The stairwell smelled of institutions, dry but damp. It was a stink of old overlaid with the new, decaying even as it’s repaired. Aidan didn't mind. His steps echoed. His decent deliberate and slow. His mind wondered and his heart raced. He felt alive, invincibly so. The girl’s locker-room was empty, and drips chimed like bells from the showers. The coach’s office was locked and the lights were off. He dropped his bag near the door and crouched at the lock. From the bag he produced a set of locksmith’s tools. He didn’t even pause as he slid the tumblers into place and walked in as casually as one could as the door popped open.

The office wasn’t maintained. It seemed to double or triple as many other rooms, storage, supply closet, etc. Aidan sat down and put his feet up on the desk. Through the half-opened blinds he imagined the scene an hour ago, young ladies, in the midst of… Not now, he forced the imagery down like so much bile and steeled himself for the task at hand. He worked quickly, first the locker-room, then the boiler room, an empty classroom. He spread his work to encompass the entire structure. At the office he handed over the badge.           

    “I couldn’t find him, but he’ll probably come here looking for it so…”

She took the bag and weighed it with flabby arms exposed in the atrocity that was her blouse.                     

    “Heavy,” she stated simply, perhaps impressed.           

    “Yes, ice-skates.”           

    “We don’t have a rink here. What did you say your son’s name was again?”

Aidan looked are her, pity in his eyes. She raised her eyebrows. He turned and walked away. He walked down the front steps and back to his bench. He gave the large yard a longing glance and pushed the button.