Page 12

“The one you gave me, or technically Rennix did. It was in the envelope.”

I can tell by the way Lacey is stammering and humming amid the chaos echoing around her that she genuinely has no idea what I’m talking about. “Never mind, you’re busy with the kids. I’ll figure it out.”

“Hold on. Sweet fuckery almighty, can all of you just chill the hell out for two seconds, I can’t even hear myself think.” Lacey takes a deep breath. “Any-fucking-way, sorry about that,” she says, forcibly chipper. “But that’s what my brother left you?” She sounds as disappointed as I feel.

“Yeah. That’s all that was in the envelope.” I leave out the instant messenger convo. That feels like a useless tidbit to add. Plus, I don’t want to talk about it. Or even think about it. Although it’s too late for that last part, I suppose, since it’s all I keep replaying in my head.

“Hmm, that’s strange. Even for Rennix.” My eyes become watery, but my lips can’t help but to curl into a smile. Strange and Rennix go together like emojis and text messages, or Vans and, well, any outfit. I loved that about him. No, I love that about him.

If it had to do with aliens, deep diving into the statistical side of game coding, bugs, or reptiles—I shudder at the thought—he was in. He marched to the beat of his own drum. He never was one to chase trends or seek approval of others. He had a view on life that I still can’t seem to mirror in my thirties. Even though I always found him to exude a level of confidence I wish I could possess a fraction of, there was always an element of secretiveness to him. Like a Rubik’s Cube I couldn’t quite solve. Especially toward the end. I swallow the lump in my throat. The end and Rennix shouldn’t have to go together in one sentence or stream of consciousness.

“I’ll look at the envelope again. Maybe I’m missing something.” Just as I’m about to hang up, a car zooms past the desolate road ahead of where I’m sitting on the curb in front of what was the entrance to Memoria Games, and Lacey stops me.

“Where are you?”

Where I promised I stopped going to because I always spiral the day after I visit.

“Talking to you.”

Her tongue clicks. “I didn’t ask what you are doing, I asked where you are.”

“I…” A loud thud breaks my concentration.

Lacey’s voice fades in the background as I go against every survival instinct years of watching crime documentaries and horror films has taught me and rise to inspect it.

I round the corner of the boarded-up building, doing my best to not trip on the hoard of fallen branches and vines cluttering the uneven ground.

It dawns on me once I make it to the back of the building that I left my purse with my pepper spray in my damn car. I debate going to get it, but my feet make the decision for me.

“Are you there?” Lacey’s voice is distant with my phone lowered in my hand.

“I’ll call you back,” I whisper, hanging up before she can say anything more.

I unclench my other fist. The key from Rennix is now in sight and I don’t know how I missed the small lettering on it. “Wish giver,” I say out loud, reading the engraving.

The wind begins to pick up, scattering the fallen leaves around me. My hair falls out of place, landing on my freshly glossed lips. I cringe at the stickiness it left on the strand refusing to stay put with each attempt I make at tucking it behind my ear. By the third time this happens, I’m tempted to take the jagged key’s edge and chop the damn piece off, but all that comes to a halt when another gust of wind howls, this time followed by the distinct creaking of the back door that has been chained shut since Memoria Games closed.

Every bone in my body stiffens. My pulse becomes a drum in my ears. The air entering my lungs with each scattered breath stings.

Abandon ship.

Despite the invisible flare signals, I take a step forward.

Abort mission.

And another.

Seriously, bitch, get it together.

And another.

Cool, I guess all common sense has left the building.

Another sizable leap forward and I’m standing in front of the very door I’ve tried to open countless times before to no avail.

“I shouldn’t do this. I need to back away and leave,” I say out loud, trying to externally argue with myself.

I know it’s useless. There’s no swaying me once my mind is made up. Stupid as a decision may be, if I decide to do it, I commit to it. That includes walking into a very abandoned, very creepy, highly suspect game store when I know damn well that I shouldn’t.