Chapter 25
I'm so distracted by the nausea that I don't notice the door slam shut behind me. Not until Phoebe screams, "Sabrina, it's a trap!"
I spin, heart and bile in my throat.
The door handle is gone. Just bare hardware where there should be a knob, like it was broken off on purpose.
There's no window, barely any space to move at all. Just a shattered mirror above a rust-streaked sink, a toilet to my other side. The walls feel too close.
But there—some kind of booby trap, ropes and pulleys tucked behind the door. It must've triggered the second I stepped in.
Above the toilet lies a two-by-four held by frayed twine, and it shifts with a quiet pop. It had been holding up a shallow metal bowl, hidden just out of view.
The wood piece gets pulled and the bowl tips. Its contents spill into the toilet with a soft splash.
The smell hits a second later.
Bleach. That's where that sterile scent was coming from.
And then ammonia.
My eyes start to water immediately. It burns my nose, my throat. The two chemicals swirl in the air like they've been waiting to find each other.
Chloramine gas.
"Help me, Phoebe!" I scream, slamming my shoulder against the door. It doesn't move. The walls tilt. My breath rasps out of me like steam.
The air thickens. Acrid. Caustic. It's like breathing in fire and drowning at the same time.
I claw at the door, at the hinges, at anything. The door opens from the inside, so me pounding isn't doing much with the door frame preventing me from bursting through.
"Help! I can't breathe! It's some chemical!" I cry, but the words barely come. My throat is closing. My lungs scream at me to get fresh air.
I can hear Phoebe shouting on the other side, pounding at the wood, but she's far away now.
Before my world tips into darkness, I whisper, barely audible, "I'm so sorry."