“Robbie, can you move?” Nate asked. “Let’s get you up, come on.” Robbie wouldn’t budge, though. He stayed balled up, not moving except for his hands, clenched in tight fists. They were shaking. “Joe, come down here, please.” Nate had found Lois’s lighter and was staring into the open doorway at the bottom of the stairs. It was the doorway those two people had disappeared into, one of them with the horrible face.
“Is he okay?” Joe asked.
“I think so,” Nate said, but his voice sounded terribly pained. “Wait here.” He hefted the shotgun, again with the butt in front, and walked through the door with the lighter on. Joe knelt beside Robbie who still wasn’t moving except for the terrible, shaking fists. The flashlight felt like an accuser, a glowing wand exposing Robbie somehow, but he didn’t want to turn it off. After a few seconds Nate was back.
“There’s a basement through there. It’s a storage area for a deli or a restaurant. There’s a ladder leading up to the street. Let’s get him up.”
“But . . . those guys,” Joe said.
“They’re gone,” Nate said. “It’s okay; we can go out this way.” Robbie screamed again. “Robbie, please, let’s get you out of here. Can you hear me?” Robbie made a gurgling sound. Nate turned to Joe. “Shine the light in there.”
Joe did as he was told. The area beyond the door was a small pantry-like place with big cans on shelves and a few huge plastic barrels. Joe could hear squeaking noises and scurrying in the corners. Rats, oh God. Joe let out a tortured little moan. He moved the beam around the room. There was a tiny puddle of light coming from above. Below it was a wide, slanted wood contraption that looked like something between stairs and a ladder. Above it and standing open to the air were two big steel doors that folded together and locked. They were the kind that sagged under your feet if you walked over them on a city sidewalk.
“Robbie,” Nate said, “can you hear me?”
“Why isn’t he talking?” Joe asked. “He’s like . . . frozen.”
“He may be in shock; it’s okay. Robbie?” Then, like he’d been hit with a bolt of electricity, Robbie came alive. He uncurled himself and screamed in Nate’s face.
“Why did you send me down here? WHY?!” The sound echoed up the stairs.
“Robbie, I’m so sorry,” Nate said. “Let’s get you out of here, okay? It’ll be all right.”
“It won’t be all right!” Robbie’s eyes were wide and tear filled. He scrambled up, then fell to his knees again and threw up. Vomit splattered on gravel and concrete. Joe cringed. It was the really good dinner from the little French restaurant. And some grape soda.
“I’m so sorry,” Nate said again. “Robbie, please believe me. I should never have asked you—” Before he could finish, Robbie sprang to his feet, pushed past Nate, and rushed through the door. He would not look at Joe but followed the flashlight beam to the ladder. Joe shined it after him, not knowing what else to do.
“Robbie, wait!” he called out. Robbie didn’t answer, just scrambled up the ladder and out onto Ninth Avenue.
Nate and Joe followed, Nate holding the shotgun in scraped and bleeding hands. On Ninth Avenue, he cleared the gun of its remaining cartridge and then found an old Asian couple sitting on a stoop and smoking. He offered them the gun. They smiled and took it—this from a Black man who looked like he had been in battle and an equally scuffed and scarred little white boy—without saying a single word.
Nate and Joe looked up and down the avenue and in both directions on Forty-Third Street. No sign of Robbie. Joe’s ears were still ringing, and there was that sharp burning smell he couldn’t get out of his nose. The new shorts fit fine, but they were really dirty after all the ruckus. Nate looked terrible, his shirt torn and covered with dust, the collar bloody. He crouched a little as he walked and rubbed his neck.
“I’m really sorry,” Joe said. “About everything.”
“None of it is your fault,” Nate said. “It’s okay, Joe. I’m just really worried about your brother.”
“What happened to him? Do you know?”
“I think the men who were down there attacked him,” Nate said. “Robbie is probably very traumatized by it, whatever they did. Do you understand? That’s why we have to find him.”
“Like, he’s scared and stuff? And freaked out?”