The stairway leading to the door to the roof was as claustrophobic as a dark, unwanted thought, and the air was heady with humidity from the rain on the other side of the door. I imagined Michael carefully climbing the deep wooden stairs, pressing his dimpled hand against the wall for balance. I could imagine it, but I didn’t believe it. It seemed like madness.
Press turned the key in the lock one way, and then the other. The bolt clicked into place.
“It wasn’t locked. How did you know?” Looking back at J.C., I heard the wonder in my own voice and all the horrible implications. Michael had never been in this stairwell, had never even been in the small room beside the theater where the stairs began—at least not with me. It was impossible.
“Let me by!” I didn’t wait for J.C. to answer, but squeezed by Press to turn the key again myself, and pushed open the door.
Blinded by the brilliant sheen of silvery gray sky, I stumbled out onto the tar-covered roof. When I blinked, I could see the stark black outline of the dome, the two blocks of rooms, and the short iron railing around the edge of the roof. I squeezed my eyes shut until the shapes dissipated.
Press was behind me. “Terrance, you go on to the far south section. Charlotte, for God’s sake, just wait here with J.C.”
Ignoring Press’s ridiculous admonition to stay where I was, I circled back around the odd little shelter that embraced the doorway, with Press calling after me.
“Dammit. Why won’t you listen, Charlotte? Stop!”
“I’ll go with her.” J.C.’s footsteps followed behind me on the gritty rooftop.
The dome, with its circlet of narrow windows, rose in front of me to a height of about eight feet. The windows were not particularly clean but were spattered with bird droppings and grime, and streaked where the rain had come down hard against the glass. Though I hardly gave it a thought then, I wondered later at the state of the windows. From far below, the windows seemed clear as new glass, filling the hall with sunlight. But, then, who would come out to clean the windows? Much later, when I had time to think about it, I wondered why it hadn’t bothered Olivia. Perhaps her vision hadn’t been what it had used to be. Still, it seemed a strange oversight.
As I walked around the dome, I had the feeling that we were wasting time. Of course Michael wasn’t up there! J.C. was still following, not saying a word, when I went to the front railing and looked out over the drive. Old Gate rested in the northern distance, oblivious to what was happening far above it. As I watched, the view shimmered with bands of moisture like some kind of mirage, the steeple of the Presbyterian church the only thing that seemed to remain firm and upright. Behind me, far on the other end of the roof, I could hear Press opening and shutting the creaking doors of the old storage sheds far beyond the dome and calling Michael’s name.
“Michael,” I whispered. “Where are you, baby?”
I forced myself to look down into the circle of the drive, moving my gaze cautiously closer to the house, which was where he would be if he’d fallen. Michael was a climber. Curious. He always wanted to be close to the things he was curious about: examining them intently, sticking them in his mouth if he could. Once, when Nonie had brought him into her room to watch a news program, he had crawled to the television cabinet and pulled himself up. Holding firmly to either side, he had pressed his face against the screen and made a loud humming noise, causing us to laugh. When he pulled away, he had left behind a wet, round smear on the glass.
Having once been close to the small sheds Press was searching, I didn’t want to go near them again. He’d told me they were filled with paneling, old tools, furniture, and trunks. Who knew what the extremes of heat and cold had done to the contents? Everything was probably worthless by now. Worthless, but perhaps concealing a little boy. I turned back to look, but the dome was in the way.
I made my way back toward Press along the western edge of the roof, whose lines were unbroken except for the upright brick rectangles of yellow brick chimneys. The shallow wing’s rooftop was a half dozen feet lower than the rooftop I was on now, and it held no strange dwellings or doorway shelters. Below were the garden and maze.
“Charlotte! J.C.!”
Press called from an open doorway in the farthest strip of rooms. I felt the new, constant pain in my stomach slip, lighten for the briefest second. The rush of hope propelled me toward his voice. J.C. was suddenly ahead of me.