Page 32 of Where He Ended

- Chapter 13 -

Laiken

It's strange to besitting in Dominic's car again.

My stomach has been roiling since I woke up in his bed without him there. I was disoriented, wondering where I was, who owned this ceiling above me. Then everything we'd talked about, all the good and bad, had come flooding back.

I'd slipped off to my room before he returned. In clean clothes but without a clean conscience, I'd spent my morning searching for Kara. She'd done her usual vanishing trick. It drove me crazy that she was acting like we hadn't cried our eyes out together last night.

But then, Dominic had appeared in the kitchen. He'd told me it was time. We were really leaving. His parents wanted us to go to the Complex, so go we would.

“You all right?” he asks, glancing at me as the engine rumbles.

We pass through the gates. I watch them split, then shut behind us. “I think so. This just feels very strange.”

“Leaving again, or visiting the Complex?”

“Both.” I twist the seatbelt. “Dad never said much about where he was staying. Only that it was nice enough. I pictured it as this big building with bars on the doors and windows.”

He drives us down the road, speeding onto the highway. “You thought of it as a jail. That's fitting.”

Putting my nose to the window, I say, “You told me you worked with my dad for a while. That must mean you spent a lot of time at the Complex too, yeah?” I'm staring at the other cars as we pass, waiting for him to answer. When he doesn't, I turn so I can regard him. “Did you hear me?”

Dominic keeps his attention on the road. He drives faster, the needle on the speedometer inching past sixty-five. “I spent a lot of time there, yes.”

Not sure what to make of his response, I settle back in the seat and play with the radio. I used to play with my dad's on the rare times I was in his car. It takes me back, listening to the static crackle as I roll past snippets of music and chatter.

We drive off an exit, the road barren until we reach a very nice looking parking lot surrounded by trimmed bushes and hedges. There are tons of cars parked here. The building in the middle is white and tan, the multitude of windows shining in the sun. There are patios on some upper levels, sliding doors leading to the tiny sections with their singular round tables and tiny chairs.

On a patch of grass to the right of the structure, I see a few kids playing with a Frisbee. They're laughing. Like this is a normal, happy place to live.

“We're here,” he says, parking his car next to the others. Cutting the engine, he looks at me. I feel his eyes, but I'm still gawking out at the scene. “Laiken?”

“This is the Complex?” I ask, putting my hands on the dashboard. “There aren't even any bars on the windows. And what's with all these cars?”

“Pretty much everyone who works locally for our company lives here. They don'thaveto, but the rent is cut steep if they do. Dad owns the building.”

I just keep staring.

“Not what you expected, is it,” he whispers.

I shake myself quickly. “It doesn't look like a prison at all.”

Dominic lets go of the steering wheel, cupping my shoulder. “To be fair, your prison doesn't look like one, either.”

As we approach the building, I notice the front doors have a digital keypad. Dominic types into it quickly; a small light blinks green, then the doors slide open. “No one can get in or out without a code,” he explains.

Maybe this place is more secure than I realized.

There's a very small front room that has large, metal mailboxes. The floor is a soulless oatmeal-yellow, the walls covered in interlocking diamond-shaped panels. The windows provide some natural lighting, but now that I'm inside, the building loses its friendly tone. There are two elevators; Dominic motions me to get inside of one.

I've never been in an elevator. Curious about it, I traipse to stand beside him. In the upper-left corner I notice something shining like the bottom of a glass bottle. “Is that a camera?” I ask.

“The whole place is covered in cameras.” He slips his fingers into his pockets, leaning against the wall of the elevator. He presses a button and the doors slide shut. Instantly I'm hit with a wave of unease.

It feels like I'm being buried in the ground. Sticky heat rolls up my chest and spine. Flattening my hands on the wall, I swallow the lump in my throat but it refuses to go down.

“Are you okay?” Dominic asks, squinting at me closely.

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