Heart

Eighteen

The next day was normal. At least, I acted normal. I had stayed up all night planning what I would do and how I would do it, paying special attention to several “what could go wrong” scenarios. I had my phone with me, which would be my recording device--and my lifeline if something didn’t go as planned.

When dinner rolled around, I lied and told Mom that I wasn’t very hungry because I’d eaten a big lunch at school. I also asked if I could drive around a little--Alan and I had gotten in a bad fight and I wanted to clear my head. And you know what? She believed me. She gave me the keys to the family car herself.

I felt a little guilty, but I knew I couldn’t dwell on it. What I was doing was important, and everyone would totally thank me after I busted the kidnapper. With Alan’s help, of course. He did most of the brainwork.

So, I left the house at approximately 7:35 p.m. (I made sure I knew the time, because cops had a tendency to ask about that.) And I simply drove towards downtown. I ran the plans and “what if’s” over and over again in my head, making sure I knew them forward and backward. It was crucial to get everything exactly right. I was no expert, obviously, but I did know that much.

Several minutes later, I passed the pizzeria where I’d met Candy. The memory floated gently across my mind’s eye, and I even smiled a little. I realized that I liked her, even though she did intimidate me--both in looks and strength. And Alan had been around her for four years without uttering one word about her to me.

And I supposed I knew why; Candy was one of his mysterious friends that he always told me to stay away from. If it was just because they were all tough like she was, I thought that was a pretty lame excuse. What, his boy ego couldn’t handle it if I found out he had some pals that were stronger than he was?

I rolled my eyes as the pizzeria grew smaller in my rearview mirror. Boys.

I drove on, and then an idea slapped me in the face. Of course. Alan wasn’t with me. He thought I was at home. And in fact I wasn’t, I was downtown. His friends were in downtown. I knew one of his friends.

I smiled.

Time to pay a little visit. It wouldn’t take long--I would still have plenty of time to go to Hatcher’s apartment. I would only stay for a few minutes, to at least see what they looked like.

My arguments with Alan about this concept had indirectly given me clues as to where the group hung out all the time. I started remembering everything that was said between us, reading between the lines, looking at the town around me as I drove, and I finally figured out where to go. I supposed the worst that could happen was Alan being with his pals when I drove up.

I took a few turns that led me farther away from Hatcher’s apartment, heading into an awfully grungy part of town. Houses had boards for curtains, some had no doors or windowpanes, and some looked like they were plain falling apart. But people lived in them, for I saw several citizens hanging out on the decrepit porches. Thankfully the family car wasn’t very flashy, so I only received cursory glances.

At the end of the road, I saw what looked like an abandoned old factory-type building. It was made of red bricks that had many cracks in them from age. One whole wing of the structure had collapsed into a pile of rubble, leaving a gaping hole as the entrance. A bit off to the side, only a couple of vehicles--old clunkers like I’d seen at the pizzeria--sat parked on the road. And several knots of people milled in and around the building.

This had to be it.

I smoothly pulled up behind a car a few yards or so from the building, attracting some attention. Trying to swallow my nervousness, I killed the engine and stuffed the keys in my front jeans pocket. I bit my lip, debating, but soon convinced myself to climb out of the car. I locked it before turning to face the factory building.