the inheritance games - a day in the life

Max 💻 🛼

Somehow, date days or date nights with Xander always seem to go wrong. I don't know if he does it on purpose - which I wouldn't put past him - or if he just has the worst luck in the world. Maybe I bring the bad luck. Who knows.

All I know right now, is that this probably wasn't planned. If it was, there would be an easy way out that at least Xander would know about. If it was planned, he would've gotten me out of there as soon as I started crying.

I don't think it was planned.

In reality, I am stuck in a freezer room in the middle of an abandoned warehouse in the middle of an abandoned town. It's not his fault. Or at least: it's not all  his fault. Both of our brains glitched when he hoisted me up through the small window. Not once did we consider the consequences.

Risk-taking is all good and well, until it goes wrong.

But Xander is determined that everything will be alright. He's like that. He smiles at me through the little screen of my phone. I can feel his presence on the other side of the thick wall. We will get through this. Together. 

Okay, so to survive stuff you kind of need to be fit. You know, survival of the fittest and all that. Now let me tell you this: I am not fit. I did not excel in PE, nor do I move my body voluntarily. I would much prefer to play video games, or read books. Inside. 

So, that's our first disadvantage. Xander is strong, but not particularly sporty. Plus, he's not the one that's stuck.

Our second disadvantage is that we are stupid. Okay, I don't mean that in any kind of mean way towards me or towards him. It's just that... we FaceTimed each other for an hour.

And that had consequences.

Now, both our phones are dead. This means that we can a) not contact each other or communicate successfully without breaking our vocal chords and b) we have lost all hope of contacting the outside world. 

I start to look around the room: properly look around it. I kind of need it as occupational therapy. We can't just wait here until people miss us at home. And Xander refuses to leave me to get help. To be honest, I'm quite grateful for that.

I trace my fingers over the concrete walls, looking for any small dent, any sign of an alternative exit. God, Avery and her games have rubbed off on me. I keep looking - with my fingers - but to no avail. I then turn to the door. We both discarded the thought of it working. It won't budge. 

And that remains true, but I can't help but wonder if we could somehow find a way to use it. I need a plan. I need a plan, otherwise I will go crazy. I need something that my brain can latch on to, work out and describe in excruciating detail. I need some kind of hope. 

I start by tracing the door with my fingertips, like I did the walls. It's a robust, steel door. I count fifty screws tracing its perimeter, each around five centimeters apart. It's not a large door - in fact, I figure that Xander would probably bump his head trying to get through it. There is no handle whatsoever on my side of the door.

"Is there a handle on your side?"

"What did you say?"

"I said, is there a handle on your side? On the door?" I almost have to scream for him to hear me.

"Yes," he pauses. "Is there none on yours?"

"No." I sigh. This is going nowhere. I almost give up when my fingers encounter something new: a dent. I am well aware of the fact that a dent in a steel door is not going to be my way of escaping this room. Thank you for underestimating me like that. I really appreciate it.

But, my mind starts whirring. If there's a dent in a seemingly invincible door... And that dent is on this side of the door... that means that there must have - at some stage - been something in this room that is capable of creating a dent... and is therefore possible capable of helping me out...

I turn around and start exploring the room through a different lens.

"Are you alright, Max?" 

"Yeah. Just bare with me."

"Can't do much else!" he laughs, but the noise is strangled. Uh-oh. If Xander of all people is getting worried, then it's not looking good.

But I refuse to think like that. Focus. I look back at the dent. It is small, but relative to the size of the door... it had quite an impact.

I unhook the metal hooks from the walls. Nothing. I move some crates. Yes, I know. I could possibly stack the crates to make it out of the window. Trust me, I've tried. I can not for the life of me pick them up. They're filled with something.

Filled with something.

I immediately form a plan. Sure, my best friend is the one for riddles and games. And risks. But I have grown up with strict parents. And that doesn't just effect the way you swear, it effects the way you think. I can come up with the sneakiest plan in mere seconds. As if I am a professional con woman.

I pick up the hooks and sit on the crate.

"Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a plan. Just do what I say..."