Gambit 1 - Dissonance

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On the third morning of the trip, I finally got away from him. If only for an hour.

The night before, we checked into some low budget hotel. True to his word, he immediately claimed the bathroom to shower. Because of course we shared a room. He would have pitched it as financially responsible to Boss, like the rest of the trip. That "alone" time was spent feeling sick to my stomach as I sat on the edge of the bed closest to the door.

I debated whether I would hide in the bathroom when he got out. I needed real sleep. It was hard to guess whether that was more likely to happen in a bed a few feet from him or laying on cold tile behind the security of a locked door.

Switch left the shower whistling some unknown pop tune. He grabbed the remote from inside the wooden tv cabinet. As he hopped onto the free bed, the news appeared on the screen. I thought that meant we would sit in silence.

The small talk started.

I stood up stiffly, grabbed a pillow from what could have been my bed, and made my way to the bathroom. He tsked. "I guess we can talk in the morning. Night."

Something came out of my mouth in response. It may not have been a real word. My mind focused on the task at hand. Open door. Enter cell. Close door. The indescribable, satisfying relief of the lock turning.

His used towel and the damp bathmat covered the floor. Draping them over the tub, I dropped my pillow in their place. I did not sleep well that night, but I did at least sleep.

The third time I woke up shivering, it was 6AM. Late enough that I could wander around the hotel and not look like a creep. I sat up slowly, rubbing a pulled muscle in my neck. Luckly, I was able to massage it into silence. It only hurt when I turned my head too far to the right.

And now for the impossible mission: leaving undetected. With a cat burglar's precision, I silently unlocked the door. I nudged it a fraction of an inch from its shut position, waiting for a trap to spring.

Yesterday, I had opened the door without thinking. His hairbrush had tumbled off the door frame, clattering onto the floor and scaring the goddamn shit out of me. That was what I swore at the time too. All the noise woke him up. Exactly as planned. I knew what to expect this time. The question was: how would I stop it?

I wiggled the door back and forth. Nothing. I pushed it a little more, sneaking my fingers around the frame. They probed for the brush or any other booby traps. Nothing. No objects. No string. No tape. Maybe he had put something on the doorknob? I would need to get my whole hand through to check that.

A few more careful inches of opening. My hand snaked through and touched the knob. Nothing. I felt around blindly, eventually finding the counter. Everything seemed fine there too. Reluctantly, I slinked out of the bathroom. Nothing happened.

I listened closely. His breathing, slow and predictable, proved he was asleep. Or at least that he was faking it well. Step by step, I made it passed the sink counter, still searching for traps. Nothing was out of order.

By the time I reached the door to the hallway, I was furious that he had done nothing. That he had cultivated this paranoia in me but did not have the decency to be consistent about his tactics. But consistency would prove he was walking evil. Anything can happen once by mistake. By accident. His M.O. was plausible deniability.

I rested my hand on the exit door's deadbolt. No matter how slowly I turned it, it still made a sliding noise. It clicked when the pin disengaged from its trap in the doorframe. I paused, fixated on his breathing. The last hurdle was the light column that would come in from the hallway when the door opened. Pushing down on the handle, I prayed that the room's layout would prevent any light from falling on him.

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