Thirty-Seven
Before We GoThere was an ominous atmosphere surrounding the closed door to Cecil's residence at the compound. I raised my fist and tapped a light rhythm, knowing that no one would answer. Not because the sound was barely audible, but because the apartment was vacant. I thought of Cecil's dead body slumped over the kitchen table. Ignoring the disturbing vision, I laid my hand flat against the door. When one door closes…, Dad's voice whispered inside my head. But deeper in my mind there was another indistinct whisper, what I considered a residual echo of Cecil. I shifted my thoughts.
Doors, I hated them, and I hated feeling trapped behind them even more. The airy whoosh of those that slid caused goosebumps to rise, and wooden doors that creaked made me jittery. Worse still we
