Down World Rebecca Phelps (primary phonics .txt) 📖

“There was another guy named Adam who went a few years ago to ask them about all this. He was obsessed with DW, wanted to learn everything about it. How to navigate it.”

“And what did he find out?”

“He never came back,” Brady admitted. “And then Piper went and . . .”

“And she didn’t come back either. What are you saying? That we won’t come back? That once we go there . . .”

“No. No, that won’t happen. Listen to me,” he commanded, looking me in the eye. But Brady never needed to remind me to listen to him. He always had my attention. “We’re gonna stay together the whole time, you and I. And after we talk to them, we’re going to leave right away.”

I nodded, agreeing completely.

“I don’t know anything about these people. They sound a little crazy to me. So you stay by my side and let me talk, okay? We’ll be fine.”

And with that, Brady sat back against his seat and looked forward, the conversation over. I felt a chill run up and down my arms. What had I gotten myself into? Did the woman who wrote that diary really have any answers? I started breathing heavily and tried to steel myself against a wave of panic.

Brady noticed my breathing, and he put his arm around me. I let myself fall into his side, relieved for the warmth he provided and grateful he was there.

“We’ll be fine,” he repeated. And as always, I believed him.

The bus let us out in front of a little bench with a tiny, inconspicuous sign over it reading WELCOME TO PRESTON. Only two other women got off at the same time as us, and they started walking away down the long road. We were alone, staring at a one-block business district that looked like it hadn’t been touched since the 1950s. A small pharmacy, a diner, a shoe store that advertised Cobbler Inside. I didn’t know there still were cobblers, and it almost seemed like a movie set instead of a real town.

And right smack in the middle of it was the tallest building, maybe five stories high, with a sign at the top that simply said: HOTEL.

“This is it,” Brady said. “Piper texted me a picture of it before she . . . when she got here.”

We approached the building and I looked for a front door, but Brady stopped me and pointed his finger to a small alley along the side.

“Around back,” he whispered. “That’s what Piper said.”

I nodded, and we made our way around the building and down the long narrow alley, with me still lugging my heavy suitcase. An alley cat ran past us and I nearly leaped out of my shoes. Brady laughed at me, and I could only laugh with him.

The back of the building was nothing special. A little courtyard contained an old couch and a mishmash of overly abused lawn chairs, most of which no longer had seats. A handful of planters contained nothing but dead plants or dirt.

There was one door, and it had no handle. I looked to Brady, who looked back at me and shrugged. He walked up and knocked.

“Just a minute!” came a cheerful woman’s voice. I was suddenly struck by the idea that we were in the completely wrong place. We needed to run while we could. But it was too late.

The door opened and the woman before us stood digging through an old leather purse. “Hold on, I’m looking for fifty cents for a tip. I know I’ve got it somewhere.”

She was wearing the same white flowing blouse and skirt she’d had on when I had first met her at Pat’s Diner, and she smelled the same, like some sort of bitter cooking oil.

“Hello, Sage,” I said.

Sage blinked several times, as if trying to make my shape out against the sun. She looked left and right, seeming not to notice Brady by my side. “Oh God,” she said. “What has she done?”

CHAPTER 11

“You’ll have to excuse the mess!” Sage said as she cleared two cats and some half-full Tupperware containers off a couch in a large room that looked like it was the hotel’s office. “We don’t get a lot of visitors.”

“It’s a hotel,” Brady said, pointing out the obvious, which made me chuckle.

“Yes.” She seemed to realize the confusion immediately. “Oh, but people come in through the front, of course. And to be honest with you, we don’t get a lot of guests at the hotel either. This isn’t the hip part of town. Sit, sit.”

Brady and I slowly did as we were told, sitting gently on the old couch. I snuck a quick look to be sure I wasn’t landing on anything gross, but other than some stray cat hair, it seemed safe enough.

“We did have guests, when we started. There was a botanical garden near here. People would stay for that. But then some billionaire bought it and made it into his own backyard. Oh, well. He does open it to the, um . . .”

She was cleaning obsessively the whole time she was talking, and no matter how frantic her actions, it didn’t seem to be making things any better. She ducked out of the room for a moment with an armful of trash, and Brady and I sat still on the couch, not sure if we were meant to follow her.

The building was clearly very old. I would guess a hundred years or so. It still had some pieces here and there—an old chandelier hanging from the ceiling, some iron wall sconces—that were both beautiful and eerie, if completely out of place with her decorations of cat toys and incense sticks.

“ . . . to the public,” she said as she walked back into the room, arms empty, finishing her earlier thought.

“What’s that?” Brady asked.

“The billionaire.”

“Sage, we need to ask you . . . ,” I began.

A knock at the door sprung her out of