Sixteen: Boxed in
Walking straight into Blackwell's main building wasn't quite what Max would call a job for the Blackwell Ninjas. The fluorescent lights beamed down from the ceiling with oppressive brightness. The tiled floor, the lockers, the brass doorknobs–everything was too shiny, too bright, like the set of some low-budget horror movie. The only thing that ruined the effect was the chatter wafting down the hallway from the group of women lined up for the bathroom; no one wanted to use the porta-potties if they could avoid it.
Justin glanced around and then, in a hushed tone, "You gonna let me in on your secret mission?"
Chloe bumped her shoulder into his. "Wouldn't be so secret then, would it?"
"Come on, man. I totally played lookout for you. Hook a bro up."
"It's not that kind of secret mission."
He looked disappointed as he reached up to adjust his glasses. His middle fingers were splinted and bandaged together. Max looked away. She knew how his hand had been hurt. His hand would heal, but so many other wounds never would. People had died. Because of a choice she'd made.
Even under these bright lights, with Chloe just inches away from her, she couldn't get the thunder of gunshots out of her head. It was a sound that had become all too familiar to her. It was why she'd been able to react so quickly. And she'd done it, she'd saved Chloe.
Getting shot? Not so fun, though. Like being skewered on a hot poker, and all her thoughts, all her awareness had been focussed on it. Her world had narrowed until it had been made up only of the searing pain. That must have been how Chloe had felt that first time when she'd been shot in the bathroom. But if she had to choose–and honest-to-Dog-she was sick of making choices–she would take the pain over seeing Chloe shot again.
By the time they'd reached the cafeteria, Chloe had managed to convince Justin that there was no weed involved in tonight's outing and he wandered off, looking crestfallen. The sound of clattering dishes wafted from the kitchen, but the diners had long since been shooed out of the cafeteria and the coast was clear. Glancing over her shoulder in either direction just to be sure, Chloe gave a nod and strode to the nondescript door to one side of the hall. She tugged it open and waved a hand towards the descending staircase. "Ladies first."
Max huffed. "Thanks, Mr. Darcy." She ignored the light switch at the top of the stairs and instead used her phone's flashlight app to light the way down the stairs.
She followed the pool of light down a single flight that opened onto a narrow corridor. The cement floor was discoloured, a network of cracks working its way from the stairs out into the corridor. The walls looked to be brick, interrupted only by a red door to her right and, to her left, a saffron door with flaking paint. Max rubbed at her arms, glad she had her coat as it was noticeably colder down here. Now that power had been restored, Blackwell's main building was heated again, but obviously there weren't any heat registers down here.
Chloe hopped down the last couple of steps. "It's the puke coloured door."
"What's behind the red one?"
"Utility room. Always locked." She strode up to the saffron door and tried the doorknob. It rattled, not quite screwed in all the way but the door didn't budge. Chloe dug in her pocket until she produced her wallet and pulled out a card. "The lock-picking thing didn't work so well last time, but this time's gonna be hella impressive."
Max crossed her arms and peered at Chloe with a raised eyebrow. "You're going to swipe and save?"
"Watch and learn, Maxaroni." Max held her phone light over the door as Chloe slid the card into the gap between the door and its frame, just over the bolt. She angled it, adjusted, and then turned the nob. Nothing happened. "Shitballs," she grumbled, and tried again. This time the lock clicked and the door creaked open. "Yes!" Chloe's fist shot up in triumph.
"You did it!"
"See? Told you it would work."
"I dub thee Card Captor Chloe." Max couldn't keep a smile from her face as she tapped Chloe's shoulders with her phone. "What card is that anyway? I know you don't have a credit card."
"Yup. Still rich as fuck." She handed the card to Max and she was greeted by a photo of a frowning Chloe with short blond hair. "Old student card."
Max's fingers linger over the laminated photograph. It was hard to imagine Chloe walking Blackwell's halls and slouching in the same chairs Max had sat in just a matter of weeks ago. "I wish I'd been here."
"You're here now." Chloe slung an arm around Max's shoulder. "The new and improved Maxine Caulfield."
"Improved, huh?"
"Hella improved." And, with a cheeky grin, she grabbed Max's ass.
Max squeaked, her face flushing. At least it was too dark for Chloe to see her blush.
"You are so fucking cute."
Huffing, Max gave Chloe a shove towards the door. "Get in there. Before someone hears us."
"Oooh, I like it when you get bossy."
"Now."
Together they shuffled through the open door. After a minute of searching around they discovered a light switch and decided to chance it. A pair of bare light bulbs suspended from the ceiling sputtered to life, casting hulking shadows around the small, square room. Boxes. A mausoleum of boxes, packed to bursting. The air was thick and musty, more dust than air really. Max's fingertips brushed over the top of the nearest box and a tickle in her nose gave her a moment's warning so she could sneeze into her sleeve.
"Gesundheit."
Leaning closer to the box, Max managed to spot numbers scrawled on a faded label taped to the lid: 1963. Max groaned. "These are the records? I was expecting them to be in filing cabinets like upstairs."
Chloe shrugged. "Guess they just chuck the old stuff into boxes and shove it down here."
The next closest pile of boxes had a yellowing label from the 1940s. Some of the boxes had dark stains on the side that looked like water damage.
"1968 over here," Chloe announced. "And 1985."
"It looks like they've been moved around. They're not in any order." Max groaned. "Chloe, it's going to take us all night to find the right box."
"At least they're labelled." She paused, glanced down at one of the boxes, spun it around to inspect all sides. "Most of them anyway."
With a sigh. "I'll take this half, you take that one." And then, pulling her scarf up over her nose, she began inspecting the dusty boxes.
#
Sighing, Max checked her phone and found that it was well after midnight. David would have already finished his rounds by now and locked up. They should be able to make an easy escape... assuming they were every delivered from this box hell they were stranded in.
"So, Max, are you card-bored yet?"
Max groaned and glared at Chloe. She'd lost track of the number of boxes she'd checked. Some had been almost falling apart and seemed to date back to the earliest days of the school, back before World War I. 1910 if she remembered her Blackwell history right.
"Feeling a little... boxed-in?"
It was the lifting and shifting of boxes that was the real pain. She kept having to stack and re-stack boxes and move them around to get at the bottom ones. "I'm so tired of playing box-Tetris. Worst game ever."
"Hey at least we're back in action," Chloe said, using her jacket sleeve to rub away some dust. "It's pretty crate." She paused. "You know? Crate? Like a box?"
"Chloe." Something in her spine cracked as she heaved a box from one pile to another. "No more boxes."
"Okay. Fine." A pause. "What do you call it when Maxine Caulfield gets off? Max-turbation." She didn't dignify that with a response. "Dude, you are so blushing."
"I am not."
"I can see your neck turning red." Max tugged her jacket collar back up.
"I'm just warm." She pushed open the lid to a box with no label and riffled through the contents. The prevalence of tie-dye headbands and long hair strongly suggested the 1960s.
"Max?"
"No more jokes, please, Chloe."
"No, Max, I think I found it. 1990." It took some box-hopscotch to get over to Chloe and she already had the box open and was searching through it by the time Max reached her. She grabbed a pile of folders and handed them to Max.
Jason Adams. Christopher Brown. Rebecca Delisle. She flipped through them quickly. No Michelle.
"Dude, these hairstyles singlehandedly put a hole in the ozone layer." She glanced over at her girlfriend, only to find that Chloe had become distracted by the photos attached to each profile. "And no one needs that much eyeshadow."
"The master of fashion has spoken." She reached into the box and grabbed another handful of files. Nick Salinas. Michelle Sanders! "Chloe, I think I–" She broke off, staring at the photograph in the file. A bespectacled girl with curly brown hair and freckles squinted back at her.
Chloe peered over her shoulder. "That one scores a zero on the punk scale."
"Sorry, false alarm."
"On to the next-files." She hummed the opening bars to the X-Files theme. "Don't I get points for '90s puns?"
"Only if I get to be Scully." Back to the files.
Nicole Troelsen. Stephanie Tee. Michelle Van Aardt.
This time she waited until she'd checked the photo. It was no more than a few inches across, but the bleach-blond hair and dramatic mascara were familiar to her. "I found her!"
"Van Aardt? Score! Guessing that name won't pull up a bajillion results."
Max reached for her phone so they'd have a record of all her contact info, which might come in handy. "Hey!" she said as Chloe snatched the file before she could get a photo.
"We can take the file. Not like anyone's going to notice it's missing."
Stealing from an archive? It made her inner rule-abider cringe, but she supposed they could always slip the file under the door when they were done. Chloe tugged at her arm, pulling her up, grinning like they'd just scored a major victory. "This is gold, Max."
Her good humour was infectious and Max grinned back at her. It was so good to feel like they were actually making progress, actually getting closer to putting the pieces together. Taking Chloe's hand in hers, she interlaced their fingers and led her towards the door. "Time to make our getaway."
"Sure you don't want to stop by the Otters' layer first?"
"The pool is empty."
"Would be awesome to check it out."
Max turned off the light behind them and, getting out her phone, turned on the flashlight app to guide them back upstairs. Her sinuses felt stuffed from all the dust. She paused to search for a Kleenex, but came up empty. And she certainly wasn't going to trust anything that came out of Chloe's pockets. She sniffled a couple of times and then headed up the stairs, Chloe in tow.
They paused at the top of the stairs but it was nearly one a.m. now and the cafeteria was silent and dark. Relief washed through Max and she let out a long breath, shoulders slumping. Thank Dog. She'd been worried David might still be lurking about. You never knew with him and his crazy surveillance obsession. Not that that obsession hadn't proved useful, but she didn't really want to have to explain why she and Chloe had been poking around the school's basement.
"All clear." Chloe slung an arm around Max's shoulders. Max slid hers around Chloe's waist and they walked like that, back towards the main exit, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous hallways. All the while Chloe tried to convince her to make a detour to the empty pool.
They had just turned the corner and come up to Principal Wells's office and Chloe was making a final plea, when a flash of light seeped out from under the door.
Max froze.
"Max?"
"Chloe, hush!" she hissed, pulling Chloe back. The light flickered, moved. A flashlight. Someone was in the office. And it wasn't Principal Wells.