"I agree," Greta says.
"No!" Mimi shouts, moving toward the edge of the rooftop.
"What do you think you're doing?" I ask her.
But she doesn't move. She stares at me with this wicked look--like a girl possessed--like she's silently challenging me to stay. "Not yet," she says, standing only inches from the edge now.
"Maybe we should stay for just a little while longer," Liza offers.
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"You can't be serious." I turn toward her.
Liza nods, meeting Mimi's eye, like somehow they're on the same wavelength.
"Okay," I cave, agreeing for Mimi's sake, but fully intending to bust out of this shit hole just as soon as we get the chance.
Chet reaches out to take Mimi's hand and lead her from the edge. "What are you trying to do?" he asks her.
But she doesn't answer.
We move back through the rooftop door, into the auditorium.
And that's when we spot it.
There's one of those wooden folding chairs right in our path, just a few feet away. It's folded open, like it's been sitting there waiting for us forever.
"Holy shit," Chet whispers.
"That wasn't there before," Mimi says, stopping dead in her tracks.
"It must have been," Tony argues. "We just didn't notice it, is all."
My heart totally stops, noticing how the seat of the chair faces us, like some messed-up invitation.
"We walked right by here," Mimi says. "I definitely would have noticed it."
Liza nods, snuggling in closer to me.
Still, I tell myself there's some logical explanation: we must have had our heads so far up our ass cracks, trailing around after a half-crazed Greta as she led us out
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onto the rooftop, we didn't even notice the chair.
I tell myself this. But deep down I'm not really sure that I believe it.
Mimi goes over to inspect the thing. She shines her flashlight over the back, and then stops to look up at us. Her eyes are wide. Her mouth trembles open.
I feel myself swallow hard, hoping to God that it isn't the one, that it's just some random chair.
Mimi swivels the chair around so that the back faces us. The number is clear--written in black permanent marker: #17.
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MIMI
I FLIP THE CHAIR over in search of the doll. But it isn't here. It isn't wedged up underneath the seat, or balled up in a corner, or wired to one of the legs.
Just like Greta said.
"Where is it?" I ask her.
Greta's lips bunch up like she has no idea what I'm talking about. So I continue to search the legs, like the doll might appear at any moment.
"Give it up," Tony says, butting his big fat hairball head where it doesn't belong.
"Mind your own business," I snap, continuing to pull at the chair.
"She's crazy," he whispers, like I can't hear him. I pick the chair up and smash it against the floor-- anything to get inside the legs.
"Hold up," Chet says, grabbing the chair from me. "Stay away from me!" I shout.
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Instead he tells me to relax, that he just wants to help me. With a bit of straining, he pulls off one of the rubber stoppers, desperately searching every inch of the chair.
But nothing's inside the leg.
He tries for another, but the stopper doesn't come off so easily. He fishes inside his bag, pulls out the knitting needle he found earlier, and uses it to pry off the stopper.
Finally it works. And a rolled-up piece of paper falls out, making my heart clench.
"I think that's for you," Chet whispers.
My hands shake before I can even pick the note up. I unravel it, noticing the yellow moldy color and how the edges are worn with age.
It's from Christine. I recognize her handwriting.
March 4, 1982
Dear Christy's new mommy:
I couldn't leave her here. But rest assured, she's safe. I've hidden her in my room. If you found my journal, you know which room it is. She's hiding in my headboard-in one of the loose posts-waiting for you.
Please take good care of here. God bless!
Sincerely,
Christine Belle
"We need to go back there," I say.
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"What we need is to get the hell out of here," Derik argues, pointing his stupid camera in my face.
"No!" I shout. "We have to help Christine."
"We will," he says. "This movie is going to be shown. Contest or not, people are going to see what this place was like. I'll make sure of it."
"We need to do more than that," I say. "We need to find the doll."
"Why?" Derek squawks. "What the hell difference does a doll make?"
I look away, not knowing how to explain, but then I just say it: "It's because of my grandmother, okay?"
"What about her?" Derik asks, his face bunched up in confusion. "She was sent here. She died here. It sucks."
"You can be a real asshole, you know that?" Chet says.
"He didn't mean it," Liza argues, trying to make nice for him.
"I'm sorry, all right?" Derik offers. "But I really think we should go."
"We're not going," I say, feeling my jaw tense. "I came here to help my grandmother, and I'm not leaving until I do."
"Wait," Liza says, turning to me. "How is helping Christine going to help your grandmother?"
"It won't." I sigh, knowing that I'm not making much sense. "But maybe it will help me. I came here tonight to find evidence of my grandmother, to get a taste of what it was like for her during her last days here--
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since nobody else in my family seems to give a shit."
"And you've done that," Greta says.
"Yes, but I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to find her file, but I couldn't. I wanted to find out where she was buried, and I failed there, too. Yet, for some reason, I've found all this stuff about Christine. So maybe I can do some good after all. Maybe I can help someone else rest in peace. I mean, for all I know, maybe my grandmother even knew Christine. They were here at the same time--at least for some of the same time."
"I don't like what this place is doing to us," Derik says.
"Ditto." Greta nods.
"I mean, between you on the roof and then beating the shit out of that chair," Derik continues.
"Don't forget you a few minutes ago," Chet says. "When your headlight went out."
"Right." Derik nods, refusing to get into it.
"What happened?" Liza asks.
"This place is really messed up," Greta interrupts, looking out into the darkness, toward where the rows of chairs are--where only minutes ago she pretty much lost it too.
"But going back to Christine's room ... finding the doll ... it could be really cinematic." Tony taps a finger over his lips in thought.
"I don't know," Derik says, still getting the scene on film.
"Please," I insist. "Then we can leave."
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"Count me out." Greta shakes her head and takes a step back.
"I don't know," Liza says. "I mean, part of me thinks that we should do this--that it's our responsibility. I mean, we've been here for hours, taking advantage of this place, of all these memories--when we don't even belong, when the memories aren't even ours. It's almost like we owe it to this place--to Christine, at least--to do this."
"Are you kidding me?" Greta balks. "Little Miss I-want-to-go-home-this-place-doesn't-want-us-here? You can't honestly tell me that you don't want to leave."
"No," Liza says, huddling in even closer to Derik. "I do. I mean, I'm scared out of my mind. It's just, it's hard to explain, but it's like, I'll be even more scared if we don't do this."
"Exactly," I say.
"What do you think, Chet?" Derik asks, as though suddenly we're voting on it.
Chet shrugs and takes a step closer to me. "I've got nothing better to do."
"Sorry," Derik says after
a pause, "but I'm the director of this project and I need to do what's best for everybody. I think we've been here long enough."
"We've worn out our welcome," Greta says in agreement.
Still, I shake my head, silently refusing to leave.
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DERIK
IT'S A LITTLE AFTER four a.m., and while I'd planned on staying here all night, I feel like it's time to go.
I just hope I'm doing the right thing.
I give Liza's hand a squeeze, thinking about what she said before--how it'll be even scarier for us if we don't find Christine's doll. But still, I have to do what I feel in my gut is right. And right now what I'm feeling is that we've been here for way too long.
"You don't think I'm a jerk for making us go, do you?" I ask her.
Liza shrugs. "I honestly don't know what the right answer is. Nothing's been clear for me since I stepped foot in this place."
I nod, only slightly reassured. Meanwhile, back in the reception room, Chet sets the knitting needle he found on the floor, ditching his ideas of selling stuff on eBay; while Mimi, Miss Packrat herself, leaves behind all those files
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she found. Instead she crams only Christine Belle's journal and watercolor picture into her bag, which, all considered, is okay with me.
"Are we ready?" Greta asks.
I give a slight nod, still focusing on Mimi. I mean, it's definitely suspicious--the sheer fact that she's so willing to cave, that she isn't bitching me out and putting up a fight. "What's up with you?" I ask her.
"What do you mean?"
I shake my head, knowing that she's definitely up to something. "Maybe you should stick close to me on out way out," I say.
"Screw you," she says, shutting me out by holding up her hand like some wannabe homegirl.
"I'll keep an eye on her," Chet says, totally glued to her side.
I nod, though I don't fully trust him either. And so, all the way out, I keep looking back, making sure she's still there, that's she's still following along, right beside Chet.
"Don't even think about sneaking off," I tell her, pressing the talk button down on my walkie-talkie. But, no surprise: the crap box isn't working again.
About ten minutes later, after booting our way through the underground tunnels at a pretty decent clip, Mimi announces that we're in the A wing. Her voice echoes off the walls, cuts through the darkness, and makes my heart jump.
"It's right above us," she shouts.
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"That's nice," I yell back, knowing full well what she's thinking--how Christine's room is right upstairs, how it'd be no big deal to just take a quick peek.
"She does have a point," Chet says.
"No chance," I say, focusing on the door up ahead--the one that leads to the tunnel that travels under the hospital grounds--confident that we're doing the right thing, since, for some reason, I have this crazy-ass feeling that if we don't get out now, we never will.
"This is it," Tony says, shining his headlight beam over the map. "We pass through here and make the stretch across. Then we'll get to that outlying building, the one we first entered."
"Right," I say. "And then we can hike back down the hill."
He nods as I wrap my hand around the knob. I go to pull it open, but then I pause to look back. Mimi's gone.
And so is Chet.
I shake my head, holding myself back from shouting out some four-letter words of choice.
"Where'd they go?" Liza asks.
"Where do you think?" Tony says.
"I don't care," Greta says, brushing past me to go for the door. "I'm leaving anyway."
But the door doesn't open.
"It's locked," she says.
"It can't be." Tony steps in to help her. But go figure:
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his toddler-size muscles don't do the trick. And so I try as well, kicking at the door, body-shoving it, and doing my best to break the knob right off. But the thing still won't open.
"That's it!" Greta shouts--even pissier than me. She takes off down the tunnel, in the opposite direction of the door, in search of another way out.
"Hold up!" I shout at her. "We can't just go out through any door we want."
"We can't just leave without Mimi," Liza corrects.
"Why can't we?" Greta asks. She turns around to face us. "If Mimi wants to stay here, then let her."
"We're not leaving without her," I say.
"You're not," she corrects. "I'm outta here. If you want out too, then follow me."
At that, Greta turns on her heel and starts to run down the tunnel like she's got a rocket shoved up her ass. Tony tries to stop her, but she's ignoring him, too.
"We have to find Mimi," Liza says. "We won't get out of here unless we do."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I feel like we made a mistake. We should have told Mimi that we'd stay in the first place. Our business here isn't finished yet."
"What are you talking about?" I say, running my fingers through my hair in frustration.
"I mean, before, earlier ... when we first got here," Liza continues, "I felt like something about this place
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didn't want us here. But now it's like it doesn't want us to leave. Not yet."
I take a deep breath, my head spinning with questions--with what to believe. I shake my head, refusing to deal with it. Instead I move down the tunnel toward Greta, readying myself to restrain her if I have to, noticing that Tony's not having any luck. She heads up a set of stairs.
"You're not going anywhere!" I shout.
Liza follows close behind me. I grab Greta by the arm, and she kicks me in the face--hard. Her heel nails me in the jaw, and I stumble back.
Meanwhile, Greta keeps running, Tony trailing after her. I can hear them on the first floor. I move in the direction of their voices, my jaw aching, my heart speeding up.
But I finally spot them. Greta's working the lock of one of the exterior doors, trying to get out.
"You're gonna get your asses arrested," I shout. "As soon as the cops see you hiking across the grounds, you're bagged."
"I don't care," Greta says. "I just want to get out of here." The lock clicks, and she goes to turn the knob. But it doesn't work.
She pulls out her cell phone and tries to dial. But it's not working either. "Give me your cell," she tells Tony.
He pulls it from his pocket and checks the screen. Apparently it's all out of charge.
"Come on," I tell Greta.
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But she ignores me and heads down the other end of the hallway until she finds another door--one that leads to a stairwell that takes you outside.
"No need to run after her," Liza says, holding me back by the arm. "She won't get out. The door will be locked."
"How do you know?"
A second later, Greta starts kicking at the door, slapping her palms up against it, like that'll make the thing open.
"What's going on?" Greta cries out. Liza shrugs off a chill, completely unsurprised by the door.
"How did you know?" I repeat.
"This place is crazy," Liza whispers.
"We need to get the hell out of here," I say, wrapping my arm around her, knowing for sure that we need to find Mimi. That we need to help Christine.
That it's just like Liza said--our business here isn't finished until we do.
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MIMI
DERIK DOESN'T LEAVE me a choice. And so when he isn't looking, I grab Chet, and we duck inside a utility room, switch off our headlights, and hold our breath. It's beyond rancid in here--like mildew mixed with turpentine paint.
Still, when Chet pulls me toward him, farther into the room where it's completely dark and we won't be seen, where the pure blackness blankets over everything else-- any fears, any doubts, who we are, and where we're standing--I'm able to bury myself into him. I press my face against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me and pats my back, allowing me to catch my breath.
I nod and pull him closer, noticing how if I really concentrate, I can smell the inside of his closet--a caramel scent. His breath is rhythmic--like a metronome that keeps me focused on the moment.
"We need to get going," I say, hearing the others run by.
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Our embrace breaks, and we both sort of stand there for several seconds, waiting for the other to move.
I hold my hand up in front of my face, completely unnerved when I can't see my fingers wiggling.
"Chet?" I say, after several moments.
He doesn't answer.
"Chet?" I repeat, a little louder this time. I reach out to feel for him, but he isn't there. My hands swipe through the black and empty space.
A banging sound comes from the corner of the room. "Chet!" I shout, feeling my heart beat fast.
"Get out," a voice whispers from somewhere behind me--a female voice.
"Christine?" I whisper. I go to click my headlight back on, but it doesn't work.
"Get out," the voice repeats, her tone both angry and urgent.
I maneuver as best I can through the darkness, trying to find my way back to the door, accidentally tripping over a bucket of some soft. I hear myself yelp.
"Right here," a voice says. It's followed by a hand on my shoulder, totally making me jump.
I whirl around. At the same moment, Chet clicks his headlight on, so that I can see his face. The light shines in my eyes, forcing me to squint. "What the hell are you doing?" I shout, pushing against his chest.
"Relax," he says, holding me back. "I was just checking things out."
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"Were you in the corner?" I ask. "Were you whispering stuff to me--telling me to get out?"
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