It was a short stretch between the two rooms, but the duct creaked and groaned with every shift of his weight. Silently, he hoped the loud music would mask his travel. The space was tight even for his trim physique, and twice he found himself on the verge of hyperventilating as claustrophobia, a condition he’d never before suffered from, tried to take root. When at last he reached the other end, he found the cover fit more snugly. Laying prone, he grasped the slats, pressing his fingertips between them. The edges were painful against his tender flesh, but he was feeling desperate to get out of the passageway. Pushing gently at one side then the other, Trevin worked the cover loose. It released so suddenly, it slipped from his fingers, falling towards the filing cabinet below. Trevin stretched out his hand, terrified he wouldn’t catch metal square in time and it would crash to the floor, alerting every clown in the place, but, by some miracle, he caught it. Stunned, he froze for a breath, the cover swinging from his fingertips. Pulling himself together, he adjusted his grip and lifted the piece onto the top of the cabinet to the left of the opening.
Looking out of the orifice, he realized had no idea how to get down without falling flat on his face and breaking his neck in the process. Getting out would be much harder than getting in had been. After a moment of careful deliberation, an idea formed in his mind.
From the time he was six until his eighteenth birthday, his mother, a generous but overbearing woman, had insisted that he take Gymnastics twice a week to “improve agility, flexibility, and muscle tone.” Trevin had hated it. By the time he was twelve, his friends were all playing baseball, football, and soccer, games he too wanted to play but, because the practices interfered with Gymnastics, he was unable to enjoy. Now, as he prepared himself for what he was about to do, he couldn’t help but think that his mother may have been right.
Inching forward through the vent, Trevin used the filing cabinets to brace himself as he slinked
out of the duct, carefully curling himself until his back lay across the cabinet. Using his glutes, abs, and leg muscles he pulled his legs through the opening, keeping them erect enough to prevent his feet from hitting the panels. It was slow and agonizing, calling on muscle control he hadn’t used in many months. At last free of the vent, he rested atop the cabinets while he caught his breath. After years of forced lessons, he’d finally found a reason to be thankful for them.
Rested, he lowered himself to the floor. Moving forward in a crouched position to stay below the windows, he made his way across the floor, pausing only once to peek out the two-way-mirror looking for the clowns. The mirror gave a full view of most of the store. Persons in the office could see out, but unless a person was standing up against the glass, no one could see in. To Trevin’s horror, the clowns were everywhere, he counted at least ten scattered around the store, breaking things and slicing each other.
Blood streaked across the surface of the counters, dripping from the shelves, and pooling on the floor. Clumps of flesh, remnants of pre-regeneration, were visible in the pools. Trevin shuddered. If they kept attacking each other, there would be hundreds of them by morning.
Staying low, he made his way to the desk. Both office chairs had castors on their feet. This coupled with the tiled flooring had Trevin hesitant to move them. If the clowns could hear them talking to each other through a metal door, or across the parking lot, he was sure they would hear him moving them about. Being careful not to knock them, he squeezed in between the seats to get a look at the computer.
Nervously, he glanced back at the office door. It occurred to him that he hadn’t checked the lock. If he did knock a chair or call attention to himself in some other way, he wanted to make it as hard as possible for the clowns to get to him.
Moving silently across the floor in his crouched position, he slipped back to the door. It was unlocked. Holding the knob to prevent it from rattling, he slowly turned the lock until he felt it click into place. With a mental sigh of relief, he released the handle.
A quick glance up stopped him cold. A clown stood with its face pressed against the glass. Trevin held his breath as it rattled the doorknob that, not two seconds before, had been unlocked in Trevin’s hand.
Terrified, he hunched below the window, keeping as still as possible, hoping the coating on the glass would prevent the clown from seeing him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The muscles in his thighs began to quiver and shake. Just when he thought he’d collapse, the clown face disappeared from the window. Placing his ear against the cool metal of the door, he could hear the faint scuffing of it shuffling away.
With relief flooding his system, he stretched out on the floor mindless of the sprinkling of dirt accumulated there. There was no telling how long it had been since the floor had been mopped. He tried not to think about it.
Stretching, flexing, relaxing, he worked the cramps from his legs. When they had stopped twitching, he rolled back into a crouch and returned to the desk. Nimbly he snatched the phone from its charging dock and dialed his cell phone. Stacy answered on the first ring.