Chapter 12 - Mason Wanted Me To Open The Floor
I shut the dojo door.
“Start.”
Mason did.
Jessica returned Ava's bracelet about six months after the disappearance.
Not to Ava.
To Walter.
Why?
Jessica did not want to keep something tied to the worst week of her life.
Walter placed it in his office drawer.
“I forgot about it,” Walter said.
Mason looked at him.
“I didn't.”
“Why?”
“Because Ava wore it constantly.”
I stared at Mason.
“When did you take it?”
“Yesterday.”
My anger sharpened.
“You put it by the hatch yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Before I arrived.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mason looked ashamed.
“Because Walter told me you had emailed.”
I had.
Two days earlier:
I'm coming Saturday. I want to train once. Then I want the truth about Ava.
Walter never replied.
Mason saw it on the front desk computer.
“You knew I'd recognize the bracelet.”
“Yes.”
“So you planted it.”
“Yes.”
“You attacked me anyway.”
“I didn't plan that.”
“Great.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I thought if you found the bracelet, you'd force Walter to open the hatch.”
“Why not open it yourself?”
“Walter would've stopped me.”
“Why did you want it open?”
Mason looked toward the basement.
“Because someone had been using it.”
“Kayla.”
“I didn't know it was Kayla.”
Walter frowned.
“You brought her food.”
“After I found out.”
He explained.
Two weeks earlier, Mason heard movement beneath the mat after closing.
Walter refused to discuss it.
Mason assumed Ava had somehow returned.
That sounded absurd.
He knew.
Still.
Hope can make smart people embarrass themselves.
“So you thought Ava might be under there.”
“For about ten minutes.”
“What changed?”
“I saw Walter bring Kayla downstairs.”
“Then why leave the bracelet?”
Mason stared.
“Because I still wanted the floor opened.”
“For what?”
He looked at Walter.
“I thought there was something else down there.”
Walter frowned.
“What?”
Mason went to the basement stairs.
Reached beneath one shelf.
Pulled out an empty square of discolored concrete where something had sat for years.
“There was a lockbox here.”
Walter stared.
“What box?”
“Exactly.”
No one spoke.
Mason had seen it years earlier.
Small metal cash box.
Ava used it twice.
Once to store personal papers while she stayed downstairs.
The second time, the night she left.
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
“When?”
“I noticed last month.”
Walter looked genuinely surprised.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Mason almost laughed.
“You see how this works?”
Fair.
I asked:
“What was in it?”
Mason shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Walter looked toward me.
“Ava had documents.”
“What documents?”
“She never showed me.”
Nora had mentioned nothing.
I called her.
She answered.
“Did Ava keep a lockbox under the dojo?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
“What was in it?”
“Copies of things she didn't want at home.”
“Such as?”
“Job offer. Apartment paperwork.”
Not thriller treasure.
Her future.
“What else?”
Nora hesitated.
“A journal.”
My body tightened.
No.
I did not want another magic notebook explaining everything.
“Anything relevant to why she left?”
“Probably feelings.”
“Then I don't want it.”
Nora paused.
“Good.”
“What else?”
“Her passport for a few days. Some photographs.”
“Where is the box?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Ava take it?”
“No.”
That mattered.
“She left without it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She planned to have me pick it up later.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Walter told me police had sealed the basement.”
Walter stared.
Police eventually unsealed it.
By then, the box apparently remained.
Mason saw it months later.
Then last month it disappeared.
Present mystery.
Connected.
“Who had access?”
Walter.
Mason.
Senior staff.
Building owner.
Maybe former students who knew the service entrance.
Nora said:
“Emma.”
“What?”
“Ava did not need anything in that box to start over.”
“Okay.”
“Don't turn it into her.”
Right.
The box mattered because somebody had recently taken it.
Not because it contained the answer to Ava's soul.
I looked at Mason.
“Why were you nervous when I found the bracelet?”
“Because I put it there.”
Not because he knew Ava was under the floor.
Good.
“Why did Walter drop his coffee?”
Walter answered:
“Because I hadn't seen it in years.”
Also simple.
Two suspicious reactions.
Two different reasons.
No mastermind.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
This time:
THE BOX IS SAFE.
I typed immediately:
AVA?
The reply took almost a minute.
Then:
NO.
My heart dropped.
Another message appeared.
BUT SHE KNOWS I TOOK IT.
I stared.
Whoever had removed Ava's box recently had current contact with my sister.
May you like
Not five years ago.
Now.
