Hansel 3(4)

“Are you here?” I call behind me.

When he doesn’t answer, I dash over to the door and swing it open, then step out into the hall. I look all the way down the dark space, criss-crossed with dancing shadows from a few torches. Their smoke drifts up toward the high ceilings.

“Edgar?” I cry.

His apartment is at the end of the private hall. There are only one or two other doors along it. I freeze for a moment, listening for the swishing of his jeans and the low clomp of his boots.

Then—“shit!”

I fly off like a rocket, pumping my arms as I stretch my legs in front of me.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Where’d he go? Was he going to come back?

It wouldn’t make sense for him to leave me there indefinitely, but maybe he figured I would go once he did.

My stomach tightens as I dash past one of the flickering torches.

I run all the way down the hall, and when I don’t see him, I pull open the cut-through door that leads to one of the public halls.

Torches flicker in front of me as far as I can see.

“Damn.”

I think I’m moving toward the back of the building, but I’m not sure. I remember, when I drove up to the building last night, seeing signs that the employee lot was in the back. I don’t know he’s leaving—in fact, he’s probably not—but I want to cover all my bases. If by chance he is, I have to catch him.

I look around, searching for some clue that I don’t find, then I take off down the hall, unabashedly running, bare-footed, in a direction I’m not even completely sure of.

I picture him striding across the parking lot, toward his black Land Rover, and imagine myself running up behind him, knocking him over like a girl bullet.

When I reach the double-doors at the end of the hall, I’m relieved to find they’re made of steel, with vertical rectangles of thick glass punched into them. Over them is a neon red EXIT sign, and on the wall beside the door on the right is a small, black plaque with cursive letters: Employee Parking.

As I push through the doors, my stomach lurches. When I sweep my eyes over the parking lot, I see no one—only quiet rows of cars, not even any headlights. Then I hear the wholesome knocking of his boots against the asphalt.

Thwak, thwak, thwak.

So he is leaving!

I rush down the cement stairs and start to look for him. Left and right, and back to the left. And that’s when I see a moving shadow. That’s Hansel, tall and dark and weaving quickly in between parked cars. I fly after him, sprinting with my arms outstretched. I reach him as his fingertips skate gently over the dark hood of the Land Rover.

He turns his hips and shoulders flush with the car’s side and presses a button on his key fob, and the car’s lights flash. He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t even see me right behind him.

“You’re leaving?”

He jumps a little, then turns his head slowly to look at me. “Leah.” His eyes roll down my body, moving languidly over all my parts and resting on my bare feet. “Where are your shoes?” he asks softly.

“Where are you going?” I ask him.

His face tightens, then goes tired and slack, as if he was maybe going to explain himself to me, but suddenly he decided he just didn’t care enough. He rubs a hand over his head and starts to pull the car door open.

“Are you running away from me?”

He slides behind the half-open door, and now his face is taut again. He looks angry with me when his eyes meet mine. Perturbed. “I already told you where I’m going, Leah. You are not coming with me.”

I shove my hands into my pockets and step over a little, so if he decides to hop in the car and blast on off, he’d nick me with the hood. “You’re running from me. It’s…ridiculous.”

His mouth pulls tighter, and that asshole actually starts to shut his car door. I catch the handle and grab it further open; then I dart inside it, so I’m standing right between the driver’s seat and the door. I grab his forearm, not because I need to for the sake of balance, but because I want to touch him. I want to make him feel me. Now that I’ve finally found him, I’m not letting him go without a fight.

I shift a little, so my gaze intercepts his downturned one. “I’m going with you.”

“No. You’re not.” He shakes my hand off his arm and reaches around me to push his door open. “Go, Leah. This is over.”

“Fine.” I fold my arms, leaving my bare feet planted firmly on the asphalt. “Then I’ll go there by myself.”

“You’ll be charged with trespassing,” he says firmly.

I stare into his eyes, but I see nothing there. No sympathy. No affection. “So..you’re done with me?”