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After struggling with the door handle with my paint-covered hands I finally broke free and raced down the hall, as if I could somehow leave what had just almost happened behind me.
Gouged into the glossy black paint right below the door handle was the name BERYL enclosed in a heart.
On the door handle hung a softball jacket: red with white lettering that spelled out COTTLE ROOSTERS.
But then I heard the door handle turn, slowly, with effortful quiet, and then I heard the creak of stairs, the shushing of Zeus, who thought he was waking for a night adventure.