No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

Over Ashley’s shoulder, she could see the clock. The
characters on it. Orange Garfield still offering those roses to
pink Arlene. Her blurry eyes focused on the minute hand —
almost vertical now. 4:22 a.m.
Five minutes until the cops arrived.
“Did you hear me, Ashley?” Sandi stood up. “Are you
having a psychotic episode? Keys or no keys, it’s over. We’re
all going to prison.”
“No. We’re not.”
“How do you figure?”
Ashley didn’t answer. Instead, his dark silhouette turned
back to Darby, and his grip on her wrist changed. His fingers
walked over her skin like clammy octopus tentacles,
rearranging themselves around her, tightening. And he lifted
her hand up, up, sliding against the wall …
Sandi raised her voice. “What are you doing to her?”
Darby craned her neck to see — he was holding her right
hand against the supply closet door. Right up against the
door’s hinge. Pressing her fingertips flush against the golden
jaws, where the brass was spotted with old lubricant and
brown cavities of rust. She saw her pinkie fingernail, painted
crackle-blue, her vulnerable flesh seated in there like a tiny
head in a guillotine.
Five minutes.
She looked back at Ashley, her gut twisting with panic.
He had the nail gun tucked in his armpit now, leaning to
grasp the doorknob with his free hand. “You might not
remember this, Darbs, but earlier tonight, you made fun of me
for my phobia of door hinges. Remember that? Remember
what you called me?”
She closed her eyes, squeezing acidic tears, wishing it
would all go away—
“Yeah, oops, huh?”