Chapter 8

The rest of the day was a blur, as my lack of sleep and anxious mind prevented me from concentrating on any one thing for more than a few seconds. Thank God I didn't have a practice or game. I trudged back to my house and collapsed in bed before the sun even set. Then I was out like a light by seven and didn't wake up until five the next morning. I groaned as I got out of bed. My sleep schedule was officially fucked.

Since the rest of the world hadn't woken up yet, and I had zero responsibilities for nearly six hours, I threw on some ratty clothes and made the thirty-minute walk into the city that my college sat on the edge on. “City” wasn't the best descriptor—at its busiest, it probably had about a hundred thousand people—but it was urban enough that it had a homelessness problem, and the city's solution to that was a single shelter/soup kitchen, located in the “rougher” part of town, which was pretty mild compared to any other major city.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I arrived. About a dozen people had lined up outside, and based on their unkempt clothes and dirty, bearded faces, these were the shelter/kitchen's clientele for the morning. I breezed past them and walked inside.

“You're not supposed to come in—” I found myself facing a small, middle-aged woman, who seemed surprised when she saw me. “Oh, sorry. Can I help you?”

“I'd like to volunteer,” I said.

She clasped her hands together and shook them violently. “Oh, that is wonderful! We don’t get a lot of people out here at this hour. Come on, I’ll show you what to do.”

A few minutes later I was carrying a tray of hardboiled eggs through the kitchen, while the other handful of volunteers, all significantly older than me, scrambled to get tables set and the rest of the meal prepared. Our guests filed in shortly after, and I was given the task of delivering meals to where they were seated. All in all, it was more like a restaurant than a soup kitchen. And it was pretty nice.

As I served, I scanned the dining area for Josh. If Caitlyn was right, and Josh had been kicked out of his home, maybe he'd have ended up here. But after ten minutes of searching, I didn't see anyone who even remotely resembled him. I did, however, nearly drop my plates several times as I looked around.

“So, what brought you out here?” one of the volunteers, an older man named Harry, asked during a brief respite from our serving duties. “We don’t get many students helping out. Probably ‘cause most of them prefer to be sleeping at this time of day.”

I chuckled. “Yeah. I guess I wanted to give back to the community. It’s easy to forget how good your own life is.”

“Amen, brother.” He waved at one of the guests. “See that guy? I’ve been seein’ him here for ten years now. No idea what he does when he’s not here, but every morning he’s sittin’ at that table, waiting for breakfast.”

“So, a lot of the people here are regulars?” I asked.

“I’d say nearly all of them.”

“Have you seen any new folk recently? Or maybe younger people? People my age?”

He stroked his big, white mustache. “Can’t say I have. We’re pretty fortunate that there’s not a lot of poor kids in the city. Can’t remember the last time I saw someone under thirty or so here.”

“Ah, okay.” Another dead end. “We should probably get back to work.”

Half an hour later I left the shelter, feeling better about myself but no closer to figuring out what had happened to Josh. I walked back to campus with the warm sun high in the sky and the streets picking up in traffic, but I was in my own world with numerous questions swirling in my head. Where had Josh gone? If he had been kicked out of the house, why hadn’t he gotten in contact with me yet? And if he hadn’t, then what had happened to him?

Kyle’s words flashed through my mind. Had Josh been “gaynapped”? Was there something more sinister going on in his house than his parents just forcing him out? No. It wasn’t possible. There had to be a better explanation than that. There had to be.

It was around seven-thirty when I reached the arena, situated on the very edge of campus. It dawned on me that I had a game that night. Shit. I was in no condition to play—physically, I could probably get out there, but my head was just not in a good place.

As much as I hated to do it, I decided to go to my coach and tell him I wasn’t feeling well enough to play. It wasn’t very much of a lie, and besides, we were on such a losing streak I doubt it mattered who did and didn’t show up for our games.

Just as I was about to enter the arena, something whizzed by the back of my head. I spun around but saw nothing. Another buzz, now to my left, but by the time I turned my head it was gone. I froze in place and held my hands out, as though to ground myself in reality. Great. Now I was becoming delusional.

The sound came from above and I looked up to see a four-propeller drone descending right in front of me. I slowly walked around it. I’d seen a few of them from afar, but none this close, and I have to admit I was pretty impressed.

“Don’t touch it unless you want to cut your hand.” A tall, lanky kid with long dark hair—almost as dark as his skin—and curved glasses walked up to me. He held a tablet in his hands. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“It’s something else,” I said, watching as it hovered, perfectly level, in front of my face. “How long have you had it?”

“Got it in the summer. Been fantastic for photography. I took it out to the cliffs along the shore, got some absolutely amazing shots.”

“It can take pictures?”

“Not just pictures. Video too.” He moved the controls. The drone lifted into the air and flew just above the arena. “I’m trying to convince them to let me film a hockey game with it.”

“You mean, from above?” I laughed. “That'd be awesome. You should totally do it. I mean, I’m on the team and I’d be so cool with it.”

He nodded happily. “I know you are. I take pictures at every game. You’re the one everyone calls ‘Scrappy.’ That hit you laid on the guy a few weeks ago? We’re all still talking about it.” He offered his hand. “I’m Cameron.”

I shook it. “Trent. Though I guess you knew that.” I turned and looked back at the drone, now circling above the arena. “Look, if you’re serious about your idea, I know the arena manager and I’m happy to introduce you two.”

His eyes lit up. “Are you serious? Shit, I thought I’d pissed you off when I told you people called you ‘Scrappy.’”

I shrugged. “They can call me whatever they want. I’m gonna get out there and kick ass as much as I can. And if you can capture it from above, all the better.” I turned and went back to the door. “Why don’t we see if the manager’s in? I need to talk to my coach anyway about—”

“Trent!” It was Caitlyn's voice. She ran up and stopped between me and Cameron. “I was just about to call you. I need to talk to you right now. It’s about Josh.”

“Josh?” Cameron asked.

“What about him?” I asked, stepping away from the door.

“I don’t—this is complicated. It’s hard to explain.” She seemed flustered. Her face was bright red, and she was sweating, even in the cool morning air.

“Take your time,” I said. In my peripheral vision I could see Cameron looking at us in confusion, but I didn’t care what he heard.

“Okay. So, one of my friends works in the Registrar’s office, and I ran into her just now and brought up Josh. You know, just in a casual way, that he’s our friend and we have no idea where he’s gone off to.”

“Okay. Good. That was smart.”

“Anyway, I mentioned his name—Josh Driscoll—and she froze up. I could see it in her eyes. But she didn’t say anything about it, just ‘Oh that’s too bad, I hope he’s okay.’”

“And you think she’s lying?”

“She knows something. The name struck a chord for her. I don’t know what it is, but I bet it has something to do with her work.”

I looked up campus to where the administration building sat, covered in old ivy, with the sunlight gleaming off its metal roof. “They’d have information on all the students here, right?”

“Yeah,” Cameron answered. We both looked at him. “I met with someone in the office at the start of the year.”

I shook my head and bit down on my tongue. The idea was fully formed in my mind, and there was no way to avoid it. “Then I guess I know what’s next.”

“What?” Caitlyn asked. “What do you mean?”

“We need to break into the Registrar’s office. And we need to do it now.”