Page 33 of Where He Ended

“Just never been in an elevator before,” I say, laughing a little unhinged. My stomach tumbles over and over. Rocking forward, I grab his arm for stability as the floor and walls all seem to rush by at once. My guts fall into my feet and I shut my eyes to stave off a wave of dizziness.

Suddenly the elevator slows, a bell sound coming as the doors split apart. Fluttering my eyes open, I become aware of my surroundings in a sharper fashion. My hands are clinging to Dominic's arm, holding on to him for dear life. He rests his hands on top of mine. I didn't even notice that he'd moved them there. Glancing up, I stare into his concerned eyes.

The devotion in his face is captivating.

When the doors start to slide shut, Dominic puts his hand out, stopping them. His movement ends our moment. I let him go, fixing my hair nervously. “Sorry, I overreacted a bit.”

“Don't worry about it,” he says, but I think he's pleased. Does he like that I seek him out for comfort?

Exiting the elevator, we walk down a long hallway. I expect to see more people, considering all the cars, but there's nothing here but rows of doors. They each have an embossed number on them—twenty, twenty-one, twenty-three. I quit keeping count. I scan the ceiling, frowning.No people, but tons of cameras. They're not even trying to hide them.

We get to the end of the hall and he pulls a key card out of his pocket, tapping it against a small panel. The door beeps like all the others. Gripping the handle, he pushes the door open and steps through.

I follow him, my heart starting to pound faster. I'm about to see the place that my mother and father and baby brother have been living for years. I don't know how I feel about it. It’s so hard to decide. Some of the fear from riding elevator returns to me. My body is heavy, my lungs working harder to draw air.

The apartment is a big open space. It reminds me of a photo I once saw in a magazine the maids had left in the kitchen; a perfectly arranged set of white couches, a glass table and pointless, little woven baskets with silver balls in them for decoration. It's so sterile, nothing like the cabin that I grew up in.

I think Dominic's made a mistake, taken me to the wrong place, until I look at the walls. There are multiple photos, all of them full of familiar smiles. Mom and Dad hug my little brother in one of them. Dean's no longer the little pink baby that I knew. On my fifteenth birthday, I'd begged my father to bring me a picture of Dean. I just wanted to see what he looked like now, because I couldn't imagine him as anything other than a baby.

He'd done it, brought me a little Polaroid print out of a chubby blue-eyed toddler with cake all over his face. I'd laughed until I'd cried, and then asked him to take it away. Seeing proof that my family was growing without me was too painful.

When I look at the pictures now, seeing six-year-old Dean with his gap-tooth, his hair the same color as my mother's, I bite back my tears. Dominic is watching me from across the room. I inhale, straighten up, and begin to move around. I can't look at the photos anymore. I don't let myself.

Other than some books on a rack, plants by a window, and a flat screen TV only slightly less nice than the one in the lounge at the estate, the room is empty. I turn towards Dominic and shrug. “What am I supposed to be looking for, exactly?”

“Anything, just something your father might have left behind that you would see. A clue to figure out where he's gone.”

I scan the bright white room again. “I don't think I can find something if you guys didn't.”

“Keep trying, Laiken. There are two bedrooms to search through, lots of little nooks and hiding spots. Don't give up already.”

I bristle at his words. “I'm not giving up. It's just . . . this doesn't feel right, I guess.” I flip my hands, working to explain. “I mean this is where my Dad lived, right? It feels empty to me. There's not even a computer, shouldn't there be one?”

Dominic crinkles the bridge of his nose. He looks towards the door, his expression still tense. “He didn't do his work in here. But it's down the hall. We can check there, if you like.”

I follow him through the door, back into the stifling hall. He leads us to a room that's only a few doors away. “In here?” I ask, watching as he taps a different card on the door.

When he turns the handle, he exposes a small, square room with no windows. On one side is a desk with a computer on top; mirrored on the other end of the room is another computer and desk.

I walk in a circle, noting how plain the walls and floor are, and that it takes me only six steps to cross from one side to the next. This is a grim place I wouldn't want to spend much time in. And my dad worked in here?

Spinning on a heel, I look between the desks. “Two computers?” I ask.

Dominic hesitates then he nods at the one to my left with his head. “That's mine.”

“Really?” I head towards it, and he walks around the desk, cutting me off.

“There are no clues on my computer,” he says flatly. “I know that much for sure. Let's check out your father's.”

I eyeball his computer with interest, but I follow him over to the other one. The screen is black, I watch as Dominic bends over towards the screen, pushing a button. It comes to life, showing a beautiful image of green pine trees. It sends a flash of painful nostalgia through me.

“I already searched this,” he says, grabbing the mouse. He moves the arrow around, clicking on some folders, going through things so quickly that I can't make sense of them. While I understand the basics about what my father did, and what a computer is, I've spent almost no time using one myself.

I watch him, starting to wonder if this trip was a waste. “I don't think my dad would've left clues on this for me,” I say slowly. “It doesn't feel right.”

“Whatdoesfeel right?” he asks, his tone scalding me. He doesn't look at me, but he stops moving the mouse around. “If it's not where he lived, or where he worked, what's left?”

“I don't know,” I answer softly.

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