I kept one hidden in a hollowed-out cookbook on the middle shelf.

*The Joy of Cooking.*

My fingers traced the spines of the books until I found the rough, fake leather cover.

I pulled it down.

The book felt light.

I opened it and felt the cold brass key inside.

If I stayed in here, I would die.

If I went out there, they would kill me.

But out there, I had a chance to run into the woods.

I inserted the key into the inside lock of the deadbolt.

My hands were sweating so much the key almost slipped from my grip.

I turned it slowly, trying to minimize the click.

*Click.*

It sounded like a gunshot in the quiet house.

I waited.

No footsteps returned to the kitchen.

I pushed the door open an inch.

The smell of gas was stronger now, sharp and chemical, making my eyes water.

The kitchen was dark, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning through the broken window.

The rain was pouring in, puddling on the hardwood floor.

I slipped through the opening, my bare feet silent on the wet tile.