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Act Three: The Third Act

Crawl. That was the first thing Ingrid thought to do in her situation. She

quickly fell to her knees, and laid both her hands on the floor. Ingrid knew that by crawling, she could escape the rising smoke and last the longest she could. But is lasting the longest she could what she wanted to do?

...

Back at the Safety Patrol Headquarters, the gang was still discussing possible next-targets and suspects. Commissioner Vallejo put down the cocoa he held in his hand on his desk, and spoke up on the obvious. "Shouldn't Third be finished that phone call of hers by now?"

Fillmore's head shot up at the realization that she wasn't part of the group discussion as he assumed. His eyes darted around the room looking for Ingrid, but there was no sign of her anywhere in the room. A hint of surprised panic seeped into Fillmore when he admitted to himself that his best friend had left the room under radar. No, he thought, trying to calm himself down, She's probably just investigating another case. But he didn't believe it. She practically never goes anywhere without telling someone. And when his mind went to his strange phone call with Matthew Frost, he got a little more panicked for Ingrid's sake.

"So?" Vallejo impatiently asked Fillmore, interrupting his line of thought, "Any ideas?"

Worried that her job might be on the line if she's of-duty during working hours, Fillmore decided to cover for Ingrid. "She's just in the ladies room." He said it so matter-of-factly, Fillmore almost believed it himself. But he knew better.

"I see," The Commissioner said as he walked slowly the other way, hands behind his back, clearly implying that the conversation was over.

Fillmore's mind was in a million places. None of his thoughts were about the stolen Frisbees or sport equipment. They were all about Ingrid and Matthew Frost.

...

Smoke had filled up the storage room two-thirds of the way, now. The air was too cloudy to see more than a foot away, and it was getting harder to breathe. Ingrid was coughing vigorously while taking short, shallow breaths in-between coughs. She's patting the hard tile floor with her hands to find something to help her. She'd already scanned the room for tools when she could see, and hadn't found anything.

Suddenly, Ingrid's hand smacked down on something! She grasped it, and pulled it into view. Ingrid looked down at the object she had clamped in her hand. She had found a plastic water bottle with water in it! "Ye—" Ingrid tried to celebrate the slightest bit of hope she's had yet with a simple 'yes!' but with all the smoke she's breathed in, the slightest speech will shred her vocal cords.

She poured the majority of the water on the front of her shirt, and pulled the wet cloth over her mouth. It brought instant relief to her lungs when she breathed. But Ingrid knew as well as anyone else that this wouldn't last her long enough. She had to find something else. She only had the things she was able to find in the little 4 by 6 foot storage room.

...

Fillmore sat at his desk looking down at the floor, clearly in deep thought. Danny O'Farrell saw him from across the room and made his way over to him.

"Everything alright?" Danny asked with concern in his voice.

Fillmore sat upright, "Not really. Ingrid didn't tell anyone where she went, no one saw her leave, and she's not answering her talkie."

"She's Ingrid. She probably just dropped her talkie somewhere and is solving a case on her own." Danny was making a desperate attempt to calm Fillmore down.

"But what if—" he started, but Danny interrupted him.
"Don't think like that. Ingrid's smart. We both know that. I don't think you should be worried. If she can get in a pickle, she can well manage getting out of one." And with that he turned around and walked back to his desk. Fillmore was taken back by O'Farrell. He'd never seen that side of him before.

Just then, Fillmore's telephone rang, snapping him out of his daze.

He picked it up, hoping it was his partner. "Fillmore," he said into the phone.

"Hello again, Cornelius." It didn't belong to Ingrid. Fillmore's eyes widened when he recognized the voice. And at this point, he knew he'd never forget it.

It was Matthew Frost.

...

There was almost no more breathable air in the little storage room. The wet cloth Ingrid was using had dried up, and she was coughing like mad. She's searched the ground seven times over, and found nothing of use since she discovered the water bottle. Ingrid knew time was almost up. She found a three-legged wooden stool in the far corner, used her last few ounces of energy to hoist her self up onto it.

She sat there for a while, motionless, eyes closed, waiting for sleep to come. All of a sudden, her eyes shot open. She noticed she was sitting on something besides the stool! Ingrid slipped her hand underneath her, against the smooth wooden surface of the stool, and grasped what felt like a thin metal wire. No, she thought, this is too good to be true! She pulled it out from beneath herself to reveal a coat hanger!

Ingrid jumped to her feet, but the heavy movement made her light-headed and unable to keep her footing. She fell to the ground face-down with a large smack. Ingrid looked up at her target, the door. She already knew what she had to do. I just need to get to the door, she thought to herself in a sudden rush of adrenaline. I can pick the lock and get out. Lock-picking is right up my ally! Ingrid tried inching her way to the door with the last little amount of energy she had left. Just a few more inches... She thought. But she knew she had run out of time. Just a few more inches...

...

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