Roxanne stepped back to survey her work, then pushed the desk chairs next to each other, making a sort of bench. “Is this about the Swimming Pool?” I asked.
“If you mean the one you ditched me for on the other side of campus, no. If you mean the brilliant art installation created by Henri when he couldn’t get to one himself, yes.”
Roxanne was Swimming Pool crazy. Her mom used to work at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and when Roxanne was little, she spent many an afternoon sitting on the floor of the “pool,” looking up at the swimmers and divers and sea creatures floating above her on the walls.
“I knew back then that I’d have to create a cutout installation someday—my own swimming pool.”
“I thought this was a subway station,” I said snarkily.
She gave me a withering look and patted the seat of one of the chairs. “You’re up here.” She opened a jar of brass thumbtacks and handed it to me. “You’re the hanger, like one of Matisse’s assistants. Luckily, these old buildings still have the wood moldings. We can stick as many thumbtacks in them as we want!”
“Do you have intense love for subway stations, too?” I asked as I stepped reluctantly onto the bench.
“I like underground stuff,” she said. “Which is why it’s such a crime that you’re the one tunneling all over campus.”
“Not anymore I’m not,” I said.
“Good. It’s safer up here.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked darkly.
“A little higher on the right,” Roxanne said. “Yes, I’m sure. Lots of sketchy stuff has happened down there, especially in those rooms where the seniors used to party. A little lower.”
I lowered the green cutout. “Rooms?”
“Well, really just one—some kind of crumbling subbasement room under the old inn. I think it was called the jungle. My brother told me about it.”
I stared at her. “The jungle?”
“Move those two a little closer together. Yes, but keep in mind that August is a pathological liar. The Ivy League fits him perfectly—he can twist his way into anything.” She backed up to survey our work, until she was almost through the door. We had about a quarter of the pieces up.
“I think we have to get dressed for Vespers,” I said. My arms ached from holding them above my head, but I paid no attention.
All I could think about was the possibility of an underground jungle.
I stepped through the basement door, pulling it closed behind me with one hand and taking my flashlight out of my pocket with the other. The stale, dry heat of the steam tunnels enveloped me and I stood there for several moments, breathing it in. It felt good to be back.
I hadn’t thought about the tunnels in over a week. But the minute the word jungle came out of Roxanne’s mouth, my brain started firing like crazy and I knew it wouldn’t stop until I tried to find it, to see if it was real.
I checked my watch. 11:17. The guards would be on full duty in less than an hour, but getting around a few guys in uniform seemed way easier than getting around Roxanne, or having to be back by lights. I tapped the small compartment of my backpack to make sure my water bottle and the extra batteries were still there, and pulled a thick piece of chalk out of a side pocket. My online research revealed that the old inn had stood on the far side of campus on the edge of the main circle, but not much else. My plan was to try and retrace the path I’d taken with the boys the first night I’d come into the tunnels and see if I could access anything on the other side.
I cast my beam on the floor and followed the tunnel as it eased downward while pipes clanked and hissed, working harder now that the weather was colder. I turned left and descended the short ladder.
The familiar trickles of sweat were just starting to move down my back when I reached the first junction. I drew an X on the right-hand side of the passageway I was leaving and another on the left of the one I was entering, but I was starting to feel like a fool—how could I find my way to a place I’d never been, that might not even exist? I’d be lucky not to get lost.
I moved slowly down the passageway, looking for the turn that led to the entrance the boys and I had come through my first time down here. And then I was there. I shined my light to the left and saw the back of the metal door we’d come through together. To the spot where Penn had whirled me around and kissed me, and then told me how he’d fallen for me.
Just seeing the entrance made me feel lonely, and suddenly exhausted. Turn around, you fool, I told myself. But something else urged me onward, a force I couldn’t see or hear. Maybe it’s my ancestors, I thought as I followed the narrowing passage straight ahead. My light covered the width of the tunnel, and soon I was going down again. I passed a small passageway on the right and stepped onto a metal grate, ignoring the rank odor that wafted up from below. Up ahead was a series of bigger cross pipes, some so low to the ground I had to shove my backpack ahead of me and then shimmy under them.
The other side yielded a locked door—a total dead end without Sam and his lock-picking tools. At this rate I would never find the jungle.
I retraced my steps, my backpack removal, and my shimmy, and shined my flashlight down the passageway I’d seen, and dismissed, on the left. It was narrow and would soon require stooping. But if I didn’t want to head back to my dorm, it was the only way to go.
I followed the tunnel, bending forward and noticing that the walls here were crumbling brick and mortar instead of concrete—this section of tunnel was definitely older than the other parts I’d been in. After about twenty yards, the passage opened up to a kind of industrial dump site—piles of old rolls of insulation, broken pipes, and pieces of lumber were scattered everywhere, and at the far end the pile was so big I couldn’t see beyond it.
Well, that’s a deterrent, I thought. But I was determined not to be deterred. Heart pounding, I half dug, half picked my way through. By the time I got to the other side, I had sweat beading on my forehead and I could feel every speck of dirt and grime on my body. Unzipping my backpack, I pulled out my water bottle. The water was lukewarm but tasted delicious.
This is insane, I thought, eyeing the pile of debris I’d just made my way through. But up ahead, I saw some sort of hole in the ground, and I moved toward it, my water bottle still in my hand.
The hole was one end of a giant vertical pipe with a rusty ladder bolted to the side. It was just long enough to make it hard to see what was at the bottom, other than some sort of floor.
Well, at least you’re not descending into a bottomless pit, I thought as I returned the water bottle to my book bag. I shoved my flashlight into the waist of my jeans, put my foot on the top rung of the ladder, and started down.
The ladder was longer than I expected, the corroded metal cooler. The rusty brown of the pipe wall shifted ominously in my wobbly flashlight beam.
Just before my foot hit the floor I heard a shuffle, and froze. Someone else was down here. I pulled my foot back up and climbed a few rungs, my heart hammering in my chest. Footsteps. Definitely footsteps. I swallowed, my mouth dry, and pulled myself closer to the ladder. A moment later I heard something close and latch. Then silence.
Get out of here! I told myself. My knuckles ached from holding the ladder so tightly, but I was frozen. Finally, after several long minutes of quiet, I lowered myself back down until my foot hit a solid surface. I held my breath and turned, shining my light around, as my jaw dropped open.
The room was small. Barely a room, really, though it did have four walls. The floor was cobblestone, but covered with decades of dust, decades of sitting idle. In the corner was a cot with a moldy mattress and an army-green blanket full of holes. It looked as though some rodents had unstuffed it and made a nest. An old writing desk with a broken leg tilted onto a chair.
At the far end was a tiny door with no handle. Closed and locked from the other side. Had someone just gone through there?
Maybe it was a rat, I thought. I tried to believe it.
The d
ingy walls were covered with some kind of striping. I squinted, stepping closer, and realized that they weren’t stripes at all—they were vines that someone had painted. Thick, stringy vines, faded and barely visible through the dust.
The jungle. I was in the jungle. I held my breath and shined my light around, over the walls and the floor and the furniture. The head had to be here!
I shined the light over everything again, and again, s-l-o-w-l-y.
There was a drawer in the desk, I suddenly noticed. Blood rushing in my ears, I walked over and opened it. It was empty. I poked at the disemboweled mattress with my foot, then with my hand, trying not to think about what could be in there. I didn’t feel anything unusual. I realized with a sinking feeling that if the mattress had been destroyed by rodents, the head could have been, too. Rat teeth could chew through just about anything.
I shuddered. What was I doing?
I didn’t have an answer to that question, but I knew what I wanted to be doing—getting out of there. I was officially creeped out. With one final look around, I put my foot on the ladder. When I got to the top of the pipe, I noticed immediately that the air was warmer than it had been before. Much warmer. I looked at the pile of rubble with a sense of dread, then squeezed through the path I’d made on the way in. I was moving a two-by-four that had fallen aside when I thought I heard something behind me.
Turning, I shined my flashlight over the top of the pipe and down the dark corridor. Was something there?
Sweat dripped into my eyes—it was really getting hot in here. I dropped the two-by-four and wiped my face with my sleeve, but my eyes stung. I kicked aside some bricks and a wad of insulation, making my way past the pile of junk. It was getting hard to breathe.
Just keep moving, I told myself, picking up the pace. I was almost to the junction when I stumbled, knocking into a pipe. I heard a hissing sound, and the tunnel got really hot. I started to panic. A pipe was leaking in here, and by the time I got to the hatch to my dorm it could …
Kaboom! The whole tunnel shook, forcing me against the wall.
Shit. I had to get out of there, fast. Blindly rushing forward, I turned left into the main passageway and ran until I got to the corridor I’d first come through with Penn and the guys. I could see the faint outline of the door up ahead and rushed toward it.
Please don’t be locked, please don’t be locked, I prayed. Taking the last few steps, I braced myself for impact and hurled myself against the metal door as hard as I could.
Ooof! I landed hard on the concrete floor of the basement, my shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. I rolled off of it as quickly as I could, ignoring the searing pain, as the metal door slammed closed behind me. Fire alarms were blaring, and I could smell smoke. I got to my feet and ran toward my dorm, not even checking to see if anyone else was around.
By the time I made it back to my room, fire alarms and sirens were blaring. Roxanne was in bed, her back to me, looking out the window. She heard the door and rolled over.
“Holy shit, Josie,” she said, her dark eyes widening. “I thought you were up there.” She pointed to the top bunk, then threw back her covers and came over to investigate. “What happened to you … and your hair?”
My hair? I lifted my fingers, immediately finding a scorched curl, and felt my eyes start to well. Not because my hair was trashed, but because it was all too much. Penn. Annette. And now the steam tunnel. I wasn’t even sure what had happened in there, but everything I touched seemed to explode.
Without saying anything, Roxanne pulled me into a hug. My legs wobbled as I sobbed into her shoulder, smearing tunnel dirt and snot all over her tee. I wanted to stay there, because for the first time in days I felt comforted. And also because Roxanne was literally holding me up. But after a minute she pushed me away slightly, studying me, her face all business.
“We’ve got to get you into the shower. You need a serious cleanup, and a trim. Some of those curls are material evidence … of something.” Her dark eyes bored into mine and I dropped my gaze.
My hand reached up for a second time to touch my singed ringlets, and I turned to the mirror over Roxanne’s dresser. The ends of my hair were clearly burned. I looked like hell, half-digested and regurgitated. “Fuck.”
“No time for fucking,” Roxanne said as she pulled a pair of scissors out of a desk drawer. “We’ve got a situation to take care of.” I stood there numbly as reality continued to sink in. I’d just caused some sort of explosion in the steam tunnels. By accident, but still.
“Get that look off your face,” Roxanne told me. “I’ve wielded hair-cutting scissors before.” I didn’t bother explaining that my expression was actually in response to the last few hours and let her steer me into the bathroom. Planting me firmly in front of the mirror, she began to trim. Carefully at first, lifting curls and investigating for damage before snipping, and then with more boldness.
The tip of Roxanne’s tongue protruded from the corner of her mouth in concentration. I was glad she was paying attention, but wondered if she knew what she was in for with my locks. Then I wondered if it mattered. Given what had just happened, who cared about hair?
“This one’s a disaster, but if I chop the whole thing off, I’ll have a mess …” She trailed off and raised the blades. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. My hair was evidence. It was charred, just like the tunnel and who knew what else. Maybe I should have blown myself up while I was at it.
I was starting to lose it. And the longer Roxanne took with my hair, the more freaked out I got. I had to let it out.
“I found the jungle,” I blurted.
Roxanne stopped cutting. “You found the jungle?” she echoed.
I nodded.
“It’s real?”
More nodding.
“Holy shit.” She sat down on the edge of the tub. “Holy Brookwood shit, August wasn’t bullshitting. The jungle actually exists.”
Did it still exist? I bit my lip. Everything was so confusing down there—I had no real idea where the explosion was. “Well, it used to.”
Roxanne’s mouth dropped open as she realized what I was saying. “You blew it up?”
My bottom lip started to wobble. “I … I don’t know. Maybe. I was on my way out when I tripped. Something started to hiss, and then …” My eyes were welling.
“That sounds scary as hell,” she said. “Who was with you?”
“Nobody.”
“You were tunneling by yourself?” She met my eyes in the mirror.
“Yes.”
She closed the blades around the end of a curl with a slow metal scrape.
“I was looking for the shrunken head.”
She shot me an incredulous look but didn’t say anything.
“It makes a lot of sense, actually,” I rushed to explain. I needed Roxanne to understand. “Sometimes Shuar warriors were forced to abandon their heads while they were still sacred in order to avoid having to sell them to colonialists.”
“What do you mean, still sacred?”
“A tsantsa holds the spirit of the slain enemy for a year, or whenever the third ceremony takes place. After that it’s just a trinket.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
Roxanne surveyed my head. “So?”
“So what?”
“So did you find the head?”
“Oh. No. It wasn’t there.”
Roxanne’s eyebrows clashed in the middle of her forehead and she went back to trimming, her disappointment obvious. “Bummer.” She fluffed a little, peering at each curl, her tongue clamped tightly between her teeth.
“Okay, I think I got all the serious scorch. I don’t want to cut so much it’s obvious, you know?” Our eyes met in the mirror. “Hey, are you okay?” Her voice was quiet.
I managed an exhausted shrug. “Probably not.”
Her eyes softened, and for a second she looked like she felt sorry for me. But a moment later her face shifted again. She’d thought of something. “Di
d anybody see you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, that’s good.” She scooped up the hair off the floor and dropped it into the toilet. “You need to shower, but be quick—we don’t want the water running for long.” She pushed the lever and I watched my charred ringlets swirl their way into the sewage system, half wishing I was next. “Not that the circus out there isn’t going to distract the whole goddamned campus,” she added, peering out the window.
She turned on the faucet and I pulled off my filthy clothes. I didn’t usually get completely naked in front of my roommate, but she didn’t seem to care any more than I did. She just scooped up my clothes and took a whiff. “Stinky, but remarkably unscathed. I’ll shove them into the bottom of your laundry bag, but you should wash them ASAP.”
She saw me standing there naked and frowned. “Hello? Earth to Josie. Get in the shower!”
I nodded, shivering, and lifted a foot over the edge of the tub. The warm water felt good, and the shower curtain blocked out the flashing lights—for the moment I was in my own little world. I got my hair wet, running my fingers through it as best I could before lathering it up. Then I went for some serious conditioner. I was rinsing when the hot water started to wane.
“The fire is out,” Roxanne reported as the water turned unquestionably icy. She’d been in and out of the bathroom several times. “Thornfeld is out there, with Blackburn and Lola No.” Her hand appeared behind the curtain and turned off the water. My conditioner wasn’t totally rinsed, but that was probably a good thing—I’d need all the moisturizing and taming I could get. My towel appeared on my side of the curtain, held aloft by Roxanne’s arm. I took it and dried off before slipping into my pajamas.
Roxanne took a whiff of me as she scrutinized the floor. “Not too bad,” she said. “I only get a faint burn smell.” She used a wad of damp toilet paper to gather up the stray hairs she’d missed earlier, then poured a glass of water and handed me half a blue pill. “You need to sleep.”
I nodded and swallowed, feeling yet again like a foolish child who required looking after. Which I basically was, and had been for weeks. “Thank you, Roxanne,” I said, meaning it. “You’ve really saved my ass.”
Without Annette Page 22