“It’s an old phone,” Trevin said with a shrug. “Mom’s making me buy my own replacement. I can’t afford it yet.”
Jadine dialed 9-1-1, not sure she’d be able to hear them over the music but unwilling to turn it down. She listened for a moment, then held it out for the other two to hear the message.
“All emergency circuits are busy at this time. Please, try your call again.”
Jadine hit the end button. The dismay she felt was echoed on the faces of her co-workers. The whole town seemed to be in trouble. Was it from the snow or were there more clowns out there somewhere? She kept the musing in her head.
“Okay, plan B.” Jadine turned her attention to Stacy. “Do you think you can talk Trevin through the process over the phone?”
“Um … maybe. Yeah, I think so,” she said with a shrug. “Either way, I think we should give it a try.”
Both women looked at Trevin who shook his head.
“Oh, no,” Trevin said again.
“Come on, Trevin,” Stacy said, pleadingly. “This could be our way out.”
“Think of it this way,” Jadine added. “When we get out of here, you’ll be the big hero.”
“If we get out of here,” Trevin muttered.
“When we get out of here,” Stacy emphasized. “Come on, Trevin. Our lives depend on you.”
“You’re not helping,” Trevin whispered backing away.
While Jadine waited for him to make the right choice, she prepared by bringing over a chair and placing it under the vent. It wasn’t easy to do quietly with the partition of chairs stretched across the room, but she managed. Afterward she pressed her ear to the door, listening for the clown. With the music up loud enough to cover their conversation, it was difficult to hear anything going on outside the room.
As if he could hear her thoughts, and maybe he could, the clown began tearing at the door where she rested against it. The knife scratched and thudded again and again as if the holder thought he might force it through the metal and into her head. Jadine pushed away from the door. Pressing trembling fingers to her lips, she fought to swallow the cry poised to leap from them.
“Whatever we’re going to do,” she whispered to her co-workers a moment later, “we need to do it now.”
“Okay. I’ll do it,” Trevin said fishing a thin strip of leather from his pocket. Quickly he pulled his hair back from his face and secured it with the strap. Jadine smiled but kept her mouth shut.
“If I don’t make it,” he said quietly, “I fully expect you to paint me as a hero any way.”
“You are a hero, Trevin,” Stacy said, kissing his cheek.
“Don’t patronize me,” he said, blushing. “I know my role in this relationship.”
He readjusted the chair slightly before climbing onto it.
“Hey.” Jadine tugged at his pant leg. Trevin knelt to hear her. “When you get over there, call us from the office phone and Stacy will walk you through the process. Any questions?”
“Nope.” Trevin shook his head. Standing back up, he gripped the slats of the metal vent cover and gave a tug. It slid off easily in a shower of dust. Trevin ducked his head waiting for it all to settle, hoping he wouldn’t start sneezing. Or worse, coughing.
Below him, the women did the same, waving away the most stubborn motes when they refused to dissipate. The two took their places at the sides of the chair to hold it tight while Trevin stood on it.
“Well, here goes nothing,” he mumbled to himself, handing the cover to Jadine, who propped it against the wall. With trepidation, he grabbed the sides of the vent and hauled himself into the mouth. Bracing his heels against the back of the chair, he wormed himself through the opening.