Noah and I talk a little longer. He asks about us, but I keep him in the dark about who Thomas is and how I know him. There’s no reason to scare him any more than necessary.
The lock turns again and a squeaky-clean Teeny bursts into the room. Thomas doesn’t come in, just closes and locks the door again.
“That was the best shower I’ve ever had,” Teeny says as she drops back down on the mattress.
Noah wants to keep talking—I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind—but I can’t sit here and do nothing.
I walk to the shuttered window and pull on the padlock but it won’t open. Maybe if I had something to beat it with, it might bust loose.
The sun is fading fast and the light from the sconce doesn’t do much to chase the darkness from the room. Teeny’s underneath the light, staring at the bundle of envelopes like she can pry them open with her mind alone.
“Where do you think we are, like a house or something?” Teeny asks.
“I don’t think it’s a house.” Aside from the occasional scratching noises that scamper across the ceiling, it’s way too quiet. The place feels big. And empty.
I run my hands along the dilapidated wall. There are bits of old wallpaper still attached in places that have yellowed with time and the old light fixture looks rusted in places. This room is really old…and forgotten. What is this place? Looking back at the shutters, they seem much newer than anything else in the room, especially with the shiny brass lock and hinges.
“Do you think this was that girl’s room? Why would she hide her things in a box in the wall?”
I listen to her with half an ear. If I can pry off one of the hinges, I can probably get one of the shutters off and see outside.
“And that boy in the other room—does that mean Agent Williams ratted us out?” Teeny asks in a whisper, even though there’s no way Noah can hear anything we say unless we talk directly through the hole.
“I don’t know. If he did, wouldn’t the kid be back with his family by now?”
Teeny’s quiet for a few minutes then squeals, “I got the group of letters unstuck from each other without ripping them apart. There are five of them!”
“Can you make out the address on any of the others?”
“They all say the same thing except one. It has an X through Henry’s name and then some fancy writing off to the side.” Teeny leans in close, eyes squinting, and reads,“‘Return to Francesca DuBois, Ursuline’—and then two words I can’t pronounce. V-i-e-u-x C-a-r-r-e and then there’s that little mark on top of the last e.”
I stop working on the shutters and turn to Teeny. “Vieux Carré?”
Teeny shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Do you know what that is?”
I sink to the floor. “Yes. It’s what they used to call New Orleans when it was first settled. The French Quarter actually. It’s written on all that touristy stuff back in Natchitoches and I asked Ethan one day what it meant.” I glance around the room. “Teeny, we’re only about an hour from where Mom is.”
Teeny’s head pops up. “How far are we from Dad?”
“Well, I’m not exactly sure what part of Arkansas we were in, but it’s at least five or six hours away.”
Teeny goes back to the letters and I go back to the window. My mind spins, trying to absorb all of this. Even if we get out of here, what do we do about Mateo? I probably shouldn’t have asked what he does to his victims because my mind has been running with horrible thoughts of burning flesh and melting skin ever since Thomas said the wordbrutal.
I work on the window until the room is almost dark, using a splintered piece of wood to pry at the hinges. Teeny has positioned herself underneath the small light and her fingers are delicately trying to pry one of the letters from the envelope. It’s slow work for us both. If this was Francesca’s room, I feel a little sorry for her, and I wonder if it felt like a prison for her as well.
Noah called for me a few times but I told him to get working on his window. It won’t hurt to keep him busy either.
What may be the hardest thing about being stuck in this room is not knowing how much time has passed. Is it midnight yet? Or three in the morning? The time thing is really starting to mess with me.
Teeny finally falls asleep and I haven’t heard from Noah in a while. I’m determined to get these shutters open and look outside. I get as far away from the window as I can, then barrel toward them.
A loudthumpvibrates through the room the second I hit the shutters, then I fall back on my butt.
The shutters hold firm, but a searing pain radiates down my arm. I wait a moment to see if I’ve alerted anyone, but the room stays eerily quiet.
One more try. I massage my sore arm, wincing. If I’m going to do this, I have to ignore the pain. This time I crouch like a football player, turn to the side, and drop my shoulder.
I nail the shutters again, and again nothing but pain. Are there bars behind the shutter that I can’t see?
