Escape Attempt One

I looked at the invitation. *A Celebration of Life.*

It felt heavy in my hands, like a court summons or a death warrant. Graham had chosen the font with care—something elegant, something that whispered "tragedy with dignity."

"It's a beautiful design," I said, my voice hollow. "Very... final."

"It's respectful," Graham corrected, taking the card from me and placing it back on the stack. "We want people to remember you as you were. Before the decline."

*Before the decline.*

Before the gaslighting. Before the poison. Before the slow, methodical erasure of my existence.

"I'm still here," I said. "I'm standing right in front of you."

"Are you?" he asked, his tone gentle, pitying. "Or is this just another shadow?"

He touched my cheek. His fingers were cold.

"Go upstairs, Merritt. Rest. You need to be strong for Saturday."

I walked away. I climbed the stairs, each step a heaviness in my chest.

I went into the bedroom. I locked the door.

I went to the closet. To the crawl space.

I needed to see if there was anything else. Any other message from the Replacement. Any other clue from Elena.

I opened the panel.

Empty.

Just dust and the smell of old wood.

I closed it.

I sat on the floor, surrounded by the silence of the house.

I thought about the invitation. *Saturday. 7:00 PM.*

That was the deadline.

I had 48 hours.

I needed a plan. A real plan. Not just running into the woods or breaking windows.

I needed to beat him at his own game.

He was scripting a tragedy.

I needed to rewrite the ending.

I pulled out the burner phone—the one I had retrieved from the flowerpot, now dried out and functioning.

I texted Toby.

*Me: The party. Saturday. 7 PM. Be ready.*

*Toby: I'll be there. With backup.*

Backup. Dr. Patel.

It was good. But was it enough?

Graham had the police. He had the doctors. He had the narrative.

I needed something undeniable. Something visceral.

I looked around the room.

My eyes landed on the locket. The one with *GONE* scratched across my face.

It was a microphone.

And the receiver was in Lorna’s flower pot.

But that only worked if Lorna was listening. And if she believed what she heard.

I needed everyone to hear.

I needed a broadcast.

I thought about the sound system. Graham’s pride and joy. Wired throughout the house. Speakers in every room. Even the patio.

If I could hijack the system...

If I could play the recording from the basement...

Not just to a few guests. To the whole neighborhood.

To the world.

But the system was controlled by his iPad. Which was locked.

Unless...

Unless I could access the central hub.

The server room.

The "nursery."

I had picked the lock before. I could do it again.

But Graham would be watching. The cameras.

I looked up at the vent. The camera in the crawl space.

He was watching everything.

I needed a blind spot.

A distraction.

I went to the bathroom. I turned on the shower.

I let the steam build up.

I wrote on the mirror again.

*I KNOW.*

Then I wiped it away.

I did it again.

*HELP ME.*

Wiped it away.

I was taunting him. Making him watch. Making him think I was spiraling.

If he thought I was just "acting out," he might get careless.

He might look away.

I left the bathroom. I went back to the bedroom.

I lay down on the bed. I pretended to sleep.

I waited.

Hours passed.

Night fell.

The house was silent.

I heard Graham come upstairs. I heard him go into his office.

I heard him typing.

Updating the script? Checking the bank accounts?

I slipped out of bed.

I crept into the hallway.

I went to the "nursery" door.

It was locked.

I used the bobby pin. *Click. Click.*

It opened.

I slipped inside.

The monitors were glowing. The red lights blinked.

I looked at the server rack in the corner.

It was a black tower, humming with power.

I looked at the back. Cables. Ports.

There was an auxiliary input.

*AUX IN.*

If I plugged a source into that... it would override the system. It would play through every speaker in the house.

But I needed a cable. An 1/8th inch audio cable.

I didn't have one.

I looked around the room.

There were boxes of cables on the shelf.

I dug through them. HDMI. USB. Ethernet.

And finally...

An audio cable.

I grabbed it.

I plugged one end into the server.

I needed a source.

My phone. The burner.

It had a headphone jack.

I plugged the other end into the phone.

I queued up the recording.

*Graham: "No, I can't talk loudly..."*

I paused it.

I left the phone there. Plugged in. Hidden behind the server rack.

It was ready.

All I had to do was hit play.

But I couldn't do it now.

I needed an audience.

I needed the party.

I slipped out of the room. I locked the door.

I went back to bed.

I closed my eyes.

I smiled.

The stage was set.

The next morning, Friday, was a blur of activity.

Graham was manic. Organizing. Cleaning. Directing the staff.

"Flowers here," he commanded. "Chairs there. We need the lighting to be somber but... hopeful."

He looked at me.

"You're in the way, Merritt. Go upstairs."

I went upstairs.

I sat by the window. I watched the trucks arrive.

Caterers. Florists. Valet parking.

He was sparing no expense for my funeral.

At noon, a delivery truck arrived.

A man got out. He carried a large box.

He rang the doorbell.

Graham answered.

He signed for the box. He brought it inside.

He didn't open it downstairs. He brought it up to his office.

I listened at the door.

I heard tape ripping.

I heard... metal clinking.

What was it?

I waited until he left the office. He went downstairs to yell at the florist about the lilies.

I slipped into the office.

The box was on the desk.

It was open.

Inside...

Handcuffs.

heavy-duty, police-grade handcuffs.

And a straightjacket.

A white, canvas straightjacket.

My blood ran cold.

He wasn't taking chances.

If the sedative didn't work... if I fought...

He was going to restrain me.

Like an animal.

I stared at the jacket. The straps. The buckles.

It was terrifying.

But it was also...

Evidence.

I took a picture with the burner phone (which I had retrieved from the server room for a moment, then replaced).

No. I couldn't risk retrieving it.

I had to memorize it.

Handcuffs. Straightjacket.

I left the office.

I went back to my room.

I sat on the bed.

I was shaking.

He was going to bind me. Gag me. Drag me out.

I couldn't let that happen.

I needed a weapon. A real weapon.

Not a truck. Not a lamp.

Something lethal.

I thought about the kitchen. The knives.

But he would check me. He would pat me down.

I needed something he wouldn't find.

Something small. Sharp.

I went to the bathroom.

I opened the cabinet.

Razor blades.

Graham used a safety razor. Old school.

I took a blade.

I wrapped it in a piece of tissue.

I hid it in the hem of the white dress.

I sewed it in. With a needle and thread from the emergency sewing kit.

It was tiny. Invisible.

But it was sharp.

If he tried to put me in that jacket...

I would cut him.

I would cut my way out.

Saturday arrived.

The day of the party.

The day of the end.

I woke up early. The house was already buzzing.

I put on the white dress.

I felt the razor in the hem. A cold, hard secret.

I went downstairs.

Graham was in the foyer, adjusting his tie.

He looked at me.

"You look... appropriate," he said.

"Thank you."

"Remember the rules," he said. "Quiet. Polite. Fragile."

"I remember."

He handed me the pill organizer.

Saturday PM.

"Take them now," he said. "So they kick in by 7:00."

I took them. I dry swallowed.

"Good girl."

He checked his watch.

"Guests in one hour."

I went to the living room.

I sat in the chair.

I waited.

6:30 PM.

The doorbell rang.

The first guests.

It wasn't Lorna. It wasn't the Davises.

It was a couple I didn't know. Older. Wealthy.

"We're friends of Graham's from the club," the woman said, looking at me with pity. "He speaks so highly of you."

"Does he?" I asked.

"He says you're a fighter."

"I am."

7:00 PM.

The room was full.

Lorna arrived. She looked nervous. She avoided my eyes.

Mark and Jen Davis arrived. They looked guilty.

Toby arrived.

He caught my eye. He nodded.

He was ready.

Graham was circulating. Playing the host. The grieving husband.

"She's fading," I heard him say to someone. "It's hard to watch."

I sat there. Silent.

I was waiting for the signal.

8:00 PM.

Dr. Aris arrived.

He had the bag.

He caught Graham's eye. He nodded.

It was time.

Graham walked over to me.

"Merritt," he said loudly enough for the room to hear. "Why don't we go upstairs? You look tired."

"I'm fine," I said.

"Come on," he said, gripping my arm. "Let's get you some rest."

He pulled me up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said to the room. "If you'll excuse us. Merritt needs her... medication."

A murmur of sympathy went through the crowd.

He led me toward the stairs.

Dr. Aris followed.

This was it.

Scene 16.

We reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Now," Graham whispered.

He tightened his grip.

"Don't make a scene."

I looked at him.

I looked at the crowd.

I looked at Toby.

Toby pulled out his phone.

He hit a button.

*CLICK.*

The lights went out.

Pitch black.

Screams.

"Stay calm!" Graham shouted.

I ripped my arm away.

I ran.

Not upstairs.

To the "nursery."

To the server room.

I fumbled in the dark. I found the door. It was unlocked (I had unlocked it earlier).

I slipped inside.

I found the phone.

I hit play.

*CRACK-SQUELCH.*

The sound exploded from the speakers. Every speaker in the house.

Loud. Deafening.

The crowd screamed.

*"No, I can't talk loudly..."*

Graham’s voice. Booming. God-like.

I ran out of the room.

I ran to the balcony overlooking the living room.

The emergency lights flickered on. Dim. Eerie.

I looked down.

The guests were frozen. Looking up. Listening.

*"...By Sunday morning, the asset is liquid..."*

Graham stood in the center of the room. He was looking at the speakers. He looked insane with rage.

"Turn it off!" he screamed.

But he couldn't. The door to the server room was locked from the inside.

*"...She won't be a problem. She's... pliable..."*

I stood on the balcony. In the white dress.

"He's lying!" I shouted.

Everyone looked up.

"He's trying to kill me!"

Graham saw me.

"Get her!" he yelled to the guards.

They ran for the stairs.

I didn't wait.

I grabbed a vase from the console table.

I threw it.

Not at the guards.

At the chandelier.

*CRASH.*

The massive crystal fixture swung. It hit the wall. Glass rained down.

Chaos.

People were running. Screaming.

Toby was at the back door, letting the police in.

Real police.

"Freeze!"

Graham tried to run.

But Elena stepped out from the kitchen.

She blocked his path.

She held up the photo. The photo of Leo.

"It's over, Graham," she said.

He stopped. He looked at her. He looked at the police.

He looked at me.

He reached into his jacket.

He pulled out the gun.

"Nobody moves!" he screamed.

He grabbed Lorna. He put the gun to her head.

"I'm walking out of here!"

Lorna screamed.

The police raised their weapons.

"Drop it!"

"I'll kill her!" Graham yelled. "I swear to god!"

He backed toward the door. Dragging Lorna.

I watched from the balcony.

I had the razor.

I ripped the hem of my dress. I pulled out the blade.

I looked at the chandelier rope. It was anchored to the railing next to me.

If I cut it...

The chandelier would fall.

Right in front of the door.

It would block him.

I grabbed the rope. I sawed at it with the razor.

It was thick. Nylon.

Graham was almost at the door.

"Back off!" he screamed at the cops.

I sawed harder. The blade bit into the fibers.

*Snap.*

The rope gave way.

*WHOOSH.*

The chandelier fell.

*CRASH.*

It smashed into the floor, inches from Graham.

Glass exploded.

Graham flinched. He stumbled back. He let go of Lorna.

Lorna scrambled away.

The police moved in.

They tackled him.

The gun skittered across the floor.

It was over.

I sank to the floor of the balcony.

I watched them cuff him. I watched them drag him away.

I listened to the recording playing on a loop.

*"...compassionately remove her from the equation..."*

I closed my eyes.

I was removed from the equation.

But I was still here.

And I was loud.