Mapmaker (11 page)

“Call me if you need a ride back—”

“Okay, thanks. Bye.” I clicked off.

I stared back at the computer screen. My eyes were so fatigued the words were literally swimming. I struggled through a few more pages when I heard footsteps. It was Alison, walking quickly toward me, the heels of her shoes clicking against the wood floor. Her car keys jangled in her hand.

“I’m leaving. The lights will go off automatically when you leave. Smart Sensors. And just close the door behind you; it self-locks.”

“Okay.”

She flashed a brittle smile. “Looks like you’ve made some progress,” she said, peering over my shoulder.

“Yep.”

“See ya Monday.” She waved and hurried away, the click of her heels echoing in the large room.

I got Connor’s text at 8:20
P.M.

Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say bye in person. Going back to California was a last-minute decision. MapOut needs a West Coast office space and they needed me to find it. I might not be exactly where I want to be but I’ll keep looking. Your dad was an inspiration to me the way Perry Reese was to him. I know you understand. Hope the rest of your summer goes well
.

I blinked at it.

I read it three more times. My stomach churned. For a second I was worried I might vomit. My eyes flashed to “Perry Reese.” He hadn’t bothered to fix the AutoCorrect. Either way, the unspoken message was clear: he didn’t give a shit.

I bit my bottom lip so hard it hurt. I tried to stop the tears but I couldn’t help it. I felt achy sick. Just last night I’d been so happy we had become or were becoming friends again.
Now he was gone. Not even a phone call, just a careless text that he couldn’t even be bothered to spell check.

It’s spelled Piri Reis, idiot
.

I texted back. My forefinger hovered over the
SEND
button. Then I noticed my phone didn’t auto-correct it. Maybe Connor really was an idiot, I tried to convince myself. Then I reread the text for the fifth time.

Hope the rest of your summer goes well.

That was the worst line of all. It meant basically “don’t call me.” God, I hated him. I stared at the cubicle walls. I really hated him.

A goodbye-forever text from the boy who hated texting. Connor really was a creep, just like his dad. And I had forty more minutes to stew about it. Forty minutes till Blaney rescued me from this place. I snapped up the phone and punched at the screen.

Thanks. Have a good summer too.

That sounded cold, like him, like his father. Tears welled in my eyes again but this time I fought them back. My finger lingered over the
SEND
button. Then I touched
SEND
.

“Shit.”

I shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of a reply. I slammed the phone down. I felt so stupid. So completely idiotic. I thought we were close in a way nobody else could understand. I thought maybe we would even be closer. I wanted to scream, to smash the phone. But there was no point. He wouldn’t hear me, anyway.

I couldn’t concentrate or sit in front of the computer for one more second. I was done, even though I hadn’t finished. I was done, as in spent: done with this place,
done with this underpaid internship. The data could wait forever.

I pushed my chair back and paced around the office. Eventually I ended up by the large windows overlooking the empty parking lot. I felt tears burn in my eyes and tilted my head toward the ceiling, keeping them from rolling down my cheeks. I should know by now never to get my hopes up. Never to expect anything from anyone.

A car was pulling up in the driveway. Was Blaney early? I hoped so. I didn’t see headlights, but there was definitely a purr of an idling engine nearby. Was that a Prius? Weren’t they quieter? I held my phone as I made my way toward the bathrooms at the back of the building. After a splash of cold water on my face, I pulled my hair back. The bathroom lights flickered above like they do sometimes in a lightning storm. Then they went out. I walked to the door, hoping the sensor would restart them. Nothing. It was pitch black in the bathrooms.

My first thought was the janitor had turned off the lights thinking it was empty. But what about the light sensors?

“Hello?” I called. I felt my way to the bathroom door.

The lights were out in the whole office. The drone of a car engine came through the open window as I hurried back to my desk. Blaney was here. I picked up my bag, making my way into the stairwell. The sound of ascending footsteps echoed from below.

“Blaney?” I called.

Nobody answered.

“Blaney …”

My voice was a hollow whisper, barely passing my lips. I
stood in the darkness at the top of the stairs. It was like that moment in a dream when you try to run but you can’t move. The sound of footsteps raced up the stairs. But nobody called out.

I turned from the double doors, pushed them closed, and fumbled for a way to lock them. No lock. Would the light sensors catch me? Had they been disabled, too? Probably. Whoever was coming turned off the main power to the building. The pale light from the moon cast long squares of light along the old warehouse floors. I could hear the faint words of a song coming from outside. I ran to the window. Blaney’s Prius was there below, the windows rolled down.

The glow of her cell phone reflected off the front window. She was waiting for me. I felt my pockets. Where was my phone? Shit. I’d left it on my desk in a panic. I glanced across the room. My desk was on the other side of the building. I contemplated making a dash for it when the doors opened.

I stepped back from the window, pressing my back against the wall. I didn’t know if I should run or stay still and hide in the shadows. From the corner of my eye I could see out the window to Blaney’s car, its headlights shining on the gravel drive, the end of the song fading.
Don’t leave. Don’t leave
. Three figures crossed the room. One, a woman—I could tell by the shape of her body and hair—the other two, men.

They were silent, making their way with what seemed like preplanned precision from cubicle to cubicle. The fine white beam of a flashlight swept every square inch. I slid down against the wall, keeping myself as small as possible.

They divided themselves, the woman and one of the men
working toward the back of the room. One beam became three.

I slunk down farther, holding my breath. The tiny sound of a bird’s whistle—my ringtone—chirped from my cell phone.
Oh God
. Blaney. She was right outside sitting in her car waiting for me, probably texting, Where are you??

The beams froze then converged, bouncing and disappearing as the three shadows hurried toward my cubicle. I heard the woman’s voice but couldn’t hear what she was saying. She had my phone. I couldn’t hide much longer. They were as about far as they would get—43 feet away, I knew—with no direct path to my hiding place.

I crawled toward the heavy exit doors. There was a bar lock, so there was no way the flashlight people wouldn’t hear me. But I had a plan: to jump out the fire escape Connor and I had used. I held my breath and sprinted the last ten feet. The doors pushed open with a clang. Their voices rose. I couldn’t see anything in the hallway. Of course: they had cut the electricity. I felt along the walls with my hands. Blindness was not part of my plan. I ran with my arms stretched out in front of me.

There was a second fire door at the end of the hallway, exactly sixty feet from the first, which led to an inner stairwell and the exterior fire escape. The sound of the banging doors echoed behind me, followed by footsteps. They were here with me in this hall. I bolted ahead, counting my steps, careful to maintain three feet between each one. It was one thing to judge distance; it was another to control it. Running in the dark felt like walking on thin, cracking ice.
Four … three … two …
In this void, time slowed down. I hit against the metal fire door, frantically feeling for the handle.
A square of lighter night sky appeared in the stairwell. I gripped the window, pushing it open.

Any second now they would appear behind me. Why had they turned their flashlights off? For some reason, I found that as terrifying as being chased. I pushed my way out through the window onto the rickety fire escape, then slammed it behind me and hurried down the steps. In my panic, I felt no fear of falling. Below in the driveway I could see the headlights of Blaney’s car. The radio was still playing.

“Blaney,” I screamed out to her.

The car’s engine revved, and the wheels slowly turned against the gravel.

“No, stop!” I looked over my shoulder at the fire escape window, still closed. I wasn’t sure what was worse: the fear of their chasing me or of Blaney driving away before I reached her.

“Wait!” I screamed again as I tried to unlatch the ladder. My hands trembled. Had the metal rusted together? I tried to lift it again, but it wouldn’t move. I stared down at the fourteen-foot drop. It was my only option. I climbed down as far I could, gripped the last railing and hung for a second, my feet dangling in the air. I was five six—my arms gave me another twenty-one inches before I let go. I landed on my feet but the force knocked me back onto the hardened dirt. My elbows and hands stung, but I pushed myself up and ran to Blaney’s car. The driver’s side window was open and I could hear the radio, some awful girl pop that she liked.

I made it
. The relief hit, along with sudden exhaustion. My legs almost gave out from under me.

“Blaney,” I gasped. I choked back tears of relief as I
reached for the car door handle. The passenger-side window was rolled up. Inside it was dark except for the blue glow of the phone. I yanked open the door and collapsed onto the cushion. She was leaning down into the glowing screen.

“We have to go fast!”

The woman who turned from the phone was not Blaney.

The music still blared. I froze. I was unable to move. She didn’t speak. It was too dark to see anything other than her straight dark hair and angular cheekbones. Her skin appeared as white as chalk. She looked familiar, somehow. I grabbed the door handle but it was locked. I pulled up at the lock, trying to push the door open, but someone was blocking it: a man.

I was screaming but I had no idea what I was saying. I remember hearing the back door open and I thought for a moment I could escape. But the woman grabbed my wrists, pinning them to the seat. The man behind me grabbed the back of my head and neck. He was going to kill me, strangle me. My eyes grew wide.

They were weird, the thoughts that went through my head. I remembered a photograph Dad had shown me when I was little: a rabbit caught in a trap. I remember Mom was furious at him; it was one of my only clear memories of her. Why had he shown me that picture? I knew he’d had a reason … but it had died with him and would die with me. It had haunted me because the fear in the rabbit’s eyes was so palpable. Fear and the knowledge that what was to come would be even worse.

The man had his hand on the top of my head and his arm around my neck. The woman held my wrists so tightly I felt her fingernails press into my skin. I imagined I’d pop like
a balloon if her nails burst through. I lashed out kicking. I wanted to hurt her. The man tightened his grip on my neck. Blood swelled in my face, hot and dizzy. I tried to pull his arm from me but couldn’t move my hands. I gasped a small amount of air when there was a tiny pinprick in my arm.

The man’s grip slid away.

Keep your eyes open
, I told myself. But then everything went black.

A warm feeling ran through my body, my veins. Like the sun, shining down on me. As the warmth spread, my arms went numb. The warmth turned into a tingly and unpleasant sensation. My legs felt numb, too. I couldn’t move. My head felt as though it had turned to stone as my eyes stared ahead helplessly. I was aware of motion—a car on a highway—of voices, but they sounded far away, as though they were talking in another room.

Don’t close your eyes
, a voice warned inside my skull. It was small, like a child’s, and the weight of my lids was too heavy. Something was terribly wrong; I
knew
that. But I couldn’t move. I was too tired, too comfortable. I let go.