Didn't you ever bring a girl to a county fair? A girl you wanted to impress by winning her a prize?
No, he hadn't. I knew that without finishing the question. There'd been no time for that in Gabriel's teen life, no point when he could afford game tickets just to make a girl smile. The only reason to win a prize would be if he could pawn it for a profit. And the only reason he'd come to a place like this was if he could pick enough pockets to make it worthwhile, given the cost of admission and transportation.
I heard fake-Seanna's voice again, mocking me for thinking I was a badass. I didn't. But where I came from, I had been the wild one, the girl who made "shocking" suggestions, like breaking into an abandoned park. When I compare that to Gabriel's life, I am ashamed. Yes, he'd have broken in. To steal food. To find shelter. To survive. And me? I'd plotted silly rebellions from my Inglewood bedroom, chatting on my cell phone, planning to borrow one of my dad's classic sports cars for the excursion.
When I think of Gabriel's young life, I grieve for what he lost. What he can never get back. For experiences he cannot even imagine, ones the average American teen takes for granted. And it is all Seanna's fault.
"Olivia?" he said.
"Sorry. Where was I? Right!" I leapt over the counter again. "I had a mission, and that mission is...this way."
I dashed through the booths, startling a stray cat that had ventured forth. Spotting me, it wheeled to zoom through a hole in a concession booth. Then it saw Lloergan and froze, saucer-eyed. We raced past, and I skidded to a halt beside a two-story building so garishly painted that even on a midway it looked like a hooker in a convent.
In three-foot-high letters, a sign overhead announced that we'd arrived at the fun house. Or, the FUN HOUSE!!! Gabriel's expression suggested he was already prepared to sue for false advertising.
"Hey, at least I didn't propose that." I jabbed a finger toward the haunted house. "Given our track record, we'd probably find actual corpses. Then we'd need to report them and explain, again, that we just have a knack for that sort of thing, and if I was following in my parents' footsteps, I'd hardly be reporting my crimes." I pursed my lips. "Though that might be rather ingenious."
"It's not," Gabriel said. "I had a client who tried it. He killed his wife and called it in, and then after he was charged, he killed his mistress and called that in, too, reasoning it would somehow prove he wasn't guilty of either. Just terribly unlucky in love."
"You're admitting he was guilty? Bad defense attorney."
"Hardly. He's the one who admitted it. He insisted on taking a plea bargain."
"Against your advice, I presume."
Gabriel made a noise in his throat, evidently still insulted over the situation. He would suggest clients accept the bargains in unwinnable cases. Otherwise, he took it kind of personally when they did.
"Coming?" I said as I climbed the steps to the doorway. "Or are you acting mature and waiting out here?"
His eyes narrowed, offended by the suggestion he wouldn't join in my silly adventure.
"Remember how I said you need a pair of jeans?" I said as he glanced down at his pressed and pristine trousers. "I'm serious about that. I'm storing jeans and a T-shirt in your car for all future adventures."
A faint eye roll.
"You've worn jeans before," I said. "Jeans, T-shirt, Saints jacket...You make a very convincing biker."
His look said I knew very well it was borrowed emergency clothing.
"Hey, it still happened. I have proof. Ricky forwarded me the photo. Don't worry. I filed it in a secret folder, so no one will see it but me."
Which was true, though that wasn't the real reason I'd filed it away. When I had it in my main photo file, every time I passed it, I'd kind of forget what I was doing. Gabriel in worn jeans, a too-small T-shirt, and a leather jacket, with dark stubble and damp, wavy hair...Which was not to say he didn't look good in a suit, but then I kept imagining getting him out of it and into something more comfortable. Like a bed. Or couch. Or any conveniently located horizontal surface. Even a vertical one would do. I wasn't picky.
"Olivia?"
"Onward," I said. "Lloergan? Do you want to come in or--"
She plunked down in front of the door. I gave her a pat and then went inside. Beyond the entrance, hanging plastic strips curtained a doorway, like a car wash. When we went through, we found ourselves in darkness. Gabriel turned on his cell phone and shone light down the corridor, with black-painted walls and a ceiling so low he had to duck.
"This doesn't seem safe," he said.
"It's not supposed to." I flicked off his cell phone, took his hand, and pressed it against the wall. "Feel your way. If you hit something soft, it's me, and you probably want to stop feeling around." Not that I'd object, but only if you did it intentionally, which seems unlikely to happen anytime soon.
I set out, each hand on a wall as I followed the twists and turns of the dark maze. I kept up a steady stream of chatter. If I'm not talking, Gabriel's going to presume I've been rendered unconscious.
When I paused for a response, silence answered.
"You stopped listening five minutes ago, didn't you?" I said.