I tossed the lighter on the floor and stomped it with my left foot out of frustration. Now what? I rammed the door to the closet with my shoulder and it cracked a little near the door knob. A dim light broke the darkness through the small crack and I was able to get a glimpse of the janitor’s workroom. The closet was maybe ten-foot square with medal shelves at one end. In the middle of the wall opposite the door was a sink. Beside the sink I saw a tool box on the floor next to my useless cigarette lighter.

I opened the tool box. On top of the assorted wrenches was an old wooden hammer. I grabbed the hammer and turned back toward the door. I shoved the claws of the hammer into the crack and using the wooden handle as leverage attempted to pry the door open. Open, damn you!

Finally the door was open just a bit. I pushed with both hands, using my legs for support, and with effort dislodged the chair that blocked my exit. I retrieved the hammer and stepped into the hallway just in time to hear a scream.