I know they mirror my own.
“We get in, and we get out,” she breathes, and I nod.
We slide through the doors, the chains dragging along with it and scraping against the wooden floor.
Hardly any light is inside, a mixture of orange hues from the streetlight mixing in with dust particles, slowly dancing in the air as we disturb their peace.
At least the place looks deserted.
But that type of naivety isn’t going to fly here. I’m suspicious of everything now.
People’s motives, their words. It’s the reason we’re standing back at the place that caused the domino effect.
Regina, Jenna and I targeted out of the blue to join a party here, then we’re attacked, the police not accepting our statements.
Then Jenna is killed.
I know it’s all connected; the root of the answers lies within this building.
Regina slips her bag forward again, handing me a gun as she takes her own, along with a torch.
I never had the urge to own one before, even though my dad taught me how to use one.
Now, I sleep with one under my pillow.
“I think we should check the upper floor.”
She juts her head in a silent response, leading the way through the pitch-black corridor.
I walk up the stairs backwards, my eyes scouring the bottom floor as snippets flash through my mind. The very lockers we were forced to put our phones in beneath my feet.
Bile begins to tighten my throat, and I cock the gun at the thought.
I’ll never accept a drink from a stranger, too scared to even drink alcohol again.
Not being in control?
The thought makes me feel violently ill.
Even when mom offers me a drink at home, I watch her cracking open the water bottle.
“What one do we try first?” Regina whispers, and I walk in front of her, my other hand gripping over the gun.
Palpitations grow in my chest, the subtle roar of my pulse muffling my surroundings. We’re not going into any of the rooms alone, and I’m scared either of us walks into the one where it happened.
Not that I’d be able to tell you what it looked like, but I have a feeling the moment I went in, my skin would feel like it’s been dipped in acid.
“Let’s try this corridor,” I finally answer.
The Archives building is huge; it’s an old, abandoned library. The rooms seem to have been renovated. Now I know why. Whatever secret gang resides here, who host these parties, this is their hideout.
We walk side by side, continuing to have my back facing Regina. It’s something I picked up listening to my dad talking to his military buddies, when they’d sit in the backyard around a fire, beers in hand, and discuss their time on deployment.
A burn threatens the corner of my eye, and I blink it back, walking into Regina as I do.
“Sorry,” I whisper, turning to face her.
My brows dip as I take in the door before us.
