Page 6 of Escape Girl

It started off lovely. The meeting with Bella had given my brain a little zap, and I spent the first several blocks mentally preparing for how I’d lead her through our meeting tomorrow. If I wanted to take the case after speaking to her, I’d need to devise a strategy for convincing my firm’s stodgy management to get on board as well. When the sun went fully down, the temperature fell into to the low sixties, which was perfect for the brisk pace of my walk. After an hour or so, I began to fantasize about the frozen Home Run Inn pizza in my freezer, so I turned toward my rental.

That’s when I passed a newsstand and my eyes caught today’s date: September 13. I had no idea why it hadn’t resonated with me earlier in the day, but when I saw it printed on a newspaper, I stopped short and bent over as though an invisible fist had just punched me in the gut.

Exactly one year ago today, I met Bobby March for the first time.

I stayed bent over, staring at the pavement, unable to catch my breath. My wheezing was loud in my ears, and my hands cramped into strange twists. Static filled my ears and my pulse sped into uneven, heavy thuds.

How could time be so mysterious? How could so much have happened in one year?

A year ago yesterday, I was just fine. I was visiting my father in San Francisco and juggling job offers. Maybe I wasn’t ecstatically happy every damn minute, but I wasfine. Maybe itsometimes felt like I was waiting for my real life to start. Maybe I often woke up in the middle of the night with a painfully heavy weight on my chest.

But really, seriously, truly…I wasfine.

Then, on September 13, I went to the Irvings’ dinner party, and I hadn’t been fine since.

“Are you all right?” A woman in her sixties bent next to me, forehead wrinkled in concern. “Do you need help, sweetheart?”

Embarrassment pumped adrenaline through my veins. I forced myself upright and gulped in the evening air, gasped a few times before the wheezing subsided. “I’m OK. Sorry to worry you.” I flexed my fingers out of their frozen claw shape.

She cocked her head. “No need to apologize. You’re very pale. Should I call you an Uber?”

I forced a smile even though her maternal concern was causing my left eyelid to twitch. My mother would have been close to her age if she’d survived the aggressive breast cancer. But she hadn’t—and that was a whole other year of my life where time was mysterious.

“I’m fine, I promise.” I pointed north. “My apartment is only two blocks away.”

“OK.” She paused. “You know, having a panic attack is nothing to be ashamed of.”

A panic attack? No. I did not just have a panic attack on the street because I read the date off a newspaper. That would be ridiculous. “Thanks for your help,” I said cheerily, and power-walked away from her.

My apartment was dark and silent. I uncorked a bottle of wine that was much too nice for a nothing Tuesday night and preheated the oven to 400 degrees before roasting myself in a hot shower and pulling on my softest sweatpants. I doused my cheese pizza with red pepper flakes and inhaled two slices while standing at the kitchen island.

“You like your pizza naked?” Bobby had asked incredulously when I told him on our second date that I preferred plain cheese with no toppings.

“Well, yes.” I’d laughed, shaking the can of pepper flakes. “But I like a lot of this on it.”

“So you like naked and spicy,” he shot back, eyes searing and sparking at me across the table. “Good to know.”

Now, the pizza turned to cardboard in my mouth, and I put the rest in a Tupperware container. Maybe I’d be hungry at 3:00 a.m. during my nightly insomnia. Bobby had liked his pizza with sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, green peppers, and black olives. His slices were so loaded you couldn’t even taste the cheese or sauce or crust.

It was terrible how you couldn’t stop knowing things about people when the relationship was over. I didn’t want to think about Bobby’s preferences every single time I wanted pizza myself. That relaxing shower I just took? It made me think about how Bobby sang in the shower. Every. Time. He’d sing Cardi B or Ed Sheeran or whoever was last on his car radio or in the grocery store. I once caught him fully belting Celine Dion’s song fromTitanic. He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. He just grinned at me, dumped shampoo on his head, and started the next verse.

I poured a large glass of wine and took it to the window. Thank goodness Bella Bradley had appeared out of nowhere with a juicy case for me to dive into tomorrow. Because I didn’t want even one more night like this, a night where I was home alone by 8:30 with no one waiting for me in a city I didn’t know.

I could always get a head start on tomorrow.The thought perked me up, and I settled at the desk near the window. I could Google Bella and see if she had any public skeletons in her closet. Nodding to myself, I brought up my email account,thinking I would begin by emailing her some basic resources about copyright law. I could also—

One new item in my inbox.

A message from Bobby March.

Subject Line:Can You Escape? Invitation inside…

What the hell?That didn’t even sound like a real message. At worst, it sounded like a cheap ad or a scam. At best, a kids’ birthday party invitation to one of those stupid locked room places. Maybe Bobby’s email account had been hacked. I should definitely just delete it without opening.

But I did not.

Good evening, Emily,

On this evening of September 13, Bobby March has invited you to a personally designed virtual escape room: the Irving Townhouse. Wander around, enjoy the sights, absorb the clues—but don’t stay too long! To win, to “escape,” you’ll need to type in the answer-phrase correctly within one hour. The timer starts the moment you enter the room. Up for the challenge?

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