What did Vance just say?

Your ears still rung from when the ghost boy screamed into the receiver. So loud it shook the room, the two green and glass soda bottles flew at the walls. Glass shattered against the ground, his head against the wall. Your eyes followed to Finney's presence, sat on the edge of the mattress. By the hanging black phone.

"Vance said there's a freezer the leads to the storage room." You said, breaking the strained silence. His head perked up, at this point, you both had lost hope. You both had tried everything. The grated window that you couldn't reach but managed to get the grate. The Naughty Boy game, when The Grabber fell asleep and Billy contacted him through the black phone, bike lock was the combination code on his front door. Didn't work, even as you ran. Grabber got you guys.

Vance was aggressive. Even in spirit. His voice had rattled the both of you, stirred the last sighting of him in your stomach.

"What?" He asked, mudded fingers gripping into his trousers. You nodded and stood, done moping. You had to get out. He had to get out. It wasn't fair.

"Down the hall," you gestured your head to where the toilet was, a narrow enough passage where three rolled up rugs laid and a toilet. "Across from the john on the right, about two feet above into the wall. There's a plate. Freezer blocking it. Unscrew the nails on the plate, then you're into the freezer and—"

"— into the storage room." He finished, standing up slowly. His body ached, lack of real movement down there. But right now, it felt numb. There was another chance to escape. "I'll keep watch." You said.

"And I'll dig." Finney replied.

You nodded, feet padding over to the mattress. Still warm from his constant presence. Your eyes remained on the door, dirtied nails fidgeting with a loose string from the mattress. Your shoes scuffed against the ground, something to keep you here. Alive.

He turned to where the toilet was located, grabbing the cistern lid and driving the pristine side into the wall at an estimate of two feet. He was at it for hours, night approaching, you asleep, and a hole finally reaching a musty plate. A smile spread upon his face. Freedom was so close. But the screws. He looked around, back to the toilet. In the tank he unscrewed pipes and wires until he got a rounded disc thin enough to slide into the divot in which the screw held.

Finney slotted the thin side in, managing to unscrew the nails out. The plate tumbled, he caught it in order to not wake you. He peeked inside, frozen meat in packets covered the bottom of the white freezer. He climbed inside after tossing a few out of the way, ramming his shoulder into the cabinet door-like of the freezer. Again. Again. And again.

It was locked.

Dread set in again and he climbed out, shuffling into the corner by the toilet. Tears pricked at his eyes, frustration, hopelessness, and the inability to do anything consumed him. Finney couldn't help but cry, softly.