Metal, Nish thought.
Whatever he was on, it was metal. And tight, an enclosed space.
He tapped one skate against the wall to make sure. Hard, cold, wet metal. But what was it, and where was it, and why was he there?
Nish tried to piece together what little he knew.
What had he heard? Nothing. He’d pushed through the door, and the door had seemed to fall away. In an instant, he’d been down on the floor and the tape was ripping and then it was over his mouth and then everything went dark.
What had he seen?
Nothing.
Chase Jordan was having the game of his life. He’d scored twice and set up another by the time the first period was over. The Washington Wall were ahead 4–2. Only Sarah, on a backhand as she’d been tripped, and Jesse, on a wraparound that caught the Wall goaltender off guard, had been able to score for the Owls.
Travis knew what was wrong. The Wall were sending two forecheckers in hard to try to panic the Owls’ defence, while the third forward, usually the centre, stayed back around the blueline ready to pounce on any long passes the panicking Owls defence might try.
Travis also knew what was missing.
If Nish were on the ice, the Wall wouldn’t have been getting nearly so many chances. Nish knew how to get a puck out of his own end. He could carry a puck better than anyone but Sarah, and he had a good eye for the long breakaway pass to Dmitri or Travis on the wings. He also knew how to defend in his own end.
Travis had already seen Mr. Dillinger come back shaking his head, and he had caught the look on Muck’s face as the coach realized Nish was nowhere to be found.
So where was he? Travis asked himself. How badly had they hurt Nish’s feelings? Could he have left the rink?
No. He’d left his clothes and runners in the dressing room when he stomped out. Travis tried to imagine Nish, in full equipment, scraping along Pennsylvania Avenue, in his skates, around the Washington Monument and the long reflecting pool while office workers sat about in the sun.
Travis knew Nish had to be in the MCI Center.
But where?