“Or Ivy. I shouldn’t have given her the code. I panicked.”
“Cal, you’re making no sense.” Then another thought strikes me, fast and unwelcome. “Shit, you’re right. You shouldn’t have given her the code. It’s a terrible idea for Ivy and Boney to talk right now.” Boney is known for being a laid-back guy, but he has a temper, too. I’ve seen him go off on people, and Ivy looks like she’s been waiting for an excuse to give him hell.
Yesterday, after the election results were announced, Ivy stalked past me and my ex-girlfriend, Carmen, in the hallway. “I’m worried about that girl,” Carmen said, nodding at Ivy. “She seems so stressed. I hope she has some kind of outlet to blow off steam.”
Carmen and I are still friends, because our split was almost as chill as I told Cal and Ivy. Except, when Carmen said we might as well break up, I had the feeling she was waiting for me to protest. And I wanted to. But I didn’t, because as Autumn likes to say, I’m incapable of dealing with even the slightest hint of rejection.
Whatever. Nobody likes rejection. That’s science.
I shake the thought off and focus on the problem at hand: the fact that Cal and I are still lurking uselessly in the alley while Ivy and Boney are probably having an epic screamfest in the middle of an abandoned building. “We better go after her,” I tell Cal, and start for the street. He doesn’t move, and I turn back, exasperated. “Come on. I’m going in, and Ivy’s already there, so whatever you’re worrying about—deal with it, okay?”
I turn without waiting to see if he’ll follow me, and I’m a little surprised when he does. Also glad, since I forgot the security code. The street is still deserted, with nobody in sight as Cal presses 5-8-3-2 on the keypad beside the door.
There’s no buzzing sound, but when Cal pulls on the door handle, it opens. We step into a hallway that’s brighter than I expected, thanks to a skylight in the ceiling. The walls are white, the floors wooden and lightly scarred. There are two sets of stairs on either side of us, and it’s so quiet that I can hear myself breathe.
“Ivy?” I call. “Where are you?”
There’s nothing but silence for a few seconds. Then Ivy’s voice—so high and thin that I barely recognize it—floats from somewhere above us to the left. “Upstairs,” she says.
“You okay?” I ask, starting up the left staircase with Cal behind me.
“I don’t know,” she says in the same voice, and now I recognize the tone.
She’s afraid.
I pick up my pace, taking the steps two at a time. “What floor are you on?” I call.
“I don’t know,” she says again. My heart is pounding, both from exertion and worry, and I’m steeling myself for the worst when I reach the fourth floor and catch sight of her hovering at the edge of a doorway. Alone, and from what I can see, perfectly fine.
I lean against the wall to catch my breath. We’re in a long hallway with multiple doors on either side, all of them closed except the one Ivy’s next to. “Ivy, what the hell,” I pant as Cal lags behind me on the stairs, a couple of floors down. “You scared the crap out of me. Where’s Boney?”
“I think…” She’s still staring into the room in front of her, clutching one side of the doorframe like she needs the support. “I think he might be there.”
“Where?” I come up beside her and peer into the room. At first, all I notice are the large windows, built-in bookshelves, and a long table strewn with paper, pencils, and brushes. A few easels are scattered here and there, some covered with half-finished drawings. Definitely a studio, and definitely recently used, even though the building is supposed to be empty.
And then I follow Ivy’s gaze to a pair of bright purple sneakers jutting out from behind a large rolling cabinet. Somebody’s lying there, perfectly still and silent.
Not a flicker of movement, anywhere.
I clear my throat and call, “Boney?” There’s no response; no sound at all except for the faint wail of sirens in the distance. Was Boney wearing purple sneakers? I can’t remember; all that comes to mind when I try to picture him outside is the tie-dye T-shirt and his backpack. Neither of those are visible from where we’re standing. “Are those his—” I start to ask Ivy.
Then something jostles my arm. I turn with a fist raised on instinct, ready to strike, but it’s just Cal on his tiptoes, trying to see around me. He stumbles backward, hands up in a gesture of peace, as he asks, “What’s going on?”
“Somebody’s in there. Somebody who’s…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I take a couple of steps into the room so Cal can see what we’re seeing, then turn back and look at Ivy. “You haven’t gotten any closer than this?”
“No.” She finally unfreezes, coming up beside me and twisting her hands together. “I was afraid that…I didn’t know if somebody else was here, or—”