Loud. Metallic.
Behind me, the office door had locked.
My stomach tightened.
I turned around. I looked at the door. At the little brass deadbolt that had just slid shut by itself.
“Sir?” I said.
He leaned toward me across the counter.
“Where is your husband?” he asked.
His voice was low. Urgent.
“Outside,” I said. “Why?”
The clerk’s face had turned pale. Paler than before.
“Did he go into the service closet?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I left him at the end of the hallway,” I said. “By the… by the door. The white one. He tried the handle. It was locked.”
The clerk closed his eyes.
He whispered something under his breath. I couldn’t make it out. It sounded like a name.
Ezoic
Then he picked up the phone. An old beige one with a curly cord. He dialed three numbers.
Three numbers.
I started toward the door.
