the guy in my dreams isnât totally like the guy in my dreams either . . .â I think about Maxâs color-changing eyes. His face separated from mine by the glass of an iPad.
âYouâre giving me a headache,â Sophie says. âSometimeswhen I get off the phone with you, I realize Iâve lost all sense of reality.â
âTry being me,â I tell her. I arrive at the front double doors of CDD and pull out Lillianâs ID, swiping it through a box to the right of the door handle. This is too easy. I feel like a Bond girl.
Except nothing happens.
âYouâve got to be kidding me,â I say.
âWhatâs happening?â Sophie asks.
âI stole an ID from the girl at the front desk when I was here on Monday, but it isnât scanning. She must have deactivated it already.â I continue running the ID over and over again. Nothing nothing nothing.
âTry flipping it over,â another voice suggests, and I turn to see Max standing behind me. âYouâre scanning the wrong side.â
âCall you later, Soph,â I say, and hang up.
âTell me what weâre looking for exactly?â Max asks. Weâve ascended the double staircase behind the front desk and are searching the research office, having risked turning one desk lamp on. Iâm rifling through some drawers in the hopes of discovering a Post-it with a computer login, and Max is sorting through a giant wall of green metal filing cabinets.
âUs,â I say. âWe are looking for us.â
âBut weâre right here,â Max says with a quizzical frown, andI chuckle. Heâs so literal. We are right here. And he showed up tonight. And it all feels sort of surreal.
âYou know what I mean,â I say. âOur files. Names, dates we attended CDD, that sort of thing.â
Max opens a cabinet and a bunch of papers go flying to the ground. âNot the most organized institution,â he observes critically, picking up the papers and giving them a quick once-over before filing them again.
âWhich makes me all the more certain Petermann was lying before about the computer updates. Why invest in something like that when you canât be bothered to file anything in the first place?â I look to Max for his response and notice he is doing more shuffling of papers than he is reading.
âWhat are you doing?â I ask.
âRefiling,â Max says, frowning as he pulls files out and rearranges them on top of the cabinet. âThese folders are all messed up. I canât put the F back in its proper place if the E and G arenât even where they are supposed to be.â
âYes you can,â I warn. âAnd you have to, or Petermann will know we were here.â
Max looks over at me and sighs. âFine,â he says, shoving the files back in the drawer sheepishly and opening another. Papers come flying out again, but strangely this time they donât fall right away. They actually seem to fly up toward the ceiling, like doves that have just been let loose from a cage, before eventually floating to the ground.
Max nearly jumps. âDid you just see that?â he asks.
âUm, yes . . .â I manage, my throat a little dry. Max glances warily at the cabinets, then opens another drawer and it happens again. Like an invisible person is tossing the paper out from inside the cabinet. I watch Max peer inside and know he must be thinking the same thing. He tries a third door, but this time, nothing happens. No whirlwind of falling sheets. Just another poorly organized drawer.
âI donât get it,â Max says.
I shiver a little. âMe either.â
âNo, Alice,â Max says again, as though I havenât understood him. âI donât get it. Papers just flew upward toward the ceiling, and I want to know why.â
I shrug. âThis place is nuts.â
But Max just stands there, his look of disbelief forming