My Crazy Obsessed Stalker (Watty Awards 2011)

Chapter Sixteen: Boulevard of Broken Things

                I needed to get to the other side of the restaurant.

                I was sure that the police were on their way and I needed to get as far away from Jamanj as possible.

                I slowly began crawling forward. The small vent was making me feel really claustrophobic and suffocated. There was enough room to move around but I felt that the vent was getting smaller as I moved forward on my hands and knees.

                I had to make it through.

                “How did he find us?” I inquired.

                After thinking about it, I stopped dead in my tracks to think about what happened when Jamanj first spotted us. There was no way Jamanj had found us out of pure instinct. How did he keep finding us when we least expected it? Was there a mole among us?

                No.

                I quickly shook away the idea. Who would help Jamanj?

                “Avian.” I shouted out loud.

                If anyone was a traitor, it would be Avian. All she did was complain the entire time and talk about how much she hated everyone. It all made sense. Maybe she made a deal with Jamanj to save her own life and turn everyone else in to him.

                I couldn’t believe it.

                There was no way to prove the theory right. Avian, Gage, Bibiane and Malory were all waiting in the parking lot with the car, or maybe they had driven off when they realized Jamanj was inside the restaurant. For all I knew, Avian could have given away information to Jamanj from the beginning.

                I stopped moving in the vent when I noticed light at the far end of the tunnel. There had to be a room where the light was coming from.

                I knew I was close to safety.

                Once I scurried closer to the light, I peeked through the vent and noticed that underneath me was the kitchen. I could not make out how many people were there but there was at least one chef inside. He was stirring a big pot as if a mad man had not held the restaurant hostage.

                This was my shot.

                I moved back and rammed my foot against the vent repeatedly. After three kicks, the vent fell down with a clatter. I moved over to the opening and jumped down onto the kitchen floor. The jump was further down than I HAD expected, and I hit the tile floor.