May 18th.


This is getting harder and harder. Chemo isn’t helping. But whatever mess I’m making, I’ll sort out later. I’m just glad to have something to keep me writing. Otherwise, I’d be more of a blob.

Hannah landed in the basement, though she didn’t know that’s what it was. Lockers filled much of the space. Poor light cast shadows every which way.

She crouched down and listened. Looking up, she saw the hole she’d gone through. Perhaps it was a laundry chute. It didn’t matter. She had to find a place to hide. They weren’t going to stop looking for her after all.

What, she wondered, things did these lockers hold? She ran her hand down the nearest one. The bags and lunches of the employees or treasures from the patients? In prisons the guards took away the prisoners’ belongings. They probably did the same in this place.

Hannah took out her lockpick, glad she’d not dropped it in her mad run. In the first locker she opened hung a red hooded cape. The fabric felt soft and velvet. The next locker contained a hair comb. Such a small thing in the large space.

She had to either find a hiding place or a way back to her rope, but she kept opening lockers. Jewels spilled from some. Several had fanciful shoes. She determined to open every single one.

With each locker she opened, the patients grew more restless trapped in their rooms. Most were now out of their beds. Several readied themselves to run if anyone should open their door.


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