I knelt beside the cardboard box containing Adrienne’s belongings from her dorm room, all four flaps lying open, the curls of dried packing tape on the floor next to the box just like I’d left them. I recognized the sorority scrapbook, the stack of photographs and invitations to various campus events, the USC Gamecocks baseball hat.
I picked up the hat, curious as to why it was there. It didn’t appear as if it had ever been worn, making me wonder if it had been a gift from Veronica, who’d attended USC. I placed it on the floor and began emptying out the box, looking for the Discman and anything that might give me some idea of what had happened to Adrienne.
Piles of freshman-year mementos soon began to form next to the box: maroon-and-gold pom-poms, a stack of multicolored plastic drinking cups with various occasions marked in peeling paint on the outside. I shook out and refolded about half a dozen College of Charleston and Omega Chi sweatshirts before pulling out a pile of twice as many Tshirts.
A search through the shirts yielded a yearbook tucked between them. I pulled it out and held the spine up to the light of the stained glass window: The Comet. The sprawl of dozens of signatures and well-wishes, with lots of hearts, X’s and O’s, decorated the inside of the front and back covers. I opened the book wide and shook it to see if anything would fall out. When nothing did, I placed it on the floor. Everything in this box had already been examined and reexamined by the Charleston police, as well as more recently by Detective Thomas Riley, who’d been assigned to work cold cases. I hadn’t really expected to find anything new. I was simply waiting for Adrienne to tell me if we’d missed something important.
A dried-rose wrist corsage rained small flakes as I pulled it from the box. I’m not sure why, but I held it to my nose as if to capture something of the night it had been a part of and the girl who’d worn it. But all I could detect was the faint scent of Vanilla Musk. And decay.
I placed it on top of the growing pile and returned my attention to the box. I could now see the cardboard bottom, littered with loose plastic beads from a ball of tangled and broken Mardi Gras necklaces in yellow, green, and purple.
I reached back into Adrienne’s box and pulled out a stack of old magazines, an issue of Seventeen on top with a photo of actress Claire Danes wearing a denim jacket, and a teaser title at the top: When your friends turn against you.
Lifting the pile of magazines out of the nearly empty box revealed an old headset with disintegrating foam earpieces. I placed the magazines on the floor and returned to the headset, following its connection wire under a pile of scarves. A wave of excitement passed through me when I spotted a Discman in bright pink. A strong scent of Adrienne’s perfume wafted past as I pulled it from the box, feeling as if I’d just opened a time capsule.
Swirls of white powder clustered in clumps over most of the player, presumably fingerprint dust. I’d never owned a Discman, but even though this device was foreign to me, it wasn’t hard to figure out that the oozing orange leaking from the battery compartment on the back meant that the batteries had never been removed. And that if I pressed the open button, the top would lift up.
I stared inside the empty cavity, the fingerprint dust generously applied here, too. The absence of a disc made me wonder if the police had taken out the Laurie Anderson CD that Veronica had mentioned and kept it as evidence.
Being careful not to touch the battery acid, I placed the Discman back inside the box and then returned everything else on top of it, trying to leave it exactly as I’d found it. I stood, wiping dust off of my knees.
“Okay, Adrienne. I didn’t find anything. What did you want me to see?”
I wasn’t expecting a response, but I’d hoped at least for some kind of sign. She’d gently pushed me up the stairs, so something had to be up here that she wanted me to see. I waited a moment. Exasperated, I said, “Fine,” then headed for the door.
I turned the handle, but it didn’t budge. I tried several more times, but it still wouldn’t turn. I wiped my hand on my skirt and tried again. Nothing. The door wasn’t locked; it felt more like someone was holding the handle from the other side.
“Come on, Adrienne!” I banged on the door. “I’ve got to go. Please let me out.”
I tried again, but still nothing. Turning around, I leaned back against the door, suddenly aware of the tinny sound of music through what sounded like distant headphones. I returned to the box and emptied everything out again, the music getting louder as I got closer to the bottom. I moved faster when I recognized the lyrics to “O Superman” spoken through a vocoder.
As soon as I’d uncovered the Discman, the music suddenly stopped.
“Okay,” I said as I carefully lifted the Discman out and then replaced the rest of the contents of the box. “Can I please leave now?”
I turned toward the door with trepidation. An odd ripple in the stale air blew a chill against my skin. Reaching out, I twisted the doorknob. Nothing.
I glanced at my watch. “Adrienne, I have to go. Please let me out.” I somehow managed to keep the panic from my voice as I found myself wishing that I’d brought my cell phone with me instead of leaving it inside my purse in the library. I gave the doorknob another twist, just in case.
I turned around again, my gaze settling on the yearbook lying on the floor next to the box. I was fairly certain that I’d put it back in the box, but I wasn’t going to argue. I picked it up and stacked the Discman on top of it. “Is this what you wanted me to have?”
To test my theory, I twisted the doorknob. To my relief, it turned easily, allowing me to pull the door open. I stood at the top of the steps, oddly suspended as if held in place by two separate forces. An icy breath blew against the back of my neck as indecipherable words growled in the empty air by my ear. A hard shove sent me tumbling forward, the suddenness of it freezing my brain and making me unable to control my arms and legs.