Page 29 of The Last Trip

There.

He’s walking through the parking garage, oblivious to me or the fact that he’s being followed. I still don’t see where he parked, but it doesn’t matter as he steps into the elevator. I have to figure out where he’s going.

As soon as the doors close, I scramble across the silent parking garage, waiting until I hear the elevator stop moving before hitting the button to call it back to me.

When the doors open, the elevator is stuffy and reeks of feet, stale air, and urine. I hold my breath as I step inside, praying it moves fast.

There are multiple floors here, but this elevator only goes to other floors in the parking garage or to a floor markedL. I have no idea which floor Cal might’ve gone to, but he said he was coming up, so I have to assume he wouldn’t be waiting for the person in the lobby. Still, I press the button for the lobby first, trying to formulate a plan as I descend.

My stomach churns, and I have to press my hand against my nose, sucking in the scent of my hand soap in hopes it will stick around and mask the stench in the air. The back wall of the elevator is just a window caked with fingerprints and smears of unknown substances. I don’t dare touch it or the silver, metal handrail as I stare out at the bustling street and the construction across the road.

The elevator stops with a softding, and I step forward. The doors open slowly, not letting me escape this metal box of death-stench fast enough. I suck in a gulp of fresh air the second I’m free as I cross the quiet corridor and enter through a glass double door into the lobby of the complex.

There’s an elevator and a set of stairs there, but I have no idea which floor he’s on. Thankfully, the lobby is empty and quiet as I take the time to think. I can’t possibly check every floor before he enters whatever condo he’s going to. And once he does, it’ll be too late. I’ll have no idea where he is or if he’s even still here. If he enters and later leaves a condo on the third floor while I’m still checking the second floor, I could spend my whole day searching for a man who’s long gone. I have to think of something else. There has to be another way to find him.

I call the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently as I think. On the slow ride to the second floor, I chew the skin around the nail on my middle finger, a nervous habit I haven’t done in over a year. Thankfully, this elevator smells more like perfume than feet, so I can focus more on crafting a plan than masking the smell.

The plan comes to me like a flicker of light in a dark sky, appearing slowly, then disappearing. I have to seek it out, trying to make sense of it. Could it even work? Could I make it work?

I have to try.

As I near the second floor, I pull out my phone, reminiscing on the many years as a teenager spent prank calling crushes with my friends. I add *67 to his phone number before calling, so it will show up unknown on his end.

It rings twice before he sends me to voicemail, but I never heard his phone. Back in the elevator, I go to floor three. This building isn’t huge. From what I can tell, there are only four condos on each floor, which means standing in the hallway and dialing his number should result in me hearing his god-awful ringtone. For once, I’m grateful that he keeps that thing at such an atrocious volume.

In theory, this should work.

Maybe…

Hopefully…

I dial the number again on the third floor. This time, he answers with an angry, “What?” I nearly end it, but decide to wait, moving slowly through the hallway to listen. “What?” he calls again. “Hello? Who is this?”

I don’t hear his voice anywhere except through the phone line.Dead end. He’s not here either.I end the call and return to the elevator, pressing the number four. On the fourth floor, I dial his number once more.

In the distance, there is a faint ringing that nearly matches the one on the line. It’s his ringtone, the one that sounds old and makes him feel cool. The one that’s going to lead me right to him.

He ignores the call, and I call again, passing the first and second apartments. Lowering the phone from my ear as it begins to ring, I hold my breath and spin in place, trying to decipher which condo the sound is coming from.

Here.

I move forward slowly.

He’s behind the third door.

Door number three.As if this is some sort of twisted reality show.

“Who was it?”

Everything inside me freezes. The voice chills me to the core as I stop in my tracks.

Her.

No.

She lives here.She can’t.

He’s here with her.But…why?

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