"Six beautiful kidnapping victims stand before you, but only one of them can be... America's next top tragedy survivor," Abra mumbled, half throwing her hands up in the air and turning in place at the idea. The turn wasn't actually a flourish, but she looked back into the room she'd exited. With Squinty and her focus gone, she needed to do something else. This time she saw that there actually was a phone on the desk that she'd originally paid no attention to, and she headed for it immediately. She lifted the receiver and saw a list of numbers beneath it, none of which made any sense to her. She had a dial tone however, so she dialed 911. Nothing. The dial tone never went away. Abra hung up and tried again, to the same result. The only number of any potential help she had memorized was her parents' number, so she tried that. Just the dial tone. Finally Abra took a good look at the list of numbers, and saw names that clicked. Scotty, Ettie, and Dylan. Those were people from the hall. She tried one of their numbers. That went through.
"Jesus Christ," she snapped, slamming the phone down. "There's a phone in here," she called out, "But it only makes in-house calls." In anger Abra shoved the desk chair out of her way, flipping it as she headed back to the doorway. "Yeah, without the redneck I'm fine with sticking together. Let's go." She headed immediately for the stairs, her annoyance still helping her push past how sore and disoriented she felt.