Page 165 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Rory?”

There’s another beat of silence.

“I’m in trouble.”

I whirl around.My chest tightens. The air has gotten thinner in a snap, and breathing, something that should be automatic, suddenly takes conscious effort. I have to remember how to doit. My heart starts pounding in my chest, heavy and uneven. The fingers that clutch the phone go numb and cold.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t say anything, and time moves faster than it should.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“I…” His voice is so thin it feels razor sharp in my ears. “The… The old factory building where I found Dog.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stay on the phone. It’s going to be fine. Whatever is happening, whatever went wrong, we’ll figure it out. I’ll come and get you, I promise.”

There’s some more shuffling and silence. So much silence. Silence that hurts the ears because all you want right now is a voice to confirm he’s okay.

“Rory?” I ask, alarmed again.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here. I…” He hesitates, and I listen to him breathe for long moments. He lowers his voice even more. “I didn’t mean to?—”

The call cuts off. I lower the phone and turn to look at Jordan.

“Sutton’s car. I’ll get the keys,” he says over his shoulder, already sprinting up the stairs.

Five minutes later, we’re speeding through the streets. It’s too early for most people to be up yet, so the city is still asleep, sluggish on its feet.

“I’m sorry,” Jordan blurts.

I snap my head toward him and frown. “For what?”

“I didn’t keep an eye on Rory. You trusted me with him, and I fucked up. I?—”

“Hey.” I grab his fingers, squeezing them. “This is not anybody’s fault. He snuck out. How the hell were you supposed to stop that? We’re not going to set up a twenty-four-hour monitoring system for the boys because we’re not insane.Besides, we don’t even know what’s happening here, so we’ll go get Rory, we’ll go back home, get some sleep, then deal with whatever was going through his head in the morning.”

“He said he’s in trouble,” Jordan says quietly.

“He’s also a kid. Trouble is a word that might mean anything. Even if he just went on a midnight walk, that also meansintrouble, because I’m going to ground him. Maybe he has another stray dog there?”

“I think he heard me talk about you,” Jordan says softly. “About you planning to leave.” He looks down at his lap. “I was talking to Wren about it. About… how I lost my shit on you. I think Rory heard. At least some of it. And then… He might’ve been upset about it, too.”

I close my eyes for a moment. Squeeze his fingers.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Jordan breathes in deeply and nods.

I hold his hand for the rest of the drive, both for me and for him, because even if I did my best to approach this situation with calm, I’m more than a little worried. Everything about this feels off. Wrong. Not that a fourteen-year-old taking off in the middle of the night and ending up in an abandoned factory can ever be described as normal, but this feels off to the point where it’s a physical discomfort underneath my skin.

I park the car, and we jog to the already familiar ghost town of the old factory. I take the flashlight Jordan grabbed before we left, put it between my teeth, and jump the fence.

I make my way to the offices where we first met Dog. It’s the same abandoned office space, but this time there’s no Rory. I debate calling his name, but something stops me. Instead, we make our way through the abandoned hallways, glancing into offices as we go until we reach a large metal door in the back of the building. Jordan pushes it open, and we step into a short hallway that opens up into the factory itself. It’s a large,empty space with walls covered in graffiti and a floor covered in bird shit. A staircase leads up to a metal platform that runs along the wall all around the room, creating a sort of half-floor. The air smells musty, and somewhere above us pigeons are cooing. Every now and then a draft from the broken, boarded-up windows blows through the room.

I see him almost immediately. Rory is sitting on the stairs, a backpack by his side. He’s still like a statue, blinking as the flashlight beam stops on him.

“Rory.” I sigh with relief and start forward.