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11:42.
Who asked you to meet them at midnight? Goths and druggies and maybe rock stars. He was no rock star, although he looked like he could be one.
11:43.
Marah sat up.
She was going to meet him. When the decision settled in place, she knew it had been there all along, maybe from the moment he’d asked her to meet him. She eased out of bed and changed back into her clothes. She brushed her teeth and put on makeup for the first time in forever. Then she crept out of her room, turning off the lights and closing the door quietly behind her.
Shadows crouched along the furniture in the dark; beyond them, Seattle at night was a kaleidoscope of colored lights and black night sky. Tully’s bedroom door was closed; there was a light on underneath.
11:49.
Grabbing her purse and sticking her phone in her back pocket, she started to leave. At the last minute, she stopped and dashed off a quick note—Meeting Paxton in Pioneer Square—and ran back to place it under her pillow. Just in case the police needed somewhere to start looking.
She tiptoed out of the apartment and slipped into the elevator. In the lobby, she tucked her chin into her chest and strode quickly across the marble floor. In no time, she was outside, standing alone on the busy sidewalk. She started walking.
Pioneer Square was full of action even this late. Taverns and bars pulled people in and spit them out. Every now and then music drifted on the night air. This was the original skid row, named back in the days when giant logs slid down Yesler Street toward the water. Now it was a haven for both the homeless and those drawn to nightclubs and jazz bars—life in the dark.
The pergola was a local landmark, a black, ornate ironwork fixture on the corner of First and James. Beneath it, homeless people lay on benches, covered in newspapers, and gathered in pods to smoke and talk.
She saw Paxton before he saw her. He was leaning against one of the stanchions, with a pad of paper in his hand. He was writing something down when she said, “Hey. ”
He looked up. “You came,” he said, and something about his voice—or the look in his eyes—made her realize how much he’d wanted her here. He hadn’t been as certain of her as she’d thought.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said firmly.
“I’m afraid of you,” he answered matter-of-factly.
Marah had no idea what that meant, but she remembered her mom telling her about the first time she’d kissed Dad. He said he was afraid of me, Mom had said. He didn’t know it, but he was already in love with me.
Paxton reached out his hand. “You ready, suburb girl?”
She took his hand. “I am, guyliner boy. ”
He led her down the street and onto a dirty, wheezing city bus. The truth—which she’d never tell him—was that she’d never been on a city bus before. In the crowded, brightly lit interior, they stood close together, staring at each other. He mesmerized her, electrified her in a way that had never happened before. She tried to think of something flip to say, but she couldn’t think straight. When they got off the bus, he led her deep into the glittering world of Broadway at night. She’d been born in Seattle and raised on an island you could see from the city, and yet here was a world she knew nothing about, a shiny, neon-glazed fun-house version that crouched in the shadows and cracks of Seattle after dark. In Paxton’s universe, there were black hallways and clubs without windows and drinks that puffed steam when you held them in your hands and kids who lived on the street.
From there, they took another bus, and this time, when they got off, Seattle was in the distance, a glittering diadem set against the night sky, across a body of black water. There were only a few streetlamps to illuminate the landscape.
The land in front of her rolled downhill; at its end, a rusted behemoth lurked by dark shores. Gas Works Park. She recognized it now. The centerpiece of this waterfront park was the old rusted gasification plant from the turn of the century. They’d come here once on a grade school field trip. Paxton held her hand and led her down the grassy lawn to a secret cavelike part of the structure.
“Are we committing a crime?” Marah asked.
“Do you care?” he asked.
“No. ” A tiny thrill went through her. She had never done anything wrong. It was time, maybe, to change that.
He led her deep into a hidden place within the rusted metal structure, then pulled a cardboard box out from a hiding place and made them a place to sit.
“Is that always there?” she asked.
“No. I put it here for us. ”
“How did—”
“I knew,” he said, staring at her in a way that made her blood turn hot. “Have you ever had absinthe?” He pulled out enough supplies for a science experiment.
She shivered. Fear danced around her, poked and prodded, and she thought, He’s dangerous, and she knew she should leave now, before it was too late. But she couldn’t. “No. What is it?”
