No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

table and the window frame. “Ashley and Lars just moved
again,” she said. “They’re … they’re by their van now.”
“Doing what?”
“I can’t tell.”
“Keep your head down,” Ed reminded her.
“It’s fine.”
Darby opened the last drawer below the cash register, and
found something rattling on the bottom with pens and receipt
paper — a silver key. She picked it up, peeling off another
Post-It note: DON’T DUPLICATE — TODD.
The closet, she remembered.
She raced to it, inserting the key, twisting the knob.
“Please, please, God, let there be a phone in here—”
Darkness inside. She thumbed a light switch — revealing
a small janitor’s closet, five feet by five, with crooked
shelving and racks of saggy cardboard boxes. The stuffy odor
of mildew. A mop bucket in the corner, sloshing with gray
water. And a white first-aid box on the upper shelf, filmed
with dust.
And, to her left, bolted to the wall … a beige landline
telephone.
“Oh, thank God—”
She grabbed the plastic receiver and mashed it to her ear
— no dial tone. She tried pressing buttons. Shook it. Checked
the spiral cord. Nothing.
“Any luck?” Ed asked.
She noticed another Post-It note on the wall — FIBER
LINE DOWN AGAIN — TODD — and slammed the phone
down. “I’m really starting to hate Todd.”
“Hot water’s full,” Jay called out.
Darby backpedaled out of the closet, nearly bumping into
Ed, and grabbed the carafe off the drip tray. “Thanks, Jay.