But she did know that Nate was in trouble, more so than before, if that were even possible. It was no accident that it was Detective Harper who took her statement and then followed her out the door. Back at Tripp’s, she’d all but run to her car, wanting to avoid any run-in with Nate, but also because Tripp was getting to her. Something had shifted, ever so slightly, and she wasn’t sure how to put it all back the way it was. She needed to be away from him and Nate and this whole thing, except she was pulled here, to the mill, just to check she kept telling herself. A quick look around and then she’d leave.
She saw the flash of white on the other side, the window to her left, but it was opaque, heavy and gray, and she couldn’t get a better look. She moved down the line, the brick crumbling beneath her palm, and looked through the bottom panel, splintered in like it had been hit with a baseball or a stick. She knew the boys threw stones at the windows, accumulating points for a good loud break. The white flashed again, soft and downy, and Bridget’s heart skipped. She heard the distant pattering of feet so she called out, “Lucia!” with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
The window at the far end was punched all the way in, the wooden lattices splintered at the edges and wide enough for an adult to climb through. Bridget was tentative with her footing, and the jagged glass scratched along her shirt, nearly cutting through to her skin, but she made it in, only a two-foot drop to the floor.
Inside, she called out again, the building blocking out the sounds from the dam, her voice tinny and hollow bouncing against the cement. The room was darker than she’d thought, the sun having long been hidden behind twilight clouds, and she squinted trying to make out anything. From another room, or maybe the one she was in, she heard a rustling, and she spun one way then the other, convinced already that she’d made a mistake in being here. She followed the rustling, trying to steady her breath, which seemed to be coming in quick bursts, and called, “Lucia!” again, just to make sure. There was no reply.
Bridget navigated around the stainless steel beams positioned every ten feet or so in the enormous concrete room. The floor was littered with cardboard tubing, various diameters, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d roll right over one and break a leg.
The next room was filled with stainless steel machinery. Large steel tanks were sunk into the concrete floor, the steel of their caps rusted and thin. Piping, four feet in diameter, connected one tank to the other, a remnant of a mechanical assembly line ending in the pulp room. Bridget ran her flashlight beam into one of the ragged openings, wondering what lay beneath the ground. What lived in those caverns—animals? People?
She shuddered. Behind a beam flashed that white again, quiet and quick. Bridget followed it, whispered “Lucia,” the rustling of a soft step guiding her deeper into the mill. The air thickened and she turned the corner, expecting to see the girl, crouching, terrified.
The thing flew at her before she knew what it was, shrieking and wild. Bridget screamed and covered her face.
Someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her down.
“Jesus Christ, Bridget. I can’t keep following you all over hell and creation. You’re going to get yourself killed.” Tripp’s hands were on her biceps, his fingers digging into her flesh.
The white thing, the thing that flew at her, toddled away. A goose. Not Lucia. She’d been tracking a goose.
“A snow goose in May?” Bridget asked.
“A loner, maybe.” Tripp shrugged, his breath at her ear. “Lost?” The goose bleated in the corner, like them, looking for a way out. They’d come in here in the daylight, ventured in far too deep, and now the exit seemed impossibly far away and cloaked in darkness.
Bridget struggled to calm her racing heart. “I really thought I’d find her here,” she said lamely.
“She might be here, but we won’t find her tonight.”
“What do we do with the goose?” He hadn’t let her go, and for a second, Bridget let herself lean back into him. His skin smelled mossy, a waxy, soapy smell.
“We have to leave it, if we stay here any longer, it’ll get dark and we’ll be stuck. Don’t worry, he got in, he’ll get out. He’s weeks away from his flock, though.” Tripp said into her hair. “The guy is pissed; listen to him. We couldn’t get near him if we wanted.”
Bridget didn’t move and was suddenly tired enough to lie down, right in the dark, in the dust and the steel and the warmth of Tripp’s arms and take a nap. He stepped back, putting space between them.
“Come on, Bridge, it’s about to get full-blown dark out. We’ll be in deep shit then.” He took her hand and pulled her gently from the steel machines, rusted stuck in time, to the open room they’d come from. Bridget took one last look in the lost goose’s direction, its cry growing more distant as they navigated the mill debris, away from it. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for it, wandering among the man-made landscape, with the natural sounds of the dam and other birds close enough to hear and unable to find his way out.
?????
In the parking lot, Tripp turned to her at her car. “Dinner?”
“What?” She’d been thinking of Lucia, and if she was honest, about Nate. Where he was right now, where Lucia was right now, if they were together. If they were together together. She hadn’t realized how firmly the doubts had taken hold, but now they were there, solid as though they’d always been there, and she found if she was honest, she no longer truly believed in him.
“I said dinner? The 543?” Tripp repeated as Bridget started to shake her head no. “You have to eat no matter what, right?”
Bridget felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and without looking at the display, declined the call. Petra had already called three times that day alone.