Whodunit

Chapter 2

Escaping rehab for former prisoners and juvenile delinquents should not have been this easy. But when you had a history of hiding from the laws and running from bullets with no names, hopping a few gates and skipping out on town were rookie skills.

"Sellers!"

Dmitri Sellers grimaced as he ignored the mental health technician calling his name and hid in the freezing room of his fellow St. Mercy Rehabilitative Center co-patient. The salt and pepper-haired one who snored during group therapy and yet somehow talked enough to make the session last ten minutes longer than it should. Holcomb was his name, maybe?

"Sellers!" The tech called again.

Dmitri crouched lower behind the cot. The technician's footsteps treaded near the door. Dmitri held his breath, careful not to move or make any weird shadows in the dark room. The only light shined in from the hallway, casting a strange glow near the foot of the bed.

"Sellers, you in there?" He went by Mr. Saulsberry, and he was one of the only people Dmitri liked at the musty facility.

Over the last three weeks, they'd built a trustful relationship, which explained how Dmitri manipulated him so effortlessly. He hated doing it, but he refused to stay in this dump another five months and one week. Freedom was calling his name.

"Sellers?" And so was Holcomb.

Dmitri glared at Holcomb, his finger over his mouth. "Shh." He winced as he looked at the door. Thankfully, Mr. Saulsberry had moved on down the hall.

"What you doing down there? You finally ready for buddy talk?" Holcomb whispered in his thick, down south accent with a smile that was supposed to be friendly but made Dmitri's stomach churn with nausea. "I'm so darn honored you chose me to be your buddy, but don't you think this is an odd time?"

"Shh," Dmitri hushed yet again, "I'm not here to—"

"Yeah, we got a 10-98. Dmitri Sellers from the A-1 Wing," Mr. Saulsberry spoke into a walkie talkie as he walked back the way he came.

Dmitri gripped the keys he'd stolen from Mr. Saulsberry's pockets as he slept on the clock. The walkie talkie muttered something in response, but Dmitri couldn't hear what. The facility was always short-staffed at night, so Mr. Saulsberry was the only person monitoring their hall.

"10-4," Mr. Saulsberry said in the distance. He headed towards the dayroom and grew further away.

Thunder crackled over the building. Holcomb snored like a roaring train as his head rolled off the mattress, making him face to face with Dmitri. Dmitri jumped from the sudden invasion of privacy. When did Holcomb fall back asleep? Dmitri shook his head and braced himself to run. He hopped to his socks and headed to the door, stopping before he stepped into the lit hall. The underfunded building only had cameras in select places and the hallway was not one of those places. He looked both ways twice.

When he saw no one coming, he took off towards the end of the hall, careful not to let the keys jingle in his hand. He'd watch Mr. Saulsberry and the other technicians carefully over the last few weeks and had memorized which key went to which door. He unlocked the door with ease. It closed softly behind him, and he locked it from the outside. Then, he glanced to the right and sprinted towards the back door. He crouched as he passed the nurses' station. He crept along the wall without the two ladies noticing.

Finally, he made it to the backdoor of the A-wing. The workers only opened it when it was someone's turn to take out the trash or a truck arrived with supplies. Still, in such a short time, Dmitri etched the key's characteristics in his head. It was unlike the other keys with its longer stem and grooves that could cut open skin if needed as a weapon. A faded copper tint coated the metal—not the true silver and gold tint of the others.