Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Lennox

Jamie and I grew up in Pittsfield. Almost a straight shot down I-90 to Boston. There's not much there. Old houses. Farms on the outskirts. Looking back, it feels like another fucking life.

It practically was another life.

Jamie and I were raised by our mom and our aunt. Mom worked at the Big Y—the grocery store on West Street. We lived in a small ranch house over by the cemetery and went to school at Pittsfield High. It wasn't awful. It just never really felt real . Like this foggy cloud, disconnected and disordered.

Another person, another life.

And I liked this boy. His name was Archer. One of the "cute" boys. The ones who everyone talked about. Who laughed easily, with big smiles, and talked loudly, and was on the swim team, and always seemed to have people around him.

He was two years older than me, with green eyes that always seemed like they knew something I didn't.

He was tall, like Reed. He was athletic. Like I said, on the swim team.

And he liked me.

Fuck, he liked me a lot .

He liked coming over and sitting on the front porch with me. He liked Jamie, who's a year younger than me. And he liked that I drew. He liked my art. He liked sitting and watching me draw.

Archer.

I didn't know he'd turn out to be a fucking asshole. That he would pretty much blow up my existence.

I rub at the side of my neck, that deep unease. The stink of chlorine and those lights, running down the middle of?—

"I'll help."

I stiffen, dropping back on my heels as I turn.

Reed . Cool brown eyes stare down at me, his lips in a line as he sets a hand on top of the pile of boxes next to me.

I blink into reality.

The Belmont Hotel.

The entryway. Filled now. Everyone's standing just inside. Umar here too, braving it.

"I can help," Reed says again. His hand is clasped on top of the boxes, his long fingers spread out, up to his face.

"Uh, thanks, man."

His eyes narrow lightly. "No problem."

"Is it though?" I lick my lips. "Some small snippet of a problem? You came here with Indy, and now, you're leaving her alone in a creepy hotel to help me."

Jesus, I don't know why I ask the question. Maybe just to get that steady stare that he's giving me, cool around the edges, not seeming to really be affected by anything.

"Indy can very clearly take care of herself," he says.

I practically shiver.

I don't fucking get him. And…

Archer .

Jesus, fucking Archer.

I draw in a slow breath, so much twisted up in my head.

The physical similarities between the two aren't all that obvious. Other than height. And those long limbs—maybe it's a swimmer's body. Did Archer play water polo too? I remember him saying something like that.

The shape of their eyes is similar, too. Slightly upturned at the end.

And a drift of chlorine, which if I'm being honest, I can't even smell on Reed, but it's like I know it's there. It's like I've put the scent on him ever since he first stepped into Randy's.

I used to think Archer was the boy who tore my world apart.

Now, I know my world was already apart. He was just the one who took the sledgehammer to it.

I rub at the side of my neck. We've got to get started.

"We've planned to set up a central location in the library," I tell him. "So, we'll need to move all these boxes."

"Alright." He reaches up and flips his hat again, settling it backward and then reaching for the cart handle. "Do you know where we're going?"

"Hopefully."

He nods. "Alright, let's get started."

The blueprints of the hotel are laid out visually in my head, as clear as if I'd drawn it myself. I've memorized it, studied it. But as with everything in life, you can study ahead, but you don't really know the truth until you get there.

There's a hallway off the back of the reception area, two elevators to the right, stairs to the left, and then straight back into what is currently shadow and darkness.

I pause at the mouth, balancing the tub I'm carting on my hip so that I can dig out my phone. Reed pulls out his too, the circle of his light moving along the floor and then up the walls, the edge of the beam lighting along the bottom of his angled jaw, the corner of his lips.

Doors appear evenly on either side. The carpet is a dingy maroon, and the walls are nearly that color too—wrinkled and smudged deep red wallpaper with gold trimmings that probably looked swanky back in the day. Now, patches of the carpet are missing, the ribs of wood flooring exposed underneath, scratched and worn. Unlike in the entryway, the floor creaks when I step over the transition from the marble to the wood.

There are no windows down the hallway, so the darkness extends out ahead of us, farther than the reach of our flashlights, and so fucking dark that a knot rises in my chest. I balance the tub and my phone, not wanting to lose my ability to see. Dust hovers in our beams as they trace over torn wallpaper and tarnished sconces, some with burnt bulbs and some empty.

Holy fuck. This place .

It sends shivers up my spine as I push another step forward, some kind of deep response growing in my stomach. Something like fight or flight, hovering there, even if I know that there's nothing to fear.

I mean, I know that. Right?

"There's nothing to fear."

Fuck, why did I say that out loud? I side glance at Reed, the light still just an echo on the bottom of his jaw, his height feeling pronounced in the hallway, especially compared to my five foot eight inches, the dolly rolling behind him, bumping over a raised floorboard.

"If you say so," he says.

We step deeper into the dark, the voices behind us beginning to fade, the sound of our shoes on the floor is soft, but I'm hearing every creak, every shift of our sneakers.

And it's just me and him here.

In this hallway.

Alone.

I hadn't thought of that back with the others. I should have. I'm always aware of being alone.

But my head's been so full of thoughts that it didn't even occur to me.

I swing my light along the walls. One of the doors on the right is open, gaped inwards a foot, a swell of darkness behind it.

Anything could be in that room.

Anything could be past the gape of another door farther down too. Or behind one of these closed doors, as we shuffle our way past, feet moving slowly, imagination moving quicker.

My toes squish into the bottom of my shoes as I walk, my fingers picking up a slight tremble as they squeeze my phone.

I did not expect to react like this. But my body doesn't lie.

"So…" I clear my throat, trying to get some semblance of normalcy with talking. My voice is loud, and I soften it. "You play water polo? Indy mentioned something."

He takes another four steps before he answers. "Yes." He keeps his voice quiet too. Not quite a whisper, but not full volume.

I skim my shoes lightly as I walk, my jeans tugging against my thighs. My hoodie is too warm, a clammy heat rising on the back of my shoulders and in my pits. There's no breeze here. The air is stale, thicker with dust. I can feel it in my throat, drying in my mouth.

And I guess he's not going to say anything more than "yes."

I push forward another few feet. The library should be at the end of this hallway, which is feeling impossibly long right now. I still can't see it, the beams of our lights fading into darkness, the swell of dust both falling and rising up from below as we upset it.

It feels like nothing and no one has been here for years . Like we're offsetting the balance of things. Invading what's been taken over by time and decay.

I glance back over my shoulder. There's just an echo of light behind me, the voices of the others completely faded now, the hallway nearly as dark behind as it is ahead.

Jesus. Fuck.

Just the two of us here. And I don't even know if I'm glad about that now or not. Is him being with me better than being alone? Even with the way shivers dart over my shoulders when I glance over at him.

I think so?

I don't know.

"It seems like we should be there by now," I say. This building isn't that big. But we're also moving slowly. Careful with our feet, pausing when the floor shifts and creaks, halting by the open doorway, the black maw inside doing all sorts of crazy shit in my head.

Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck.

My heart is hammering in my throat, my lungs tight from breathing in the dust, my stomach in some kind of knot that feels like it will never untangle. My jeans feel tight, my packer feels very present. Sometimes I forget about it, and sometimes it feels so real and relevant. Maybe in part because I don't wear it every day.

The air gets denser with every step, thick and bulky in my throat. The walls on either side of us feel like they're creeping closer, narrowing—is that just my imagination? It has to be. There's no way that's real.

Reed swings his light to the second open doorway, down the hallway. There are scratches along the doorframe, a pile of shredded papers just inside, the edges of the pile not visible.

"I know nothing about water polo," I say. I don't know why the fuck I'm talking about it.

But I need to talk about something.

"Most people don't," he says.

"Are you good at it?" I ask.

He pauses, the dolly slowing behind him, the boxes shifting slightly. "Why do you ask?"

His voice has shifted to something harder. Still a lower volume, quieter in the hallway as my ears perk with any sound, but there's something distant in his tone. That coldness winding up.

"Just curious," I say. And now I'm more curious.

There's something there. I'm only glancing at him out of the corner of my eyes, but I can feel that stiffness between us.

I suppose I could ask Indy about it.

He resumes walking, the echo of the flashlight showing a clench of his jaw as he swings his light to the far end of the hallway. "Do you think we're almost there?"

"Are you avoiding the question?"

His lips, outlined only on the bottom, lift. "It's not something that's pressing right now."

"If you say so. Although making conversation is?—"

His light darts to the black maw behind the open door. "Did you see that?"

I freeze, my heart launching up into my mouth. I feel the emptiness of the space behind me, the darkness of the space ahead.

"See what?" My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

" That ." His light darts everywhere, across the span of the hallway, up the deep red walls, over the high ceiling, and around the light scones dripping with dust and spider webs. "I don't know. It fucking moved ."

Oh, holy fuck. " What moved?"

It's impossible that there's something in here.

Except…

It's really not impossible. There are open windows. Open doors. Room behind the pickets of the fence outside for any number of things to slip through.

"It was…" Reed's shaking his head. "I don't know."

We're both motionless. I hear my breath and heartbeat, the faint creak of the floor as I shift onto my toes, sliding into a stance. Getting ready for fuck knows what.

I can hear him breathing, too. Steady but sharp.

His flashlight beam darts around the hallway, then slows and melds into the center with mine.

"I don't see anything." My whisper is so quiet that I'm not sure if he can hear it, but he tilts his head closer.

"I didn't imagine it," he breathes.

"Didn't say you did." I lick my lips, nerves popping—the smell of his deodorant wafts towards me. Like every other one of my senses, my smell seems to be on high alert.

I stare at where our beams are fused together, dead center in the hallway, my ears pricked for any sound. I'm aware of everything—the tightened laces on my Vans, the feeling of my clothes, my jeans scraping against the backs of my knees as I sink deeper into my stance. I do Muay Thai for fitness mostly, but damn, it's right there. All that bag work is paying off. Against what, though?

Nothing moves ahead of us other than the glimmer of slowly falling dust. I glance behind.

Nothing.

Reed shifts his weight. The smallest of movements, but I'm so fucking aware of it. Of him. Of his body next to mine. Of the distance between us and the hug of his drawstring pants to his thighs, the clasp of his t-shirt over his chest, the arc of the shadow underneath the brim of his hat.

I swallow. "What did it look like?"

"Smallish." His flashlight darts around again. "Like maybe a foot tall? Brown. Furry. Its eyes glowed."

"Like a wombat?"

His light jumps. "A wombat?"

"Uh… yeah?"

A breath of laughter escapes him, tight and controlled, but still a laugh. "Wombats are from Australia. We don't have them here."

"Okay," I admit, still keeping my voice hushed. "That's accurate. It was still the first thing that came to mind."

"Instead of a rat or opossum or cat or raccoon, you thought ‘wombat'?"

"Yeah. I guess that was kinda weird."

"I dunno." He takes a half step forward, his knees slightly bent, his light focused on the shredded paper beyond the door frame. "I kind of liked it. And it actually makes me feel better thinking it's a wombat instead of whatever else is possible. So… I don't see the wombat. "

"I don't see the wombat either." My heart is still pounding, my fingers still tightly clenched around my phone. And I want to know what the fuck that was—whatever he saw.

He takes another half step forward, but he's also moving closer, the distance between us lessening.

"Do you hear anything?" he asks.

"No."

"So, we keep going?"

"Yes." I scan the hallway again, then gesture with my light to the far end. "I think we've got to be almost to the library. It's at the dead end of this hallway. Big room, from the look of the blueprints. There should be windows and… well, I don't know what else."

But whatever the fuck it is, I'm getting really creeped out in this hallway. All these closed doors, hiding other worlds. Who knows what the fuck is behind them.

Although, who knows what the fuck is in the library, either.

Reed nods, moving another step forward, and pulling in a soft, deep breath. "So, we just look out for the wombat. I mean, there's two of us and one of it."

"Yeah." I hesitate. "Maybe."

He stiffens. "What do you mean, maybe ?"

"Well, you only saw one. But there could be others."

"We're not having this conversation. There was one ." He shakes his head. " One furry, cute wombat. Don't fuck with me, dude."

"Alright. I promise not to fuck with you." I pull in a slow breath and force my feet to move.

We go together. Neither one of us is talking now. We keep a steady pace, past the open door, our flashlights not penetrating the dark. We move past a carefully made stack of books, nearly up to the ceiling, which is weird as fuck, and has it been there for thirty years? Regardless, it hopefully means we're close to the library.

The hallway feels long . And Reed and I work together. A silent understanding as we move our lights, one scanning any open rooms while the other keeps theirs focused on the hallway in front of us.

Finally, our flashlights play over a closed double door at the end of the hallway. Two dark wood doors with vines carved into them. One is missing a handle, a dark round hole where it used to be.

But since both doors are closed, that means the wombat has to be behind us. Hidden in one of those side rooms. I don't want to think about it too much.

"We're here," I whisper the obvious.

We stop an arm's length away, and Reed swings his light over the door.

I drag in a slow breath through my mouth, the weight of the air heavy in my throat, then I reach for the handle.

The metal is smooth under my fingertips. My pulse is thick, my muscles bunched. I'm still aware of everything—Reed next to me, the slightly more yellow color of his phone flashlight than mine, the sound of his breath, his nearness.

I press down on the doorhandle, and fuck… I had no idea that my pulse could skyrocket any more, but it does, thumping so loud that it could drown out any other sound as I turn the handle and then push the door inwards. It moves smoothly, with just the faintest of a rasp, giving way.

Our flashlights sweep over the room.

" Holy …" My words die, my head tilts back, taking in the circle of my flashlight all the way up to the arched ceiling, the beam dancing off the prisms of jeweled chandeliers that line the center and then back down to the sheer size of the room.

"Shit," Reed concludes.