really dating my brother?”

---