Page 42 of Versions Of Us

I sigh, ready to admit to defeat and return the cabinet to its original position, when a thought enters my head. Steve kept a set of keys in the top drawer of the office desk. Maybe one of them would work.

I go to the office and rummage through the top drawer until I find them, then return to the door. The fourth key I try works, an audible click letting me know that my attempt has been successful. I twist the knob and push. The door swings wide open, revealing a black hole.

I look back over my shoulder at the tavern behind me. The sun is only just starting to rise, a soft, blue light beginning to infiltrate the tavern’s windows. But this room in front of me is shrouded in obscurity.

I reach for my phone and turn on the flashlight, then I cautiously enter. It’s hard to see but the space appears to be large and mostly empty. The light catches movement on the floor in front and I jump back in surprise.

“Get a grip, Alex,” I mumble to myself. “It’s just a mouse.”

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice there are small beams of light entering the back wall. Daylight trying to pry its way through tiny cracks. I shuffle closer, holding my phone up to it. It’s another door, a set of double French doors in fact, with glass missing in parts, though they’ve been boarded up from the outside. I’ve seen these boards from the beach, I realise.

I set the phone down, then using two hands I push through one of the broken pieces at a narrow plank of timber until it falls to the ground below, allowing a stream of light to penetrate the room.

I step up to the gap and peer through it. I see the sun rising above the horizon, the ocean misty in the morning light.

I retreat from the door and now that one of the boards is missing, I can see another large bay window on my left. It’s broken too, shards of glass scattered on the window seat below it.

There are several cracks in the drywall in multiple places, the ground once pristine polished floorboards now littered with leaves and dirt. It’s a complete mess. The cyclone sure did a number on this place.

It's sad to think a room that once held so much beauty has been left here to rot in ruins.

I pause as frantic footsteps fall on the floorboards above. My phone begins to ring, its high-pitched tone startling in the silence.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself. I quickly swipe the answer key. “Hey.”

“Alex, where the hell are you?!” Mackenzie’s panicked voice fills my ears, her words rushing out all at once. “It’s barely past five in the morning!”

“It’s okay.” I reassure her, exiting the room and heaving the cabinet back over the door. “I’m downstairs. I couldn’t sleep, but I haven’t left the building. I’m coming up right now.”

A frustrated sigh echoes through the phone before she ends the call. When I arrive at the top of the stairs she’s standing in the doorway, her face pale and troubled.

“I’m sorry,” I say apologetically.

“I freaked out,” she says softly, her shoulders slumping with relief.

“It’s okay,” I tell her again, as I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “It’s going to be alright.”

Chapter 18

KRISTEN

Another night, another conversation with a troubled teen.

This time it had been with a seventeen-year-old boy who wants to run away from home to avoid his parents’ abusive relationship. Our conversation had lasted almost an hour, him confiding in me of the guilt he experiences over their arguments, me trying to convince him that sometimes relationships fall apart and it’s never the fault of children.

Talking to him had stirred up so many memories of my own teenage years. Of Henley mostly, and how he would row his dad’s canoe down the river to the small house I lived in with my mother on the edge of the water. He’d climb into my bedroom window Dawson’s creek style and spend hours with me, sometimes the entire night. My bedroom became a safe haven for him, an escape from the rage his parents’ so often directed at each other.

My chest heaves as I remember the warmth of his torso on my back, the way his big arms would enclose me. I was more than happy to absorb his pain. I’d have given anything to be able to take it away, and I wish with everything that I am that this boy has a window that he too can crawl into.

I wander down the esplanade on my way home from the helpline, checking off a mental to-do list in my head. Although it’s late, there’s so much for me to focus on right now. I have another assessment due at the end of the week, an early shift at the Haven tomorrow and some notes to go over that Chase had emailed me because I’d missed a class last Friday when I’d come down with a migraine.

The street is quiet, the night still. Maybe that’s why my attention is drawn to a soft yellow glow coming from the upstairs windows of the tavern. They’re partially covered with curtains but the light flickers with movement behind them. I squint, trying to see what or who could be up there. I’ve never seen lights on in the space above the tavern. At least not for many years.

It’s five minutes past midnight. Closing time for Steve’s. I cross the road, curiosity getting the better of me. I stroll to the entrance, pressing my hand up against the cold metal of the door handle. To my surprise it opens with a gentle shove.

I ponder the possibility that Steve could be back in town, but that wouldn’t line up with what EJ had said earlier today about his parents driving their caravan up the north coast only yesterday.

I shove the door open further and make my way inside. It doesn’t even occur to me that what I’m doing might be dangerous. That anyone could be waiting for me on the inside.

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