“What are you doing here?” she says.
“Stealing from me!” My grandfather is straining to get past the male orderly who’s trying to calm him down. “They took my daughter’s ring!”
“We didn’t. We—”
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” the woman says.
“I know. I’m sorry.” My short hair whips around my face as I turn back and forth between her and my grandfather. “Is he going to be okay?”
The answer is an obvious no as he takes a swing at the male orderly, who has to lunge out of the way. The momentum from his missed punch sends my grandfather careening to the floor atop the shards of shattered glass.
I see blood as his forearms slice open, and feel my own blood drain from my face. Instinctively, I move to help him, but the woman blocks my way.
“You stay right there.” Never taking her eyes from Malcolm and me, she lifts a bulky radio from her hip and calls for help. The other orderly bends over my grandfather, talking softly to him as he assesses the injuries.
“Who are you?” the woman says.
“We were…just…lost,” I say, stammering a little.
Malcolm has been slowly edging his way around the room, and as soon as he reaches me, he says, “We’ll go.”
“Uh-uh.” The woman’s eyes sweep over my features until they still and widen.
And I know she knows.
Malcolm and I reach for each other’s hands at the same instant.
“What are your names?” she asks, but there’s a new inflection in her voice, one that tells me she doesn’t need the answer.
“Amy,” I say at the same time Malcolm says, “John.”
We start backing up when the woman reaches for her phone instead of her Silver Living–branded radio. She moves slowly, as though she doesn’t want to alarm us.
My grip tightens around Malcolm’s hand, wanting to be wrong about the flicker of recognition I thought I saw in her face.
“This is Shannon Donnelly from Silver Living. I’m supposed to call this number if anyone visits Mr. Jablonski. Well, I’m pretty sure I’m staring at the girl from the photo you just dropped off—”
Malcolm and I make a break for the door at the same time.
“No, the woman isn’t with her. It’s a young black guy. They just ran—”
That’s all we hear before we burst out into the hall and collide with another orderly. All three of us go down. I feel my ankle twist, and have to bite back a cry. Malcolm lands hard on his side and isn’t as successful at holding in a pained groan.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say to the fallen orderly, a slim, prematurely balding man, who looks stunned but not hurt. I grab Malcolm’s arm and pull him to his feet.
Shannon bursts out of the room, nearly tripping over her fallen coworker. Her phone is still pressed to her ear. “Yes,” she’s saying as we sprint away as quickly as my ankle and Malcolm’s ribs will allow. “I’m sure it’s the daughter, but her hair is much shorter and darker now.” I don’t understand why she isn’t chasing us until she adds, “Security is moving to cover the exits now.”
We round one corner and dash down another hall. The building is huge and sprawling, and we didn’t have the option of retracing our steps, so neither of us has any idea where we’re going.
My ankle threatens to roll again as we skid to avoid an elderly woman pushing a walker. We pass more residents too, but only one other orderly, who calls out that there’s no running in the building.
Every corner we round, every doorway we push through, I expect to see the bounty hunter waiting for us. Fear floods my system with adrenaline, and soon my body is slick with cold sweat. How close is he? When he lost Malcolm and me, did he come straight here, correctly assuming that I would too? What if he’s been waiting right outside and Shannon’s call sent him instantly charging in after us?
The heavy chlorine smell that clings to every surface is searing my lungs as I drag air in and out, and I start to feel like it’s fogging my brain, clouding my judgment. I pull Malcolm into a random room and push the door shut behind us. Panting, he doesn’t waste his breath with inane questions.
“We can’t stay here,” he says.
“We can’t keep running blind down random hallways,” I say, leaning against the door and pressing my fingers into the stitch in my side. “I’m pretty sure they eventually loop back to where we started.”
