Claire was lost. There was a fire bell ringing somewhere, but she couldn’t find her way out. Each direction she chose led to another bare corridor filled with rows of closed doors, just like the last. There were no exit signs, no windows, no other people. The lighting was dim and the walls pale grey, like wet concrete. In a blind panic, she carried on running. There must be a staircase around here somewhere, she thought. I have to get out of here. But where am I?
Claire woke with the sudden realisation that her doorbell was ringing, and must have been so for some time. The insistence of its tone told her the caller was not going away. Confused, she dragged herself from her bed, swiping away damp hair stuck to the side of her face. She tripped on an empty wine bottle and lumbered through the doorway. A policeman broke down the front door at that moment.
The arrest was a relief. It was time to stop running.