Still, this is no place to wait. The presence of the pallets may mean nothing but the memory of my nightmare lingers and I dare not risk exposure. As AD turns, directing his crew, I slip away. The girl’s eyes are not as keen as mine, her sense of smell useless when it comes to discerning differences in air currents. Off to our left, farther along the dark wall, I sense an opening, and in it I see a possibility of escape.
It will be a tight fit, but luckily the girl is slim. Half bricked over, forgotten, perhaps in some earlier renovation, the doorway leads to a narrow stairway – broken linoleum worn thin in patches. I peer up to see if it is passable – it seems to be, although this flight is cramped further by an inner wall and by decay that has eaten into the risers, crumbling some steps down to a toehold. Switching back on itself, the stairway ascends into a darkness even I cannot see. They seem to lead away from the interior wall, though there may be another, narrowing them to uselessness. They may be blocked above, the air an illusion, a draft from some rotted crack, the confined passage a trap.
Even if it offers escape, I know that is not what the girl wants. She had hoped to turn the two men on each other. To make the jeweler pay for betraying her mentor by exposing his ruse to the importer and, in their confusion, rescue the boy. But that did not work, for reasons I still can barely grasp. And with that option ruined, we should exit. At any rate, we need to leave this busy bay – she needs safety, to be away from AD and his cruelty, and I would like time to rest and to mull over the odd convergence of dream and waking life.
This doorway, I am relieved to note, is not familiar. Although I sense neither danger nor any human presence in the narrow stairwell, I pause, half in, to gauge the distance to its zenith. Air flows down – not fresh but moving freely. Still, I wait. My mind is less clear than I would like. I feel my tail lashing, as it does when I think, but in this dark corner I do not think even its motion will draw undo attention.
The girl sees it, though. I hear her come up behind me and gasp as she realizes what I have found. ‘Good, Blackie.’ She reaches to pet me, as if I had performed at her command. The contact does us both good. It is never bad to feel that one’s talents are valued, and I start up the stairs with more bounce in my step than I had previously thought possible.
But the girl does not follow. I realize this as I reach the first landing. I turn and see her, looking back out at the room. Her hands grip the brick that frames the narrow doorway, her fingers turning white from the pressure. Beyond her, in the bay, I hear yelling. One voice – AD, I believe – shouts the others down and is followed by a sharp slap and the sound of someone falling. A cry, cut short. Care leans forward, and I fear she is about to head back out.
‘Tick,’ she says, her voice too soft to carry. Besides, the room is now filled with the sound of movements. Voices call out orders – ‘Hey, grab this!’ and ‘Over here’ – as they run across the concrete floor.
I watch, unsure of what to do, of how to urge her to save herself. The boy has made his choices and they are bad. But I cannot in good conscience wish the girl away. The air from above is not as fresh as I had thought. There is something putrid up there that makes me draw back. I bare my teeth, unsure of what lies ahead. For the first time in a long time, I am unsure what to do. I consider retreat.
‘Come on,’ the girl decides, stepping by me as she makes her way up the stairs. She is angry – I can see it in her stride. Hear it in the way her worn sneakers pound the broken stairs, and I am seized by fear. She is not thinking clearly, in this state, as she charges up these dark and secret stairs. And while I once hoped this hidden passage would lead us both to safety, I now hang back. That odor is vile. It fills my mouth and would choke me. Like the blood I taste. Like water, like the flood.
No! Whatever lies ahead, I cannot let her face it by herself. Already she has passed from my sight, her footsteps fading as the narrow stairs turn once again. I cannot …
Summoning my last reserves, I race ahead, leaping from stair to stair. The broken lino is slick and on one step I slip, my bruised belly hitting the edge hard enough to make me gasp. I pull myself up and dash ahead, pausing only when I realize the footsteps have stopped. Care has stopped – or left the stairwell. I cannot lose her. Not now. A final burst of speed and I have reached the top – an open door, and Care nowhere in sight.
FORTY-ONE