WILLOW #3
I decided to go around him instead. After volunteering to help in the laundry room a few times, I learned that there’s a main laundry chute in the hallway of each floor.
I checked the other floors to make sure that they were interconnected.
When I confirmed that they all let out at the same place, I had my way in.
Walking in through the gate with the rest of the staff like I have every day this week, I chat with a few people that I’ve met, trying to blend in and seem like I belong.
I start my morning tasks that I have been assigned when a bell chimes through the house.
This morning, our supervisor let us know that when we hear it, we’re to drop whatever we are doing to help unload the truck.
I slowly make my way to the laundry room, which usually has at least ten people working in it, but is now empty.
I take off the staff uniform that’s covering my gear, climb on some baskets that are stacked under it and climb in.
Scaling straight up in a small place is never a good time.
The chute is so small that I put one leg on one side and one on the other, keeping both forearms on either side of the chute for balance.
Planting my arms, I use my core to pull my legs up.
Then planting my feet, I push with my legs.
Then repeat. It’s hot and sweaty in the confined space.
I’m worried that the sweat will make my arms too slick to maintain grip, all while trying to make as little noise as possible.
I don’t know how long I have between trucks, and I don’t want the laundry staff to hear me when they come back in since a giant metal chute will carry an echo.
I calculate the timeline once I reach the first floor, counting down, knowing that I only have to be in here for two more floors.
It’s good that I’m not claustrophobic. But I’ll admit the air quality, with little to no ventilation, right above the steaming pile of dirty clothes and bedding, is a bitch.
“Bet you are glad you didn’t skip leg day two weeks ago when you wanted to.” Tell’s smug voice comes through my earpiece.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, all wise and great brother,” I whisper as quietly as I can, knowing that he can pick up the sarcasm in my hushed tone.
“This is taking a while. Maybe we should work on your core strength a little more when you come back.” Now he’s sounding like he is thinking of new workouts to torture me with.
“Tell, I love you, but if you think we are adding more shit to my workouts, you have to get your giant ass in a chute and climb up three stories first so we can evaluate your core strength,” I whisper back.
“Good point, we will look into a giant tube to shove him in when you get home,” Gig chimes in.
“The security cameras on the hall show that there are no guards in the third floor east wing itself, just the one guarding the entrance. I’m still monitoring the cameras pointed at the truck, and it looks like you have about twenty more minutes, unless another truck comes in,” he says, trying to steer us back on topic.
“I pulled the blueprints of the estate, but I don’t think they have been updated.
There were a lot of things that were added that didn’t show on the originals.
But my best guess is the third door from the chute.
The original blueprints show that the room has no windows.
If they are keeping her, they probably don’t want to give her a chance to escape,” I say, giving them an idea of where I’m going.
They know to never butt into my plans—they can change at any moment, depending on what happens during the job.
As I approach the third story, my arms and legs feel like they’re about to give out, and I pause before opening the chute door. “Now,” I say, knowing that Gig’s switching the security cameras to play on a loop.
I open the door slowly, plant my hands onto the ground, and roll out.
There really isn’t a graceful way to climb out of a hole in the wall.
I move to the side of the hallway with two of the three doors on it, listening at the first as I walk by and hear nothing.
I move to the second door and am met with more silence.
As I go to move onto the next, I hear a tiny whimper.
Grabbing my lock-pick kit, I slowly open the door as quietly as I can.
The room’s pitch black, even in the daytime.
While my eyes adjust, each item in front of me comes into focus.
I’m met with a disgusting, empty room that looks like it shouldn’t be in such a grand estate.
It’s dark, and the air is stale from the door always being shut with no windows.
The stench of mold, blood, and urine assaults me as soon as I walk further in.
A bucket in the corner, that they clearly gave her as a toilet, is the only thing in the room besides the small body on the floor.
She’s holding her knees to her chest, eyes closed.
She hasn’t moved since I opened the door.
I take a quiet, deep breath, despite the disgusting smell, and push back the panic trying to claw up my throat.
I can handle death. Hell I bring it, with joy.
But never a child. I walk over, placing two fingers on her neck to check for a pulse.
She flinches away, keeping her eyes shut tight.
Thank fucking hell.
Now that I know she is alive, I look her over in detail.
She’s wearing nothing but an old, white, men’s T-shirt that has a few blood stains at the top—probably from when blood dripped from her busted lip or nose.
Her arms and legs are littered with bruises that I can’t see in detail due to the small amount of light that’s coming through the open door.
Her brown hair’s matted and she’s filthy, but she doesn’t have any obvious injuries that would prevent her from making it out of here.
“Hi, sweetie. Can you open your eyes for me? Your father sent me to take you home, but I need to see your eyes before we can go,” I say in Spanish, softening my voice as much as I can.
She takes a second and opens her eyes the tiniest amount, probably trying to figure out if this is a trick.
After she studies my face for a moment, she fully opens them.
Now, looking at her entire face, she can’t be more than fifteen, and I feel a pang in my heart for her as I see tears of relief start trickling down her pale cheeks.
The killing I can handle; it’s the victims that are the biggest threat to my sanity and make me want to go on a massacre.
Maybe once she’s safe, I’ll do just that.
“I have a plan to get you home, but I need you to listen to me so I can get you out safely. If at any time you feel like you are too hurt to keep going, let me know. But I promise you that this will be fast, and I’ll handle anyone that comes towards us.
I just need you to keep looking straight ahead,” I say, still using my gentle tone.
I’ve learned the hard way after a few rescues that if victims see someone trying to chase after us, their reaction is flight rather than fight.
They stop and shut down. I try to reassure them before we start the escape and keep them as calm as I can before we do anything.
I help her stand; her legs are wobbly, so I brace her body against mine for support. She may be younger, but she’s definitely taller than me. I’m used to it, but sometimes, it makes it a little harder for me to try to support them as we run. She wraps her free arm around her ribs on one side.
“Can I look?” I ask, and she hesitates, so I add, “I just need to make sure they don’t look broken. I don’t want to risk you getting more hurt if we have to move around a lot.” She looks me in the eyes and slowly nods her head.
I gently grab the hem of the shirt and move it up to show her ribs.
I don’t react outwardly to her other injuries—I want her to trust me and to stay calm.
My eyes are adjusted, but it’s still hard to tell, so I squint.
Lot’s of bruising, but nothing displaced from what I can tell.
It’s difficult with internal rib injuries.
If they’re broken inwards, then they could puncture a lung.
I feel down each of the ribs individually. She hisses, and I mutter out a soft apology. Nothing feels off, but she’ll need an x-ray to be sure. It’ll take her a while to heal physically and mentally from what they have done to her.
I pull the shirt back into place and give her a small smile.
“They look bruised. They’ll hurt a lot as we start moving, but I promise you that we will make it as fast as possible.
” She doesn’t say anything, but nods once with a determined look on her face.
I just nod back. We turn for the door, and I have her put her arm around my shoulders for support while she starts to walk.
Her body trembles as we cross the threshold to the hallway. I’m not sure if it’s because she is in pain, or because she’s terrified. She doesn’t say anything, so I’m assuming it’s the latter.
I slow my pace as we approach the turn in the hallway that leads to where the guard is standing.
We’re on our way out, so it’s time for him to go.
Not to mention that I’ve got some pent-up anger that needs to be channeled into something positive.
Well…the only positive part for him will be that I can’t draw it out for as long as I’d like. But it’s something.
I check my watch—he’s about to do his check-in. I smile, biting my lip in anticipation, listening to him give his confirmation that the hallway’s clear. Removing the girl’s arm from my shoulders and putting my index finger to my lips, I signal for her to be quiet. I need her to stay out of sight.