The Waiting Room, Part 2

Everyone pitied Hazel Little.

She had trouble making friends, so friends came to her. She got poor grades, so classmates let her copy homework. Her parents always thought she was being bullied, so they spoiled her. Apologies were like magic spells. No matter what happened, as long as Hazel said "I'm sorry," the problem would eventually go away.

Hazel Little made it through life on the kindness of others, but never in her life had she said the words "Thank you."

***

"Who entered the room first?"

If either Victor or Clara heard her question, they ignored it and continued bickering. Hazel just looked at her sheepishly.

"Victor." Valerie raised her voice.

"What?"

"When you entered the room, was anyone already here?"

"Just her." He jabbed his thumb in Clara's direction.

Valerie watched Clara's face. Her expression was guarded.

"Is that true?"

Clara nodded. "I was first."

"Then you know what was in the drawer."

Clara hesitated. Victor, his brow furrowed, flicked his gaze back and forth between the two.

The dark-haired woman reached down the neck of her sweater and produced a long silver key. "This is what you're looking for, isn't it?"

"What the hell is that?" Victor asked.

"I think you owe us an explanation," Valerie said.

Clara sighed. "I've heard rumors about the Association and their puzzles. When I arrived, I thought this room was strange and searched everything. As you already deduced, I found this in the drawer."

"And why did you hide it from us?" Valerie asked.

"I wasn't hiding it, I was waiting to see if it was safe to trust you with it. You know why they set up the games like this, right? They want to force us all to cooperate so that the betrayals at the end are that much more bitter."

"So that's the kind of woman you are, huh?" Victor growled.

Valerie raised her hands. "No one is betraying anyone."

Victor unballed a fist and held it out to Clara. "Give me the key."

"Victor—"

"If she won't trust us, how can we trust her? Give me the key, Clara."

For a moment, Clara looked at him with such disdain that Valerie thought she might try to hit him. Instead, she nodded.

"You're right, I shouldn't have the key. But there's no chance I'm giving it to you." She turned to Valerie. "You take it."

Victor turned away. "Fine."

Valerie approached carefully, as one might a wild animal, and let Clara drop the key into her palm. When it was safely in her grasp, she exhaled. She looked at Victor's sulking face, and back to Clara, who still seemed unbothered by all of this. Maybe they were okay. Maybe they would be okay.

Twenty-five minutes and thirteen seconds remained.

"What are we waiting for, then? Let's open the door," Victor said.

Valerie shook her head. "We're not done. The keyhole has four spokes. Look, there's a groove here on the shaft of the key. We need something else."

"It can't hurt to try."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Clara said. "I've heard there's punishments in place for people who try incorrect solutions."

Victor crossed his arms.

"It's okay, this is progress," Valerie said. "Now we know what we're looking for, more or less. And I'm willing to bet that what we need is in the other three drawers."

"Well, sometimes the best option is brute force."

Victor removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves before grabbing the knob of the closest drawer and pulling at it. It didn't budge, but that didn't stop him from trying again. And again.

Suddenly struck by a wave of exhaustion, Valerie collapsed back into the seat beside Hazel. She turned the key over in her hands. It was the color of worn steel and was slightly longer and thicker than the average house key. Other than the groove along the top, there was nothing distinct about it—no markings or features that might hint at the next step. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. Clara's distrust had stolen more than half an hour of their time. There was little meaning in getting upset about it now, but if the room was meant to take sixty minutes to solve...

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Hazel peering at her. Valerie offered her a tired smile.

"You look like you're doing better."

Hazel nodded, her pigtails bobbing. "Actually, I... have an idea. Can I see that?"

Valerie handed her the key.

"Will you give it a rest, already?" Clara's voice rang out from across the room.

Victor ignored her. He was trying to use the leg of a chair as a lever to pry open one of the side tables. Now that Valerie looked closer, he was quite muscular.

"Hello, Mr. Steele? That's not going to work, obviously, and all you're doing is distracting me."

Valerie looked at the countdown and blinked. She thought she had seen the display flash for a moment at twenty minutes and sixteen seconds, but now the red digits were steady and unyielding. She shook her head and tried to organize her thoughts. What were they missing? She felt they had all the pieces, they only needed to figure out how everything fit together. Was there something they had overlooked or dismissed?

She stood up. There was.

"Clara, was the Bible in the drawer with the key?"

The dark-haired woman looked at her. "Yes."

Valerie ran her fingers across the book's leather cover. This had to be it. She began to open it—

Someone screamed.

Hazel was on her knees in front of the door, holding her head in her hands. Valerie hurried over to her.

"What's wrong?"

No response. The key had been inserted into the keyhole and rotated ninety degrees. Valerie's mouth was suddenly very dry.

"What happened? Did you try to unlock the door?" She knelt beside the cowering girl.

Hazel raised her head, and the world reflected in her eyes was borne of pain and hate.

"Why didn't you stop me?" Hazel's voice was barely above a whisper.

"What?" Without meaning to, Valerie pulled back slightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry."

Eighteen minutes and fifty seconds remained.

Tick. Tock.