The Secret Songs of D.C. Silverenn

| 11

My hunch is mostly proven correct. After surveying the next weird score, we determined that each measure resembles a room, which some measures formatted unusually wide or tall. Each one has only one whole note at one part of the measure, which could resemble a door.

The path lies within the score. Follow the measures to number four.

It seems simple enough. We just need to follow the score like we would a map to the room that the measure 'four' resembles. The only problem is orienting ourselves when we enter the warehouse so we know which measures correlate with which rooms.

Three hours and one meal later, Emi and I stand around the kitchen table, gathering anything and everything we could possibly need to break into a warehouse this afternoon.

"Keys?" I ask.

"Check. Map?"

"Check. Bobby pins?"

"Check." I have no idea how to pick a lock with them, but it probably doesn't hurt. Emi continues, "Sneakers?"

My eyes dart to my dirt and grass-stained converse. "Check. And you?"

"Check. Phone, tablet?"

"Check, check."

"Same."

"Snacks?"

Emi looks up from whatever she's doing on her phone. "What?"

I shrug. "I don't know. We might get hungry."

"Fine," Emi sighs. She ducks into the pantry and grabs a handful of granola bars, shoving them into her cross-body purse. "'Kay. I think we've got everything."

"Let's head out." What else could one possibly need when breaking into an old warehouse?

═════∘✧◦ 🎻◦✧∘═════

The road becomes increasingly worn down the further we drive. I thought the area we lived in was bad, but the uneven, cracked concrete is far worse than the streets by our apartment. I bounce up and down with the bumps, the mac and cheese from lunch sloshing around my stomach. Even more sickening is how faded the yellow line on the two-lane road is. All it takes is for one careless driver to come along, not paying attention to where the car is, and we'd have yet another money-sucking problem to deal with.

After a long stretch of driving by rough, unpainted buildings, the street ends. A stone building sits beyond the paved road, amidst dry, overgrown grass. I'm grateful that my sneakers and jeans completely cover my ankles, lest I get chiggers or some other critter from traipsing through the grass.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Emi asks. "It seems pretty... disheveled."

The white stones on the exterior are mottled with dirt and a rust-colored film that balloons across sections. In some places, chunks are missing from the facade, leaving the neighboring stones jutting out, ready to knock out a passer-by that gets on its nerves. Clouded, gray windows hang on the upper half on the building, most cracked or broken, darkness spewing from behind the holes.

I shrug. "Cheaper than shopping. Let's go."

We step from the car, a rotting stench saturating my nostrils. I wrinkle my nose and spare a glance around. My eyes fall on a narrow alleyway between two crumbling brick buildings on the street. Two beige cars and a gray one are parked beside the rusted trash cans that are crammed against the sides of the alley. Other than those three cars, ours is the only one around.

Emi and I make eye contact. Without a word, we hurry to the warehouse's front door.

"We should've thought about how we'll get in," Emi says once we stand before the green metal double doors. "The building is locked."