The problem with having an entire afternoon to write is that it feels as if the writing then has to be perfect. I mean, there was all this time!
But I remind myself that this is a rough draft. Rough. Lots of changes will happen before the end. And there’s no such thing as perfect.
Thanks for reading!
Nate remained on the floor, but he turned his head enough to focus on Hannah. “Han,” he whispered.
She turned away and pulled open the door to the basement stairs. The old woman dashed to her side, leaving Nate, dazed and wounded. The old woman shoved Hannah aside and slammed the door shut. “Lock it,” she said.
“What? I don’t have a key,” Hannah replied.
“We won’t get through this if you don’t think. You’ve got a lockpick. Use it.”
“Will that work?” Hannah had never considered locking a door with her lock picking skills.
“Make it work. Before that stupid boy or anyone else follows us.”
Hannah knelt down at the keyhole. “He’s not stupid.” But she thought about Nate, and she knew she liked him for his tough talk and dark eyes. His intelligence came scattershot.
“I’ve known men whose minds cut through the veils of the universe. That boy isn’t fit to cut butter for my toast.”
The lock dropped into place. “You don’t even know him.” Hannah stood.
“I saw him watching Security subdue a patient, and I saw him tackle you without thinking.”
“Yes, but…” A pounding on the door made Hannah jump. Nate’s voice, muffled, came through the heavy metal door. He seemed to call her name, but it was hard to sure.
“Don’t waste yourself on a boy who needs you to make excuses for him. Now move. We’re wasting time.”
Hannah followed the old woman down the stairs. “I don’t even know your name.”
“You knowing my name is too binding. Nothing good can come of it.” They reached the basement door. “We don’t know what or who will be inside, so be prepared.”
“I was in here earlier. No one else was there.”
“You’re not young enough to believe that nothing changes when you’re not looking.” The old woman opened the basement door.