There was a knock at the door, a frantic knock. I didn’t bother even moving from the small corner I managed to squeeze myself into. There was a brief pause before the knocking continued, this time lasting for a minute before another break. Instead of knocking again, whoever was on the other side started trying to turn the knob.
A grizzly voice grunted on the other side, “Shit, it’s locked.”
It’s him, it’s really him, was all I thought. All of those days, those memories of silent suffering, were about to finally end.
I pulled out my revolver and aimed.