CELL

/ THIRTY EIGHT /

"You're shitting me."

Ryan wasn't aware he'd spoken but, if he had, that would have been the phrase of choice. There hadn't been any thoughts of what he might find when he reached his forthcoming destination, but the cavernous room could not have been among them.

Perhaps it might have been another records archive. He might have chanced upon one of the rooms Bradley had taken him to. A server room. A toilet. A changing room, filled with overalls he could don to blend in and aid his escape. So many choices.

But no.

The grill was held in place by four clips, the type that could be turned from the outside to grip on the inside. He looked through the horizontal metal slats to see if there was anyone close by, such as his welcome party, before carefully pushing at the clips, starting at the top. He wanted the opportunity, at least, to be able to control the grill's release. If he'd attempted the bottom ones first, the top two would have been redundant and the clattering of the cover landing on the floor would have echoed loudly across the room. There'd be no hiding then.

He pushed his left ring finger, the only one that would fit between the slats, through them to hold the grill in place as he cautiously released it. When all the clips were turned, he gritted his teeth, expecting it to slip down, with his finger only taking the weight enough for his right hand to grab it. Or to break the finger from the unexpectedly excessive weight. When it didn't move, he sighed.

Nothing is straightforward. Now he'd have to push, increasing the risk of losing it to gravity. Wonderful.

He pushed, but the grill refused to budge.

Shit. What now? He couldn't turn himself around to kick it free. There wasn't room, and he didn't was to announce his presence. He could pretend he was still acting autonomously if they were going to pretend they had yet to find him.

Then...

Damn.

Idiot.

He hadn't taken enough notice of the grill's design, assuming it opened outwards – or inwards if you were in the room. His assumption was wrong. The clips must have been double sided, with an identical part positioned on the other side. Ince undone, it was released into the vent. It made sense, really. If the opening was at height, the person opening it wouldn't have to manhandle something heavy and awkward, taking it down their ladder before having to climb up again to do their work. No one would be expected on the other wise, so laying it down within the vent was the best option.

Well, it worked for him. He mouthed a silent thank you to whichever genius came up with the idea, then pulled. The grill came away easily. It was light and he could set it against the vent's side with little unwanted sound. Crawling past it was preferable to crawling over.

OK.

Next.

Ryan held his breath and counted to ten, a number that meant nothing but seemed adequate, listening. He could feel the heavy air from the room seeping in around him. It carried an odd odour that left a sour taste and made the inside of his nose itch. The weight of it pressed down upon him, though air should be weightless, with the imposing imminence of what he was about to enter into.

Hesitance was cast aside before it could stall him, and he slid forwards.

There was a drop too high for him to go fully headfirst out of the vent, so he had to manoeuvre himself around to a precarious sitting position, using his ankles as an anchor to prevent him from falling. Hoping his arms were as strong as his legs, he planted his palms against the vent's innards and slowly eased his legs out, one by one. He managed to extricate himself and move his upper body back into the opening without falling, but needed a few seconds to catch his errant breath.