The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

36...

36...

It was raining when we got there.

            Sure, it was November, and anywhere else it would have been snowing. But not here. Here it was a damp shower of ice cold drizzle that seemed to be coming down like a leaky faucet one second and then a convulsing sprinkler the next.

            Aunt Pam and I got out of the vehicle with our arms over our heads. We stood like that on either side of the truck for a while, staring at the building that loomed above us.

            Like most of the other industrial buildings in the area, this one was made of steel and concrete, with fewer windows than the office buildings downtown. The slate colored structure was at least ten stories up, and cast a shadow over the back parking lot.

            We had pulled around the back hoping that would lessen our chances of getting noticed by James or any possible security guards lingering around the property.

            "Do we use the fire escape?" Aunt Pam asked, raising her voice to be heard over the pounding rain. "Burglar style?"

            I looked up at the rusty metal scaffolding and perforated steps. "Uh-uh." I shook my head and pointed to the left side of the building. "There's a door. Let's use that."

            "Okay." She nodded and we started walking. "I left my ski mask at home anyway."

            The door was overshadowed by a vent of some kind—possibly the heavy exterior of an A/C unit. As we approached, Aunt Pam leaned out and pressed the door handle downward. It didn't budge.  

            "Great," I mumbled, leaning back to look up at the fire escape. "Looks like we should have brought our burglar gear after all," I noted. When I turned to look at Aunt Pam, I noticed she was bent over the top of a nearby dumpster, searching through the trash for something. "What are you doing?" I asked, my lip curled in disgust.

            "Recycling," she uttered with a smile, popping out of the dumpster with what looked like a bent metal chair leg in her hand. The metal rod was the length of her arm.

            "What are you going to do with that?" I asked. She didn't answer. I jumped in surprised as she started hitting the door handle with the chair leg.

            I covered my ears as the impact of the rod against the door caused a loud, high-pitched sound to pierce the air. The noise echoed around the parking lot and shook the door. After a few minutes, the handle started to warp beneath the impact.

            But it wasn't enough.

"It's not working," Aunt Pam pointed out breathlessly, shaking her head. She was right. We needed something else to get into the building. That's when I noticed a small black box to the right of the door handle. It was bulky, with a thin gap that ran along the side.

"Oh for the love of—" I reached down and pulled Marley's nametag out of my shoe, feeling like an idiot. "I feel like an idiot," I mumbled.

"Is that a keycard?" Pam inquired.

I ran the nametag through the gap on the side of the black box. A small red light flashed and I heard a loud 'click' as the door unlocked.

Pam shot me a glare as she tossed the rod aside. "You had that the whole time?" she demanded, shoving the door open and rolling her eyes.

"You knew!" I retorted. "I showed it to you in the car."

Pam turned back to whisper, "I didn't know it was a keycard. I thought it was just a nametag."