⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Hello?"  Nathaniel calls out into the darkness of the room, his green eyes tightly shut behind his black frame glasses. By now, he knows very well that he is completely alone, locked in the cellar of a tiny thrift store. Hesitantly squinting open one eye, he tries to get his bearings about him. There is no source of light in the room, making him feel like he is floating in an endless abyss. Realizing that trying to see his surroundings was a pointless endeavor, he begins to rely on his sense of touch, bending down onto his knees and feeling the hardwood floor underneath him. When the tips of his fingers collide with cold metal, he lurches backwards into a hard iron bar, pain shooting up his spine. Cursing under his breath, he shakes it off and continues to feel the coarse floor, searching for something he thought he may never find. Finally, he feels something smooth and leathery under his hands. Holding it up against his chest, a wave of relief washes over him as he leans back into the cinderblock wall.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was his decision to stop by and check the thrift store's stock for a present he could give to his thirteen year old sister, Samantha, for her birthday. He had only remembered the date once he got off work at McDonald's, and the old shop was the cheapest thing nearby. The only problem was that it closed in an hour, and it would take him a while to look through two floors of chaotically organized aisles. Just five minutes before the shopkeeper would lock the weathered doors, Nathaniel finally found the perfect gift on a dusty shelf in the corner of the bottom floor - a book about time travel and fantasy, the red and gold leather cover sparkling in the dim yellow light. He was about ready to leave, but curiosity, his fatal flaw, got the best of him when he noticed one more back room that he hadn't perused. He walked through the doorway just as the light switch was flipped. Terrified of the dark, his entire body seemed to shut down, leaving him helpless as the door was shut and the lock was turned.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Now, he sits huddled in the corner of the cramped basement, clutching the book he planned to give to his sister against his chest. "This stupid book wasn't worth it," he mutters to himself, his voice shaky and agitated. Dropping it in his lap, he lets out a loud groan and shoves his hands into his pockets, fighting the urge to throw it against the wall. He forgets his frustration for a moment when he feels something other than cotton under his fingers. Even in the dark, his eyes light up with hope and relief when he realizes that he is touching the rubbery casing on his phone. Gripping it in his palm like his life depends on it, he pulls it from the pocket and fumbles for the power button. "Aha!" he exclaims, finally feeling the lone bump on the right side of the case. He gives another triumphant shout when the lock screen lights up with the familiar picture of a succulent he found on Pinterest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Thank God! Maybe I can call someone to get me out of here," he wonders aloud, before noticing the 'No Signal' warning in the top left corner. Biting his lip, he furrows his eyebrows in desperate thought. "Well if that won't work, at least now I have some light," he realizes, sliding up the control center and clicking on the flashlight icon. For the first time in two hours, he can actually see the old metal garden tools leaning against the walls around him, but the first thing his eyes focus on is a slip of paper sticking out of the book in between his legs. "Don't you dare tell me the darn thing is falling apart!" he shouts, grabbing the wrinkled sheet in his free hand and holding it under the light. His jaw drops open when his brain finally processes that he is holding a twenty-year old list of stolen identities. "Wow, I knew this place was shady, but I didn't know they'd been stealing people's information since they opened," he jokes, folding it and putting it in his pocket.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The only thing he is focused on now is getting out of the cellar and getting that list to the police. Standing up on wobbly legs, he turns himself to face the old wooden door, the white paint peeling off of it. "You can do it, Nathaniel, just run at it," he encourages himself before sprinting at it and ramming it with his shoulder. Instead of loosening it from its hinges, he just gives himself a bruise. Cursing, he runs at it again, this time kicking with his heel. Again, it does not budge. Scowling, he looks around for something heavy enough to break it down. When his eyes land on a red wheelbarrow in the back, a devious smile lights up his face. "That'll do," he remarks, grabbing the cold handles and running at the door. When the metal bed crashes into it, it finally cracks and falls to the floor with a thud. Smiling exuberantly, he grabs the book off of the floor and hops over the splintered door.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He races through the shelves of chinaware and toys, up the stairs, and through the rows of clothes to the countertop. Letting out a sigh, he takes the $1.75 he keeps inside his phone case and sets it next to the cash register. "I know these people are crooks, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't pay for the gift. Besides, I'm tearing the place apart, that's the least I can do." Looking up through the cloudy grey window behind the counter, he feels even more guilty, knowing that through it is his only way out. Since he couldn't kick down the wooden door to the cellar, he figures he won't be able to kick down the one on the top floor either. He notices a colorful tricycle in front of the display, picks it up, and holds it over his head. "Sorry for this!" he shouts as he throws it at the dull glass, shattering it. He climbs through the window frame and looks up at the now dark "Town Thrift Store" sign above the door. Shaking his head, he turns away from the white brick building and runs across the cracked parking lot to his car. "Samantha's birthday can wait."