Chapter 6
He didn't go to the office alone.
I thought he would. That was what I expected when he pushed back from where he'd crouched near me on the concrete. He'd looked toward the far wall where the cameras blinked, then back at me.
"We have a monitor in the office," he said. "We can watch it together. If you want."
I nodded before my throat closed up. I clutched the charcoal coat tighter around my shoulders and got to my feet. My legs had gone stiff. One beige heel was still off, lying on its side where I'd placed it. I slipped it back on without looking at him. The concrete was cold even through the coat.
He walked ahead of me but not fast. He kept his hands where I could see them, at his sides. The silver watch on his left wrist caught the hard overhead light. He unlocked the office door with a key from his pocket and flipped the wall switch inside. The same red indicator glowed.
The office was small and warm. A desk, two chairs, a wall of clipboards, and a monitor that showed four grainy camera angles. The heater under the desk hummed low. It was the bass drone I'd heard all night without knowing what it was.
He sat and pulled the second chair out for me. He didn't touch me to guide me. I sat on the edge, the coat pooling around my knees. He clicked the mouse and typed a time.
"Just after ten last night," he said. "Door camera first."
The screen flickered. The side door of the warehouse appeared, the one with the push bar I remembered. The timestamp read 22:14. The alley outside was dark and empty. Then I appeared.
I watched myself try the handle. It wasn't locked. I didn't break anything. I just leaned into it and slipped inside when it gave. The wind caught the door and I turned to catch it with both hands so it wouldn't slam. I stood in the aisle for a long time, looking at the blue and orange racks, at the pallets of boxes that went up higher than I could reach.
"Where'd you come from?" he asked quietly, not looking at me, looking at the screen.
"County road," I said. "I walked from the gas station on Highway 17."
On the monitor, I made myself small. I walked slowly between the racks, not touching anything. I stopped at the end of one aisle where a charcoal wool coat hung over a rack post. It wasn't folded. Someone had left it there. I reached out and hesitated, my hand hovering an inch away, then lifted it.
That was the moment my face burned. Watching myself take it.
"I was cold," I whispered. "I wasn't going to steal it. I just needed something."
"You didn't steal it," he said. He clicked to the next camera. "Keep watching."
The second angle was the main floor. I saw myself carry the coat to the open patch of concrete near the industrial lamp. I set my bag down - the small tote I'd had with me - and then I did something that made my eyes sting. I knelt and placed both beige heels neatly side by side, toes pointing the same way, like I was at home and not on a warehouse floor. Then I wrapped the coat around me and lay down, curling onto my side. I pulled my knees up and tucked my hands under my cheek.
I didn't thrash. I didn't look around for something to take. I just breathed and then I was still.
He let it play for a minute. The heater under the desk filled the silence.
"What was that sound?" I asked. My voice was small. "At the very beginning. That bang."
He dragged the timeline back to 00:03. "Watch the top corner. Loading bay camera."
We heard it before we saw it. A sharp crack, then a low rumble that vibrated through the office speakers. On screen, a pallet of boxes tipped off a forklift that wasn't even supposed to be running after hours. Two guys in the back bay were moving it without lights. The boxes hit the concrete and burst open. The forklift backfired at the same time. That's what I'd heard at midnight and thought was something else - something dangerous that made me roll tighter into the coat instead of running.
"Backfire," he said. "And a dropped pallet. The sensor logged it. Not a gun. I checked the log this morning before I found you."
I nodded. I couldn't speak for a second. The bass drone kept humming under the desk. It had been there all night, keeping the pipes from freezing. Not following me.
He paused the video on the frame where I was asleep on the floor, the coat completely covering me except for my hair spilled out. One heel sat exactly where he'd found it.
"You didn't break in," he said finally. "You didn't take anything. You put your shoes off to the side and you borrowed warmth."
"It was still your property," I said. "I didn't ask."
"I know," he said. He turned to look at me directly. His expression wasn't stern anymore, just tired and careful. "Trespass, yes. Theft, no. That's a different thing."
The monitor light made his eyes look darker. I realized I was still clutching the coat like he might take it back right then. My knuckles were white. Shame had moved from my stomach to my throat. It was worse that he was being fair than if he'd yelled. I would have known what to do if he'd yelled.
"I'm sorry," I said. I meant for being there at all, for him having to see it on camera, for making him decide what I was.
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He didn't answer right away. He clicked the monitor off. The office got quiet except for that heater hum.
"You don't need to be sorry for being cold," he said.
