The Originals

The Originals Page 44

“Let’s go up,” he says. He shoots me a look like Come on! I take a step toward the elevators.

“Wait,” Jarrod says from behind the desk. I freeze; my heart sinks. When I turn around, I try not to look busted.

“Yeah?”

“There’s hot chocolate stocked in the lounge area on four,” he says. “Just down the hall from your room.”

“Thanks!” I say, feeling like I just won the car on a game show or something. This guy thinks I’m either Ella or Betsey; he just told me they’re on the fourth floor.

“Mugs are in the cabinet over the microwave,” he calls as the elevator doors close. Too filled with fearful excitement, I don’t answer.

The elevator doors open to a brick wall. I step out and look left and right but find nothing but a deserted hallway. It’s just a dorm—and it’s the middle of the day—but it gives me the creeps anyway. It smells like perfume and stale popcorn, with undertones of old. The wood floor living under the dingy blue carpet creaks when I step to the right. I walk about ten feet and peer around the corner at rows and rows of doors. All of which have decorated white boards on the outsides of them.

“Let’s start on this side,” I whisper to Sean; he nods and leads the way.

We creep down the hall to the first door. Scrawled at the top of the white board in cursive is Welcome to the Home of Annie and Jamie. I read, shake my head, and move on. The next board says DINA AND CAITLYN in bold caps. The one after that reads Mandy’s Room. She must have a single.

Sean and I make it all the way to the end of the hallway. We turn the corner of the massive square and find the lounge that Jarrod the front desk guy mentioned. It connects the two hallways with a little living space that has a couch and two chairs, and a TV that looks older than my mom.

“Want some hot chocolate?” Sean whispers, clearly trying to lighten the mood. I just roll my eyes and start across the room toward the other side.

Then I hear the elevator ding. I freeze, listening as a resident clomps down the hall we haven’t checked yet, uses a key, and then lets the door slam behind her. At least I assume it’s a her: All the doors we’ve seen so far have had female names on the boards. As far as I can tell, we’re on a girls’ floor.

When I’m sure the person’s gone, I start down the hall, Sean following me this time, reading white board after white board. There are messages for the residents, phone numbers, and inspirational quotes, but I only care about the names at the top.

Ryanne and Serena

Teresa Territory

Whitney & Courtney

And then there it is: the blank white board. When I see it, I take a step back, like it’s going to bite me. My heart feels like it’s going to explode: I know they’re inside. Whether they’re alone or not is what concerns me.

I hear faint music, but it doesn’t seem like it’s coming from inside: It must be some other resident’s room.

“Are you going to knock?” Sean whispers into my ear. I see movement under the door: not a lot, just a single shadow darkening the space between the carpet and the bottom of the door for a moment. Then it’s gone.

“What if someone’s in there with them?” I ask.

Sean pulls out his phone and dials 911. “I’ll hit Call if anything happens,” he says. “Want me to knock?”

“No, I’ll do it,” I say.

I move three steps toward the door, and then take a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. It doesn’t help. I can feel the tension in every muscle in my body as I raise my hand and knock twice on the door. It’s jarring in the quiet hallway. My heart leaps when I hear someone turn the door handle.

Then everything’s okay.

“Betsey!” I say, rushing her and wrapping my arms so tightly around her torso that she makes a little oomph sound. She hugs back, and over her shoulder I see Ella stand up from the bed. She joins the embrace. When we part, I notice that they’re both wearing warm jackets, like they were just about to leave.

Ella moves past me and peeks her head into the hallway. She looks left, then right, then steps back inside. “Get in here already,” she says to Sean, waving impatiently. She closes the door, but not all the way.

“Did you see Mom on your way up?” she whispers.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“Another woman? Blond?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “No adults. The only person we saw was that guy at the front desk. Let’s get out of here before we do see one of them.” I want to ask so many questions—mostly about Mom’s role in all of this—but I know that now’s not the time.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, grabbing her backpack from home and slinging it over her shoulder. Betsey does the same.

The four of us creep down the hallway toward the elevator, but take the stairs instead. At the bottom, we see that the front desk guy is talking on the phone animatedly.

“He can’t see us leave,” Betsey says. “I have a weird feeling about that guy.”

“I have an idea,” Sean says. He looks at me excitedly. “Wait here—I’ll be back.” He turns and runs up the stairs; I hear a metal door open and close. Only because I’m staring into the lobby do I notice the doors on one of the elevators closing: It’s been called to the third floor. Suddenly, the alarm goes off: The elevator is stuck. Just as I hear Sean coming back through the door and starting his descent, Jarrod the desk guy stands and wanders over to the elevator. He looks up at the numbers on the top and sees that it’s stuck on the third floor. He glances at the stairwell, probably considering walking up, and we duck down below the little window. We wait a few seconds, then Betsey peeks.

“What’s he doing?” Sean asks.

“Waiting for the other elevator,” Bet reports. “You’re a genius, Sean.”

“I have my moments.”

When Jarrod’s safely inside the working elevator, the four of us tumble out of the stairwell, fly across the lobby, and rush into the blustery Colorado day. In minutes I’m leaving Bramsford University with Ella and Betsey next to me, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, I feel whole again.

twenty-eight

“Tell me what happened,” I say the moment we’re off campus. Betsey opens her mouth to respond, but then Sean turns in the opposite direction from the highway. “Where are you going?” I ask him.

“I’m going to try to rent a hotel room,” he says. “I’m exhausted, and we need to figure out where we’re going next. It seems like the smart thing to do.”

“You can’t rent a hotel room; you’re not eighteen,” Ella says.

“I’ve done it before on trips with my friends,” Sean replies. “The eighteen thing isn’t the law; it’s policy. Sometimes they’ll rent to you just as long as you have a credit card.”

“And you do?” Ella asks.

“Yup.”

We hold our conversation until we get to the hotel. Thankfully, Sean was right: He scores the room. We park near the back entrance, and the second I see the two double beds, I’m exhausted, too. But there’s no way I can sleep.

“I think I’m going to take a shower,” Sean says, pointing toward the bathroom. “That okay?” I’m sure he’s curious about what’s going on, but I love that he’s respecting our need to talk about our family business in private. Not that I won’t update him on everything later anyway.