Chapter 5 - The Attic of Memories
The next morning, the rain had cleared, leaving Portland wrapped in a crisp, gray fog. I made Noah pancakes, which he ate in quiet, appreciative silence.
"Noah," I said, sitting across from him. "I need to go to the old apartment building. I think your mom left something for us there. Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay here with Mrs. Gable from next door? She’s a nice retired teacher."
"I want to go with you," he said instantly. "Mom told me never to let you out of my sight if I found you."
"Alright. We stick together."
We drove to 15th Avenue. The old brick building still stood, though it had been renovated into trendy, high-priced lofts. The basement entrance, however, was still accessed through a rusted metal door in the alleyway.
I parked two blocks away and walked Noah through the misty air. My eyes scanned the street nervously, checking every passing vehicle for a black SUV.
The basement door was locked, but the building manager’s office was empty, and the lock was a simple latch that I managed to slip with an old library card—a trick Megan had taught me when we used to lock ourselves out.
We descended into the cool, damp basement. It smelled of concrete, dust, and old paper. Row after row of wire-mesh storage lockers lined the walls.
"Look for 419, Noah," I whispered.
"Here! Over here!" he called out quietly from the end of the dark corridor.
Locker 419 was covered in a thick layer of grime. I wiped the dust off the lock. It was a heavy brass padlock. I inserted the key. It turned with a satisfying, metallic click.
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Inside, there were several dusty cardboard boxes and an old easel. I opened the first box. It was filled with old art supplies, dried-up tubes of acrylics, and sketchbooks. But at the bottom of the second box sat a heavy, fireproof lockbox.
We took the lockbox back to my car, my heart racing. We didn't open it there. I wanted to be in the safety of my own home before we unlocked Megan's secrets.
