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I make it work.
There’s a rusted ladder right inside of the entrance to the manhole. Going backward, I feel blindly with my left foot until I find it. It’s slimy and cold, and I hate the idea of putting my foot on the pitted piece of metal.
I do it anyway.
Unlike the mausoleum, the sewer smells exactly the way I thought it would. Once I’m all the way inside of the dark, dank hole, I hang onto the ladder with one arm so I can pull my hoodie up and over my nose. It doesn’t help. I swallow roughly, fighting back a gag. It’s a good thing I haven’t had a thing to eat since last night’s stew. I feel like I’m about to hurl.
Or maybe that’s because I’m so damn afraid that the cop is going to find me. I don’t even know for sure that he recognized me as Riley Thorne, the missing girl from the news. He might’ve gotten a good look at me and figured rightly that I was in deep shit.
Of course, now he’s got to know that I’m not innocent.
Innocent people don’t run from the cops.
My queasy stomach lurches when I hear the sirens approaching. They grow louder and louder, then suddenly die. The hum of an engine not too far away replaces it. The slam of a car door. Jingling keys, and the heavy steps of an overweight police officer.
A loud huff.
I close my eyes and will my heart to slow down. It’s racing so fast, beating so loud, I almost expect him to follow the thud and the thump to my hiding place. My fingers sting from clutching the ladder rung in front of me so tightly. I’m pressed up against the structure, leaning on my good leg.
This is it. Any second now he’s going to realize that there’s nowhere else I could go...
The crackle of his police radio cuts through the tension. I just about stop breathing. My pulse pounds. I can’t understand the muttering and hiss that follows the crackle. It’s too indistinct to make out from inside of the manhole.
The officer has no problem. He responds with a low growl that carries. “No. No sign of her on this side.” A sound like ringing bells. I think he just kicked the fence. “She had to have run out on your end.”
Some more static.
“Yeah. No shoes on, like I said. Black sweatshirt. Jeans. Leather gloves, too. Looks just like the picture they sent over last week.”
The other cop says something else. I wish I could hear it.
“Look, I’ll meet you over on Elm. She’s fled Oak Tree on foot so that’s our best chance. We can fan out, hit downtown again.” Another burst of static, then, “Yeah. Copy that. I’m on my way.”
His keys jingle a little faster as he moves away. The cop pounds the pavement back, his steps fading the further he gets from the fence. A minute later, the sudden roar of the engine causes the ladder to tremble. I don’t pry my gloves from my tight hold until the only thing I can hear is the soft tinkling of the water trickling far beneath me.
Gritting my teeth, I start to climb down. I’ve got no choice. If the cops are up here looking for me, then I’m going down until I can get my head on straight and figure out just what I should do next.
The ladder goes all the way to the bottom. There’s a ledge down here, overlooking a groove in the sewer. It looks like it was built to hold a small river or something but, thank God, there’s nothing more than a trickle of a foul-smelling liquid.
Great. Looks like I found the source of the stink.
I don’t get too close, moving as far away from it as I can until my back is against the slimy brick wall. Then, because there’s nowhere else to go—and I’m beginning to ache all over—I sit on the edge of a puddle of something thick and oily. When the sliver of light from up above hits it, I see a rainbow. It’s a spot of something beautiful in this terrible place. I almost have to laugh.
At least I’m safe. For now, I might be alone, but I’m safe.
I don’t plan on staying down here long. Just long enough to catch my breath,
maybe, and to give my sore leg some rest. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to think about food—my anxiety makes me lose my appetite, but I’m already feeling weaker than I usually do. And I’m not about to sleep in a sewer.
I have to draw the line somewhere.
I keep my eyes squinted until I get used to the darkness surrounding me. I can’t see much more than what’s in front of me. The sliver of light is enough for me to be sure that I’m alone. No rats. No alligators. No—
The light sparks. It goes from a weak stream to a blinding flash. I shriek and throw my hands up as if that’s going to save my poor retinas.
Out of nowhere, I hear a thunk and a slapping noise from right next to me. The splash of that dirty, oily water as it sprays up and dots my bare leg is chilly and uncomfortable. My eyes sting, but they fly open anyway. I blink rapidly, trying to get my sight back, then swallow my terrified squeal when I see what it was that caused the splash.
There, lying on its side in the puddle as if it’s been tossed at me, is the slipper I lost in the mausoleum.
