Hidden Pieces

by Paula Stokes

“Thanks,” I tell her. I hang up the phone and summarize the info for Holden.

  “So he’s fine,” Holden says. “He can’t be involved.”

  “Unless . . .” I think back to that night, to Sam rambling about Beau and Elvis as we made our way down the stairs. “Do you think it’s possible someone else was trapped in the Sea Cliff that night and the newspapers didn’t report it? Would they keep something like that a secret?”

  Holden shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

  “Can you ask your mom if the firefighters found anyone else in the hotel?” I swallow hard. “Or any bodies?”

  “I can try.” Holden pulls out his phone and rattles off a text to his mom. The response comes almost instantaneously. He frowns. “She says as far as she knows they’re still waiting for a fire investigation team to come from McMinnville and she’s not allowed to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation. She also says you should stop worrying about this and go home and get some sleep.”

  “What did you ask her?”

  “I just told her I was with you and that you were wondering what happened to Sam and if there was anyone else in the Sea Cliff that night.”

  “So does the fact that she won’t answer mean there probably was someone?”

  “No, it’s just my mom being a stickler for procedure. She might not even know herself. She’s not personally involved in the case.” Holden shakes his hair back from his face. “Either way, you did everything you could. I mean, I guess it’s possible there was someone else in the building that night.”

  “Do you want to go look?” I blurt out.

  “Look at the Sea Cliff? It’s not like if there was someone else they’d still be there.”

  “No, but we can look for evidence that more than one person was living there.”

  “Okay,” Holden says slowly. “But wouldn’t finding out there was more than one person in the building that night just make things worse?”

  “I would feel worse,” I admit. “But it’d be a legitimate motivation for whoever is harassing me. If Sam knows that we started the fire, and a friend of his was left inside and died that night, chances are Sam is the one who’s after me.” I call up Unknown’s text messages. “I mean, read these. Don’t they sound angry to you? This isn’t just some sicko who’s playing a game.”

  Holden frowns as he swipes through the texts. “You’re right. There’s rage here. But I still say these messages sound personal.” He slides the phone back to me. “Sam doesn’t know you or Julia.”

  “I know. But since he went to Tillamook High, he might know of me, or know other people who know me. Maybe he’s working with a partner.”

  Holden rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I guess it’s possible. Let’s go see what we can find.”

  The Sea Cliff Inn actually looks a little better than I imagined. I think I was expecting there to be nothing left but a charred husk, the smoking remains of a concrete foundation, and the basic skeleton of a house. But the roof and third floor of the building aren’t even discolored, and the lower levels still look structurally solid. Superficially, anyway. Sexy Firefighting Models has taught me that when it comes to the structural integrity of a building, looks can be deceiving.

  The entire area is cordoned off with yellow police tape and there’s a sign on the lawn that says the building is part of an active investigation and trespassers will be prosecuted. Holden and I duck under the yellow ribbon and creep up to the porch. At this point I’ve lost track of how many crimes I’ve committed.

  The front door to the hotel is just a gaping hole—the firefighters having rammed it in to bring in their hoses and gear. Holden and I stand on either side of the blackness, listening for the sounds of footsteps or breathing.

  “You hear anything?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head and then gestures at the doorway. I follow him inside. We both activate the flashlights on our phones.

  The lobby, where Holden and I used to meet, is nearly completely destroyed. The walls are black and burned through in some places, exposing wood and concrete beneath. The sofa is completely charred, only parts of the metal framework remaining. The carpet has turned to ash beneath our feet. The air looks clear but the whole room reeks of smoke. My eyes start to burn.

  “Cover your mouth and nose,” Holden says. “The smoke damage means there’s probably a lot of particles in the air, even though we can’t see them.”

  I pull my shirt up over my nose and mouth and head for the staircase. The banister is blackened with soot, but the steps look mostly damage-free. Still, I rest my weight heavily on the first step to test it before ascending farther. It feels sturdy under my boot. Gripping the banister, I take a second step.

  “Slow and steady,” Holden cautions, his voice muffled through his shirt.

  Once I make it to the top, Holden climbs the stairs one at a time. We ascend to the third floor and enter the room where I found Sam. I’m amazed at how different it looks. The smoke has cleared, leaving behind a bed, desk, and chest of drawers. The wall is scorched here and everything again is covered with soot, but the fire didn’t get a chance to completely destroy this room.

  I walk over to the chest of drawers and open each one. They’re all empty. Holden checks the desk and under the bed. “There’s nothing here,” he says.

  “Let’s check the other rooms.” I turn back to the hallway.

  Holden and I go from room to room. In the last room on this floor, we find the charred remains of a pink backpack and a single fleece glove with a hole in the thumb.

  “Looks like someone else was here at some point,” I say.

  “True. But who knows how long ago it was. Let’s check the second floor.” Holden turns toward the door and I go to follow him, when all of a sudden there’s a cracking sound. At first I think it’s a gunshot. I instinctively drop to the floor. But then there’s a rumble, and I feel the boards beneath me start to give way.

  A hole opens up in the floor near the doorway and Holden disappears down into the darkness.

  Twenty-Two

  “HOLDEN!” I SHOUT, completely forgetting that we’re not supposed to be here. “Oh my God, are you okay?” He doesn’t answer right away, and I immediately cycle through the worst possibilities—he’s dead, he’s bleeding out, he’s been impaled on a coatrack, he’s buried alive.

  “I’m okay,” he calls up to me. “But my leg is trapped under something heavy. Can you shine your light down here?”

  I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and angle the light at Holden. He’s half covered by a pile of debris. “Hold on. I’m coming down there.”

  “Be careful!”

  I backtrack to the stairs. My heart races as I carefully descend to the second floor. Blood pounds in my ears. Why did we come here? Is it like those unsolved mysteries shows where the criminals always return to the scene of the crime? I swear under my breath. When will this nightmare end?

  There’s a sharp clattering sound as I reach the landing. I find Holden in the room directly below where we were, trying to lift boards off his body. I kneel down and help uncover him, keeping a wary eye on the hole in the ceiling above us. There’s one board lying across his leg that we can’t move because it’s connected to a heavy metal beam that was used to support the ceiling. I grunt as I try to put all my weight into moving the beam.

  “Shit,” I say. “This weighs more than I do.”

  “Let me rest a second and I can try to help you.” Holden’s breathing is short and choppy, his face moist with sweat despite the cold.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask. He shakes his head, but his jeans are ripped and I can see by the light of my phone that he’s bleeding in at least one spot on his thigh. “What about your leg?”

  He moves the torn denim to the side so he can see his skin and then makes a face. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Let me see.” I angle the light from my phone at the hole in his jeans. The gash is ragged and bleeding steadily. “Not that bad? Put pressure on it. I’m going
to call someone.”

  “No, Embry. Are you nuts? We’re not supposed to be here. Trespassing. Tampering with evidence. How many crimes do you want to go down for?”

  “But you’re going to need stitches,” I protest.

  “You guys need help?” a low voice asks.

  I whirl around, expecting a cop or a firefighter, but Sam Lark stands in the doorway. He’s wearing the same black hoodie and camo pants he was wearing the night of the fire, but it looks like the hospital must have washed them for him, because they’re not crusted in mud anymore. A tan-and-white Chihuahua is nestled in the crook of his arm.

  “Holy shit. You scared me.” It’s hard to see in the dark, but I do my best to analyze Sam’s expression, his posture. Can we trust him? I’m not sure. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was looking for my dog.” He steps forward. “Whatcha got going on here? Did the ceiling collapse on him?”

  “I fell through the floor.” Holden groans softly.

  If Sam was Unknown, he could just walk away and leave Holden trapped. Instead he’s leaning in like he wants to help.

  “There’s one board I can’t move,” I tell him. “It’s too heavy.”

  Sam sets the dog down on the ground. “Stay,” he orders. The dog is dusty and shivering. It sneezes twice and then shakes its head violently.

  Sam turns to me. “Let’s see if I can help.”

  I shine my flashlight the length of the board. Sam rubs at his chin. “All right. You lift at the end. I’ll lift in the middle.”

  “What do I do?” Holden asks.

  Sam scoops up the Chihuahua and presses him into Holden’s arms. “Hold my dog.”

  We get in position, and on the count of three Sam and I both lift with all our strength. Holden pulls his leg out from underneath the board and Sam and I drop it back to the ground. The dog yips at the noise.

  Holden clambers to his feet. “Thank you,” he tells Sam.

  “Yep,” Sam says. “You gonna be okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Holden hands the dog back to Sam. “But your buddy seems like maybe he has a cold.”

  “Beau.” Sam strokes the Chihuahua’s bony skull, and the dog makes a wet hacking sound. “I had to come back for him, but he’s not doing so hot.”

  “So Beau is your dog,” I say. “I remember you mentioned him that night. I was afraid it was another person.”

  “Nope.” Sam shakes his head. “Since my gramps died a few years back, all I got is Beau.” He steps closer to me, and his face lights up with recognition. “Hey, it’s you. I kept hoping you might come by the hospital so I could thank you.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’ve been working and going to school. Plus, it wasn’t that big of a deal, you know? Probably anyone would have done it.”

  “You hear that, Beau?” Sam says. “Brave and humble.”

  I swallow hard. The way he’s looking at the dog is the way I look at my mom. All I got is Beau. “What are you going to do now?” I ask. “Where will you sleep?”

  “I think Beau and I are going to head toward California,” Sam says. “I got a cousin in Oakland that I never met, but he says I can crash with him for a month or so, longer if I can find a job.”

  I dig in my purse and pull out the rest of the money from my father—a little over two hundred dollars. I hold it out toward Sam. “Here. Before you go, take a bus back to Tillamook tomorrow and take Beau to the Animal Emergency Hospital. They’ll make sure he doesn’t need any medicine.”

  Sam looks worried. “You think he’s really sick?”

  I start to tell him the dog is fine, that everything will be okay, but I can’t bring myself to lie to him after he just helped us, even though a lie is probably what he wants to hear. “I’m not sure,” I admit. “He might need some antibiotics for that cough.”

  Sam takes the money from my hand tentatively, like he’s worried there are literal strings attached. “What if his bill is more than this? Will they take him away from me? I can’t lose Beau.”

  “I understand,” I say. “Just tell them that’s all you’ve got. They won’t take him away.” I pray that I’m right about this. Homeless people deserve to have pets. Homeless people deserve to feel love.

  “I have some money,” Holden says. “I can give you a ride into Tillamook tomorrow. And if the bill is more than expected, I can cover the rest.”

  Sam looks back and forth between the two of us. “Why are you guys being so nice to me?”

  “You just helped us,” I say. “And I have a dog too. Also, I know what it’s like to be almost alone in the world.”

  Sam’s dark eyes soften at this admission. “You seem too . . . normal to know what that feels like.”

  A tear leaks out of my eye. “There’s nothing abnormal about loneliness.”

  Holden adjusts the pressure he’s holding on his wound. “I’ll pick you up at ten. And if you want to crash here tonight, I recommend the gardening shed out back. It’s not all that comfortable, but it’s warm and dry and won’t collapse on you.”

  I wish I could bring Sam back to my house—feed him and let him take a shower—but my mom would never allow it. I know he’s not the one sending the messages, though. He’s just one more unlucky person struggling to survive.

  Holden shows Sam where the shed is, and then the two of us head around to the front of the Sea Cliff. I once again suggest he should go to the ER, but he refuses. “I don’t need stitches. I just need some of that liquid Band-Aid stuff.”

  “I think we have some of that at my house,” I say.

  “I’m not sure if I feel safe driving the motorcycle back down the hill.”

  I nod. I don’t want him trying to maneuver it on the slick road while he’s bleeding. He could get light-headed and pass out. “We can walk.”

  “All right. Just give me a second.” Holden shucks out of his heavy flannel. He pulls off the Henley he’s wearing underneath and slips the flannel back over his bare chest. I remember the first time I saw him shirtless, the night we hooked up after the party. He’d always seemed to be wearing at least two layers, even in the summer, so I had no idea what to expect. But I was pleasantly surprised.

  Holden ties the Henley around his leg. “You’re staring,” he points out.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking about the way you remind me of some of the statues we studied in Art Appreciation.”

  “You know those statues have smaller than average junk, right?”

  I laugh out loud. “Of course your mind would go there. I wasn’t making a comment on your genitals, dumbass. I was trying to say you look nice with your shirt off.”

  “Oh, well in that case, thank you.”

  I roll my eyes. My gaze lands on the bay window that looks in on the lobby of the hotel. “Hang on a sec.” I jog over to the window. Maybe whoever recorded Holden and me left behind a clue.

  I peer in through the glass, trying to remember the exact angle that the video emailed around school was shot from. Whoever made it was standing on the right side of the bay window, looking in through one of the smaller panes of glass. I kneel down and examine the shrubbery growing alongside the building.

  “What are you doing?” Holden asks.

  “Looking for anything. A hair, a thread, something Unknown left behind.” The dirt at the base of the bushes is hard and packed, but I feel around in it anyway, just in case there’s something down there that I can’t see. Right when I’m about to give up, my hand lands in a shallow impression. “I think I found a footprint.” I pull out my phone and turn the light on again.

  Holden kneels next to me. He holds back the shrubbery so I can get a clear view.

  “It’s only a partial,” he says. “It looks like the heel of a boot.”

  I snap a few pictures with my phone. There’s not anything truly identifying about the boot print, but maybe the images will look different in the light. “We can put these on a computer and blow them up really huge.”

  “Cool.” Holden tightens the He
nley around his thigh. He crosses his arms over his chest and I realize he’s freezing.

  “Sorry. We’d better get going before you bleed to death.”

  Holden and I start heading down Puffin Drive. Every couple of minutes, I peek at his leg out of the corner of my eye, relieved to see the blood hasn’t seeped through the fabric of his Henley. “Aren’t you worried that might get infected?”

  “I’ll rinse it good. And I had a tetanus shot last year, so don’t worry about that either,” he says. “By the way, what you just did for that guy—giving him all that money—is one of the kindest things I’ve ever seen anyone do. You didn’t even pull out ten bucks for yourself. So I don’t want to hear any more bullshit about you not being a good person.”

  I flash him a half smile. “It’s like you said. If I don’t like the person I am, I should change. This is me trying to do better.”

  “Yeah, no,” Holden says. “I’m betting you did that without even thinking about it, so quit trying to sell yourself short. Also, that stuff about knowing how it feels to be almost completely alone?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know I’m not much, but you’ll always have me. No matter what.” Leaning in close, Holden slings his arm around my shoulder, and the horror of everything that’s happened fades ever so slightly.

  Twenty-Three

  BETSY IS WAITING at the door to greet Holden and me. I intercept her before she can jump on him and mess up his leg worse. “Shh,” I tell her. “Don’t wake up Mom or we’re all going to get in trouble.”

  Holden pets Betsy while I duck into the bathroom and find the liquid Band-Aid in the medicine cabinet. I bring it to him and then start to follow him out the front door.

  “What are you doing?” he whispers.

  I shut the door behind us. “I’m coming with you so I can be sure you don’t pass out from blood loss or anything.”

  He smirks. “Aww, that’s kind of sweet. Almost like something a girlfriend would do.”

  I slug him hard in the arm. “Would a girlfriend do that?”

  “Mine probably would,” he says, a smile still playing at his lips. “But I probably would have deserved it.”