When I came to the top of the stairs, my whole body shook. Two doors separated me from freedom. The first—the one looming before me—opened up to a narrow hall that snaked down dim corridors and eventually led back to my cell. The second lay just beyond this one. It occupied the right wall just a few feet into the hall, and the prisoners knew it well. We were marched past that door every time we were brought down to the torture room. Always unlocked, it led right outside, the path to freedom so close we could almost taste the wind.
