What it’ll mean if I do…
Or if I still can’t.
My head springs up when I hear his voice. My heart lurches and my stomach binds.
He sounds like he’s coming this way, his voice growing closer as he barks at someone tofuck off. I think I hear Kent yelling after him.
And then everything goes dark.Fardarker than it already was.
The sporadic lights in the ceilings and the lampposts lining the walkway have gone out. There’s no light whatsoever, aside from the glow of an orange moon, but it’s not bright enough to illuminate anything.
What the hell is going on??
People are hollering, footsteps clomping about, though no one comes this way. I don’t hear him anymore… His voice is lost in the clamor.
I have no idea what’s happening, but my heart is racing. Something is clearly wrong, and I’m trapped in here. Like a rat in a cage, awaiting potential danger.
Many tense minutes pass, and I wonder if he would really leave me here for good. Just take off and leave me to rot.
Or what if something happens to him…?
Just as I’m beginning to spiral in despair, I hear footsteps again. But they’re not his. I can tell. I know how he sounds when he walks.
These are much lighter; the lithe steps of someone who’s not supposed to be over here.
My pulse is galloping as I wedge myself behind the dresser, keeping hidden, listening to the sound of a person sticking a key into the lock. My tightens around my knife.
Click. Clunk. Clang. Creak.
Step… Step… Step…
“Hello?” A hushed, gentle voice calls out. “Are you in here…?”
British. Familiar.
Peeking out from behind the dresser, I try to make him out, but it’s so dark.
Still, Irecognizethat voice.
“Why are you in there?”
“Revenge.”
“Bad guy?” I murmur, and he turns in my direction, pinning me with violet eyes that shine in the dark.
“Oh.” His head cocks. “Hello… stranger.”
Well, then.
This is an unexpected turn of events.
Although, the more I’m thinking about it, the more I feel like it makes perfect sense.
The voice from inside that windowless cell in the East Wing… The one who spoke to me aboutrevenge. Turns out it belonged to this bloke.
Manuel Blanco’s little bird, locked away in his birdcage of isolation.
I’ve been obsessively wondering who was in here since I followed The Ivory down here a week or so ago. I’ve been back since, and got close last night, but he showed up and I had to dive into the bushes. The sounds of amorous activity were rather distinct before I slipped away, so I knew whomever this prisoner was, they were shagging The Ivory.
