Psychedelic coils of blue light and sound swirled around us, distorted by the fog, until we rocked to a stop in front of the gym. We piled out of the car and ran up the steps into the building, into a welter of gym smells—sweat and cleaner and chlorine—and the sounds of gym activities. Balls pounded, sneakers squeaked, weights clanged and water splashed, voices called and grunted. This hive of activity suggested that Shondra wasn't alone here, and that if she wasn't alone, she couldn't be in trouble. But that was what I wanted to believe, not what I did believe. Anxiety made my stomach was so tight it hurt. I was already wondering where we'd look next when we didn't find her here. We paused in the hallway, the other three looking to me for direction, even though they knew the place and I didn't. I shrugged. "Search the building, I guess." I got the women's locker room and bathrooms, peering dutifully into toilet stalls and shower stalls, under benches and into dark corners. Twenty minutes later we were back in the hall again, empty handed except for the discovery that Jamison's locker had been broken into.
