Page 120 of Severance

“Okay, Alana.” Al stops and rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe you can talk to your friend. He has a show in forty minutes.”

“What do you mean?” My gaze darts around the crowd. Their faces, twisted with concern, send shivers down my spine.

“I think you should call the police,” someone barks from the back.

“I’m not calling the police.” Al lifts his hand in the air and shakes his head just like my father would. He even sounds like my father—condescending. “I’ve dumped a lot of money into this guy. He needs to stop this nonsense.”

“He’s not stable,” a woman in solid black puts in. “Better let the professionals handle it.”

Al starts up the stairs and motions for me to follow him. “Just see if you can talk to him.” He draws a tissue from his pocket to wipe off the line of sweat coating his forehead. “Alana, right?”

I nod.

“That’s a great name. You folks from Portland have really great names. Very poetic.”

We climb up what seems like at least ten flights of stairs. Maybe fourteen. My fuzzy brain can’t keep up with the count. My legs begin cramping somewhere around flight three. I’m sweating buckets when we finally approach another group of people. They’re gathered near a massive metal door that opens to the roof. They give us worried glances.

Giving me a tight smile, Al points at the exit. “He needs to come down, dear. It’s important we don’t involve the police, because this is going to ruin his career.” He sounds like Professor Pollock giving me a lecture on how bad my grades are. “I’ve risked a lot of money on your friend. He’s the next James Bay. He better stop with the theatrics right now.”

A spasm of panic rolls through me. “Come down from where?” I ignore the James Bay comment, my gaze darting from Al to the rest of the waiting crowd. My heart pounds so hard that my ribs are about to crack open. Pushing the heavy door open, I step over the metal threshold.

Al stays inside but a few nervous whispers follow me as I silently walk to the middle of the roof and let the disturbing view set in. The dark of the night has consumed most of the sky. There’s just a thin blue line remaining right above the ragged flickering horizon, and that’s where I see Mikah’s silhouette—drawn against the last of the light. He’s sitting on the ledge, facing away from me, his legs dangling over the city. There’s a pack of Marlboros and a bottle of beer next to him, and clouds of smoke are floating above his head.

My heart stops beating. I wait a few seconds, then push his name out. “Mikah?”

He doesn’t react.

“Mikah?” I call again, this time forcing myself to speak louder. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?!” he barks, drawing his cigarette from his mouth and lifting it up in the air.

“It looks like you’re being stupid.” I thrust my hands in the pockets of my jacket and make them into fists.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, Cupcake Queen.”

“Why weren’t you answering my calls?”

Mikah gives me a one-shoulder shrug. “Did you hear what the trees said?”

“Maybe.”

A sour chuckle. “I never heard them. I always thought DK was an idiot.”

“Can you come down please?”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t talk to your back, jerk.” I try to sound unfazed to match his mood, but the truth is, I’m nowhere near unfazed. I’ve only been this scared once in my life—the night Dakota was killed. And now I’m standing on the roof of a seven-story building watching his brother being completely stupid. And the fact that I have no idea what’s going on in Mikah’s mind terrifies me.

“Sorry. You get what you pay for.” He shrugs, returning the cigarette to his mouth. The soft evening wind ruffles his hair.

“I’m serious, Mikah. Can you come down please?” I go toward the ledge and stop a few feet away from him, right before my sanity’s point of no return. My head begins to spin.

He smokes slowly, extending his love affair with nicotine for as long as the cigarette lets him. My eyes are trained on his head because I’m afraid to look past his shoulders. I have no idea why he’s not scared and how this ridiculous idea even infiltrated his mind.

The silence between us drags on and on.

“Can you please come down?” I ask again after a while. “There are a lot of people downstairs waiting for you.” My desperation begins to get the best of me, and the things that come out of my mouth stop making much sense.

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