Part 15 (1/2)

”You didn't have a choice.”

”Sure I did. I could have gone to the police. That's what you would have done.”

”I have no idea what I would have done,” I say softly. ”It's like you said: you can't know until you're there.”

”Maybe. But I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

I put my arm around her. ”Apology accepted. We'll figure something out once we”

A box clatters in the other room, and we both jump as a voice says, ”What the h.e.l.l?” It isn't Aaron. Or Max. It's Gray.

MAX: STUPIDITY.

Stupidity: behavior that shows a lack of good sense or judgment.

A simple word. A vastly overused word. But in this particular instance? The perfect word.

Mmm, not so sure there, Max. I believe the word you actually want is ”dismay.”

Dismay: to feel consternation and distress.

You didn't want to leave Riley behind, but it was, in fact, the proper response. The sensible one. Brienne is a bit of a mess, and she doesn't much like youshockinglybut she does like and trust Riley. Therefore, logically, Riley should stay behind and make sure Brienne doesn't decide that what she needswhat you all need, reallyis to throw yourselves at the mercy of your beneficent kidnappers.

All right, perhaps leaving Riley was not stupidity. It still felt like it.

If he was being honestlet's, shall we?he might admit that there was a distinct advantage to being separated from Riley. He's too busy worrying about her to think about himself.

Is that possible? Truly, Max? Can it be?

Not only is he worried about her, but that worry bolsters his determination to find the way out of this place.

For her? Oh, that's so sweet. A little arrogantthat you have to be the one to save the daybut still sweet.

There has to be another exit. There just might be. He cannot conceive of a building with front and rear doors and absolutely no other penetrable point of egress. An escape hatch, so to speak. Particularly if the building is being renovated. He doesn't expect to find a convenient construction hole in the wallwhoops, did we leave that open?but perhaps some spot that could, with the right tools, be breached.

You're stretching, Max. You know you are.

It doesn't matter, because it gives him a goal. Something to focus on while trying not to worry about Riley, and between the two, he's almost too preoccupied to fret about his meds wearing off. ”Almost” being the operative word, because, yes, every time he thinks that, his mind swings that way. Rather like forgetting a patch of spotty skin until you look in the mirror, and then it's all you think about.

Ah, those were the days, weren't they, old chap? When an outburst of acne vulgaris could put a damper on the entire day, particularly if there was some big social event on the horizon and a pretty girl you hoped to impress. Because, by heavens, if she saw spots on your chin, that would be the end of it.

Really put things in perspective, didn't it?

Perspective: a particular att.i.tude toward or way of regarding something.

He really could laugh now, to think that he'd actually worried a girl might turn him down if his skin was spotty that day. Acne came and went, and by his age it had gone completely, having never been much of a problem even at the height of adolescence. Schizophrenia, though? That was a different story. Here today, here tomorrow, here forever, and it's nothing one can cure with a bit of cream. Even the meds are like the spot cover he'd once nicked from his mother's makeup drawer. They do an imperfect job of hiding the problem, and as soon as they wear off, nothing has changed.

At least with spots, a girl knows what she is getting. With schizophrenia, presuming the meds were doing their job, any remaining quirks can be chalked up to just that. Quirks.

Quirk: a peculiar behavioral habit.

Which he'd always had, and it never seemed to bother the girls. If anything, they found his quirks charming.

Perhaps they'll find schizophrenia charming too.

Yes, certainly. Who wouldn't, really? Perfectly charming, knowing your boyfriend could go off his rocker at any moment, mistake you for the victim of demonic possession and And that's enough of that. Focus, focus, focus. He needs to find a way out. For Riley.

Hmm, perhaps you took my jest seriously. Dating is quite off the menu, Maximus. No matter what you do for her, once you're out that door, it's ta-ta for now. It has to be. You know that, don't you?

Yes, he knows that. Which means that for perhaps the first time in his life, he is doing something for a girl he likes with absolutely no hope of reward beyond a smile.

But it's an amazing smile. Especially when it's real, not her smile-to-be-polite or her smile-to-be-friendly or her no-really-I'm-fine smile. When it's absolutely genuine, and it's for him. All for him, because he's done something to make her smile and maybe, for just a second, forget they are both completely snookered.

Because they aren't. There is still hope. A gun, and if he can focus, he'll find an escape hatch.

Back to the here and now ...

Aaron has taken the lead, not surprisingly. Which is fine, because it means Max doesn't have to second-guess himself. Also that Aaron doesn't see him jump every time he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye.

Gray and Predator are still systematically searching the building. Keeping out of their way continues to be easy, because they seem to see no reason to be quiet. Men unaccustomed to being quiet. Men like his father, full of bl.u.s.ter and noise, because, by G.o.d, they shouldn't need to be quiet. Kings of the jungle and all that. Predators of the highest order. Only prey sneak about in silence. His father has the mind-set so ingrained that Max doubts he even notices he's doing it, thumping and banging around the house like the proverbial bull in a china shop. These men are the same. Otherwise, they'd be quieter, use subterfuge to sneak up on the kids. As it is, they're probably wondering why their prey always seems to be two steps ahead of them.

As they walk, Max has the map out. Aaron had turned once, seen him studying it and snorted, ”You look like you're hunting for buried treasure.”

”I am.”

Aaron only rolled his eyes, but it was true. Hidden treasure, at least. The elusive extra exit point. Perhaps a door that isn't on the map. Or a room without an apparent door.

Really, Max? This is a warehouse. Not the Castle of Otranto. Nor an episode of s...o...b..-Doo. You aren't going to lean against a fireplace and have a secret door pop open.

He keeps looking, because he can, and because it focuses his mind on a task, and he's now doing remarkably well at that. Focusing.

Just need an incentive, son. Some danger in your cozy life. I always worried about that with youthat you were a little soft, a little too fond of your books and your scribbled fancies. If you'd come and lived with me for a while, I'd have toughened you up. Now you see what happens. Get too comfortable in civilian life and it's not just your body that goes soft. Your mind does too. Rots.

Mmm, no, sir. While I hate to interrupt your pontificating, might I point out those weeks when you came to visitjust need a holidayand spent half of it in your room, doing nothing? The nights when you came into my room and started shouting at me to start drill and Mum said you were sleepwalking? And the time you mistook me for an enemy combatant and Oh, yes, sorry. We don't talk about that, do we? My mistake. As you were saying, sir?

A secret door does not magically pop up as they walk.

And where would such a door lead? You're in the middle of the building.

Perhaps a bas.e.m.e.nt?

In a warehouse? That mind you're so proud of really is rotting a little, isn't it?

There could be a bas.e.m.e.nt, though he allows it is unlikely, given the past and present function of the structure.

Consider the original function of the structure, Max. What was it?