Steve Hamilton - The Lock Artist

This is where I should be, I thought. If everything hadn’t gotten turned inside out. One more year of a regular life, and this would have been me.

I hadn’t planned on everything being quite so big, so I wasn’t sure what to do next. Write her name on a piece of paper? Start showing it around?

No, not yet. I decided to go back outside first, to get on my bike and to keep looking. I went up the hill and found a big dormitory. It seemed to be the only dorm on North Campus, the only dorm anywhere near the art school, so I figured there was a good chance she lived there.

Inside, there were two women at the front desk. They both looked like students themselves. Like maybe this whole town was run by people in their twenties. I went up to them and made a writing motion. They looked at each other, until finally one of them produced a pen and a piece of paper. I wrote down Amelia Marsh with a question mark after it.

The first woman took the paper from me and read it. “Okay, umm…” She looked over at the other woman. “I’m not supposed to do this, but why don’t you go on up and leave a note on her door yourself? Who knows, you might see her.”

She gave me directions to the sixth floor. I walked down the long hallway, passing students on their way to dinner, I assumed. I went up the elevator to the sixth floor. Down the hallway to the room number they had given me. I heard music coming from every open doorway I passed. Finally I got to her door and knocked. Nobody answered.

I sat down right there in the hallway, my back against the hard wall. There was music coming at me from two directions, and I was tired and hungry, and not sure now if this had been a good idea in the first place. Maybe this was the sort of thing you just don’t do to a person. You don’t just show up after a year and expect her not to slap you right across the face. I put my arms across my knees, put my head down on my arms.

The time passed.

“Michael?”

It was Amelia. She looked beautiful. Incredible. Amazing. Of course. She had long black shorts on. A black sleeveless shirt. Black work boots. Her hair was tied up to one side of her head, but otherwise as unruly as ever.

I got to my feet. I stood there in front of her. In the hallway of her dormitory, having not seen her in a full year. Having run away from her without a word.

“I’ve got one question for you,” she finally said.

I prepared myself.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

____________________

I sat on her bed. She sat at her desk. I watched her reading my pages. I watched her catching up on the last year of my life. Starting with the day I left her. Riding east. My first job. Ending up in New York City. The horror in that house in Connecticut. Then the long trip west to California, and everything that had happened there.

I hadn’t had the chance to cover the last few days, of course. What had happened with Lucy. Then this trip out to Cleveland to witness three murders, before deciding on the spur of the moment to come up here and find her.

Even so, it was enough.

The tears were running down Amelia’s face as she followed my story. Page by page. This is why I’m here, I thought. This is the whole reason right here. If one person in the world can understand what I’ve been going through. One person who really knows me. That’s all I could ask for.

When she was done, she put the pages together carefully and put them back into the envelope.

“You’re telling me,” she said, wiping her face, “that my father got you into all of this?”

I gave her half a nod. It wasn’t quite so simple, but basically yes.

“You became… a safecracker . That’s why you had to leave.”

Yes.

“Are you going to stop now?”

I didn’t have an answer.

“Why did you agree to do it in the first place?”

I did it for you, I thought. But I don’t want to tell you that.

“You know,” she said, leaning closer to me, “the way you drew some of these pictures… it’s like you really get into this stuff.”

I looked away from her. Out the window at the fading light. What a long day this had already been.

“Michael. Look at me.”

I turned back to her. She gave me a pad of paper and a pen.

“Why did you keep doing this?”

I wrote on the pad. I didn’t have any choice.

She looked from the pad back to my face.

“But… you did. You always did.”

No. I underlined the word.

“There’s more to this…”

I swallowed hard. I closed my eyes.

“This is about what happened to you, isn’t it… when you were a kid.”

I wasn’t surprised at this leap. She was the one person in the world who could have made it.

“I told you everything,” she said. “About my mother killing herself. About what I was going through last summer. Everything.”

I shook my head. This part… This is not why I came here.

“You said we had all this stuff in common, remember? If that’s true, how would I even know that? You still haven’t told me anything.”

I pointed to the papers in her hands. It’s all right there.

She wasn’t buying it.

“What happened to you?” she said. “Are you ever going to tell anybody?”

I didn’t move.

She took a few deep breaths. She took my hand for a moment, then she let go.

“I don’t know why I feel this way about you. Okay? I try not to, because it’s just… it’s just crazy. But I swear to God, I will kick you out of my room and you will never see me again, ever, unless you tell me what the fuck happened to you to make you this way. Right now.”

There were cars passing by under her window. People walking in the evening. Normal people. A thousand of them all around her, playing music, talking, laughing. While I sat there on her bed, with a pad of paper in my lap. I started writing again.

I want to tell you.

“Then go ahead.”

I don’t know how.

“Start with where it happened. Draw me the house.”

I looked at her.

“I’m serious. You were eight years old, right? Isn’t that when it happened? Where did you live?”

I thought about it for a while. Then I put the pad down. I stood up. I went to the door and opened it.

She bit her lip as she watched me.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “Good-bye.”

I stayed there at the door.

“What? What is it?”

I picked up the pad.

Let’s go, I wrote.

“Where are we going?”

I’m going to show you where it happened.

It was getting dark now. It was crazy to be doing this. I had no business taking her where I was about to take her, but I had been on the run so long… I was so tired, and I had already lived through enough in the past few days to last me for the rest of my life. So maybe the fact that I had no idea what I was doing was a good thing just then. Maybe that was exactly what we both needed.

She got on the back of my bike. Just like old times. It felt just as good as ever to have her hands around my waist. We rode out of Ann Arbor, heading due east. I knew where I was going. I had always known. Even though I hadn’t gone anywhere near it in ten years.

I got off the highway, right before it took us into the heart of the city. I wandered in a slow zigzag toward the water. I knew we couldn’t get lost now. All we had to do was keep going until we hit the Detroit River.

It was coming up on midnight when we hit Jefferson Avenue. We turned north. We passed the enormous steel plant on the river. The taste of the smoke and the grit in the air already, punishing us as we got closer and closer. Amelia wrapped her arms tighter around my body.