December Park(161)

“Come help me lift them,” I said.

“Wait.” Michael took off his backpack and set it down in the grass. He unzipped it and hoisted out the collapsible ladder. “Use this.”

Shivering, I helped him unfold the ladder. We carried it over to the side of the building where we struggled to keep it from falling over.

“You realize we’re holding up an eighteen-foot aluminum ladder in the middle of a thunderstorm,” Michael said.

“Don’t remind me,” I countered.

He smiled.

It took us three tries to get the brackets around the window’s ledge. I stepped back. Lightning lit the sky behind the building, making the whole thing look superimposed.

“I’m going in after him,” I said, turning to the others. I swung my backpack off my shoulders. “At least two of you should wait out here and stand guard.”

“Stand guard for what?” Michael asked.

“Well, if anyone comes,” I said.

“You mean the Piper,” he said. It was not a question.

I nodded. “Or . . . if I don’t come back out.”

“You’ll come back out,” Scott said firmly.

“Yeah, I know. But if I don’t, you guys will have to go for help.”

Both Michael and Scott nodded.

“I’m going in with you,” said Peter. His shock of red hair had turned brown in the rain. His eyes were fierce, determined.

“Are you sure?” I said. “You don’t have to.”

He grinned. “No retreat, baby, no surrender, right?”

I unzipped my backpack and withdrew the sword I’d wrapped in a bath towel at the house. The towel was drenched, but I’d secured it with rubber bands. I undid them and peeled the wet towel away, revealing the sword’s moonlit blade.

“Holy shit,” Scott mused.

I held it by the handle with both hands, its weight almost preternatural. Then I passed it over to Scott. “Hold on to this.”

He took the sword and held it horizontally, his gaze running back and forth across the length of the blade. “This is incredible.” Then he looked at me. “Maybe you should take it.”

“I’ve got something else,” I said, reaching into the backpack and taking out my father’s revolver. My hand shook, rattling the barrel.

They all stared at the weapon. No one said a word.

I stuffed it back inside the backpack and secured one of the backpack’s straps over my shoulder.

“Promise me you won’t get killed,” Scott said.

I touched my nose. “Promise.”

Scott glanced at Peter. “You promise, too.”

Peter touched his nose. “I promise.”

Scott nodded, his jaw firm. His stoic expression didn’t change even when he touched his nose. “I promise we won’t get killed out here, either.”

“Good,” I said, and we all looked at Michael.

He winced. “Seriously? We’re still doing the nose thing?”

“Do it.” Peter threw a jab at his bicep.

“Okay, yeah, I promise.” Michael pressed an index finger against his nose hard enough to flatten it. “See? So now no one gets killed.”

“Good deal,” I said, and turned to face the ladder.

Peter gave me a boost, even though I was able to grab on and pull myself up without any assistance. I proceeded to climb, the storm raging all around me. An idea for a story came to me—a story about a boy who goes into an old building looking for a killer but gets lost and spends the rest of his life wandering around, trying to find his way out. It made me sick to my stomach.

When I reached the window, I unzipped the front pocket of my backpack and took out the flashlight I’d stowed in there. I shined the beam into the window. The pyramid of rocks fell into view on the other side of the wall. I was hoping to catch sight of Adrian, but I wasn’t so lucky. The smell—that rotten fecal stench—greeted me, and the reality of what I was about to do grabbed me around the throat.

Thunder shook the sky. I glanced up, wincing in anticipation of the lightning that was sure to follow. It came, breaking out far over the bay. I felt it in my back teeth.

I swung one leg over the windowsill, braced myself, and then pulled my other leg in after me. The storm was quieter inside, but the sound of running water was all around me. I made my way down the pyramid of stone.

When I reached the floor, I shined the flashlight around the room. Adrian was not here. Clutching the flashlight more tightly, I felt claustrophobia creep up and worm its long, cold fingers around my throat . . .

Peter appeared in the window. He swung his legs in and maneuvered down the pyramid of stone and joined me. “This place is filling up with water.”

Rainwater spilled from the cracks in the ceiling and ran down the walls, forming small tributaries on the floor. The fissures in the stone swelled like overflowing rivers. I followed one capillary of water along a seam in the floor until it eventually emptied into the large crater in the middle of the big room.

I panned the flashlight along the walls while my eyes adjusted to the depths around us.

“God,” Peter said.

I froze when the light fell on something just a few feet away from the nearest doorway. Peter sucked in his breath.

It was Adrian’s backpack. The Incredible Hulk snarled at us, his big green face dusted in a fine white powder.