Page 105 of The Quiet Tenant

Focus.

The truth is, neither your almost-boyfriend nor the YouTube man did a great job at explaining how locks work. In their demonstrations, there always came a point when they had to surrender to the mystery of it. Magical thinking at play. Put the tools into place with your rational mind, then let your heart take over.

You have to work on the lock like someone might work on a person. Getting to know it, getting it to open bit by bit.

No turning back. No setbacks. Every inch, every victory, has to be won forever.

Something inside the handcuffs almost yields. Your heart races. You breathe. Keep working.

The cuff slips from your wrist.

You catch it before it clangs against the radiator.

You will be quiet. You will not make a sound.

This is when you leave the room. This is when you start doing things that will one day make people say,She was so brave.

A peek through the window, one finger peeling away the blinds. People below. Stomping on his grass, invading his domain. He’s at the center of it all. He’s got his back to you but you can see his hands moving animatedly, his body bending at the pace of his words. A man putting on a show.

Cecilia. You can’t look at her. She’s a blur of lavender in a corner. A pastel blob in a sea of black and gray. A bird about to fall from the nest.

This is when you unlock the bedroom door from inside, wrap your fingers around the knob, and turn.

This is when you start to believe. That his guests will keep to themselves. That you will go where you need to go, on schedule and undisturbed.

You shut the door on your way out.

This is very easy. You’ve done it dozens of times. Pad down the hallway. No one’s here. You know no one’s here. Then, the staircase: one step down, then another, then another. Hunch your back as if you could make yourself invisible.

Be quick. That’s the most important thing here. If you’re quick, you won’t be seen. Not really. You will be a ghost.I thought I saw,people will say,but no, it was nothing.

You know the drill. You have been a ghost for five years.

You make it to the living room. Your head is spinning. No time to steady yourself. No time to think about what you’re doing. It has to be now, all of it.

One more floor. Work the safety pin. Open the door. This is the last time. If all goes according to plan, and even if it doesn’t. Last time in the basement. Last time in the house.

Take only what you need.

The gun, for a start. Tucked at the front of your waistband, nestled between denim and skin. The magazines. You know what to do. Load it.

No.

Your hand stops.

Because Cecilia is a lavender blob in a dark sea, and she doesn’t deserve what’s coming for her.

Because you won’t raise a loaded gun in front of a girl.

You need to come out of this alive. Inside and out. Inhabit your own skin, show your face to the world.

Take the gun. Not the magazines. Take the Polaroids. Rectangles at the back of your pants, underneath the gray hoodie, concealed, like the gun. Insurance. Just in case.

This is where you say goodbye to him.

Farewell. Stay alive. I need you alive.

Put the boxes away, go back up the stairs. Push the door open and—

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