Chapter Twenty-One #4
I’m hiding in some bushes outside the staff house—this large stone building where the chefs and East Wing doctors live.
It’s only about fifty yards from the greenhouse, but the problem is that area is heavily guarded.
I’ve been searching for a way in for weeks, and there’s never a goddamn opening.
But I still keep coming back, because I know it’s the only way in aside from waltzing in the front door.
Call me crazy, but that might be considered a suicide mission.
A group left the mansion, strapped, roughly twenty minutes ago. I’m not sure what they were doing or where they were going, but it sounded like they were planning to try the path between the old armory and the crash site again. Velle has eyes over there, so I’m just hoping they’re unsuccessful.
Unfortunately, one pop turns to a firefight. And I’m worried for my friends…
Still, I have my own objective, and this might be my only chance.
Bodies are on the move. This is already going on longer than the usual shots fired. It happens often… And by often I mean on and off, every damn day. Gunfire has become a fucking lullaby on this island, though certainly not one that rocks my ass to sleep.
Every time I hear it, I’m panicking. It means either prisoners are going rogue and being gunned down, or Velle’s team is being attacked, or worse…
Lemuel tried to escape and they’re shooting at him.
I’ve had no reason to think that’s true, and Lem is smart. He’s a man of science and statistics. He doesn’t act on impulse. Well… not usually.
I just hope he can hold strong, and not let his emotions take over. That’s my job, after all.
The loud bursts of gunfire keep going, and finally, it drags away the lookouts from the west side of the mansion.
Now’s my chance.
Slipping out of the bushes, I make a run for the greenhouse, fully expecting to be shot, or to come face to face with a dead-eyed cartel killing machine.
But I don’t. I actually make it inside the greenhouse.
My heart is bursting out of my chest, so I take cover between a row of flowers to catch my breath. But it still hurts. Because it reminds me of Lemuel.
Of us being in here together… The time he pressed me up against a wall of dahlias and kissed me breathless. Of him kneeling among crumbling rock just outside and asking me to marry him.
Closing my eyes, I push past the pain and focus, staying low and letting the plants keep me hidden as I creep through to the other side. Plucking any random fruits or vegetables as I go and stuffing them into my backpack because I’m fucking starving.
The greenhouse leads into the garden conservatory—the inside garden is different from the outside garden.
That leads to either the atrium on the right, which brings you inside the mansion, or the aviary on the left, and no one ever goes over there, since it’s The Ivory’s personal area. Not to mention it’s ominous as hell.
But this time, I’m thinking that might be the way I have to go. Because I obviously can’t just stroll inside the mansion. I can hear people in the atrium from here. It has to be the most heavily trafficked area of the whole mansion, aside from maybe the front door.
No, no. I have to go left. I have no choice.
Still, I can’t just go. The path is wide open; a stone bridges that run over the indoor pond.
No cover whatsoever. Unless…
Making a snap decision, because I’m fucking crazy, I slip down into the water.
Oh God… where even am I right now??
It’s shallow, but still sort of hidden by the bridges and lots of other trees and plants. This whole place looks like the Secret Garden—if the Secret Garden itself was designed by an evil Colombian madman who’s clearly seen too many Guillermo del Toro movies.
Regardless, I think this might work. Because, as it seems, I’m wading through undetected.
The water is actually warm, but that’s not exactly placating me. I’m fighting not to twitch or shriek when I swear I feel something brush past my leg.
Are there fish in here? Anacondas??
Nessie, is that you?!
Jesus fuck, get me outta here.
I make it to the other side, crawling out like the damn swamp thing and immediately returning to my default of weaving through bushes and trees, mainly to ensure I don’t leave a trail of dribbling water and muddy shoe prints.
I’m relieved that there’s no one over here, but that doesn’t mean I have the slightest clue where I’m going.
I’m just hoping the aviary connects to somewhere else; either to the rest of the mansion, or to the outside.
Keeping my steps as light as possible, I enter the creepy, far darker side of the conservatory.
It’s as beautiful as it is weird. The only lights are from the overhead skylights and the occasional lamppost. Just as many trees and vine-covered stone walls as the rest of the mansion, though in here, there’s also an inordinate amount of brass decor.
Birdcages everywhere, old, antique-looking and open.
It is an aviary, after all. There are birds flying around, free, but not really. Not tons of them, just enough for it to be distracting as shit. But I just keep moving. Ignoring it all.
Ignoring the large brass bars of a birdcage the size of a prison cell just over yonder…
What in the actual fuck…?
The stone walkway seems as if it’s wrapping around the outer edge of the mansion—this place is so bizarrely designed. An honest to God castle, built for a villain.
At least he’s on-brand.
Trying doors, I’m finding them all locked, and I’m about to start panicking. Until, finally, a knob turns. Nerves are popping my pulse as I take a breath and slowly pull the door open.
At first, I think it’s a closet, or a pantry, or something. It’s so dark in here, I can’t see shit. Dim light and voices are coming from up ahead, so I follow them, clutching my knife at my back in case I have to slash my way out of here.
There’s a commotion coming from the other side of a wall before me. Shouting and lots of clomping footsteps. It feels like this wall is separating me from the rest of the mansion. Hesitantly, I reach out and place my palm flat on it. My forehead lines.
Is it a… shelf? That’s weird…
It feels like a bookshelf.
Running my fingers over it verifies this. Books. A wall of them.
Plucking one, I draw it toward myself. And would you look at that…
I can see right into the study.
My eyes are bugging, heart leaping up to my ribs. But I keep my lips zipped and stand stiller than a statue. Watching The Ivory’s men rush around through the thin slit in the wall.
Fuck me. I’m in a hidden passageway… Spying from behind a goddamn bookcase.
Not sure why I’m surprised. This is the home of an eccentric weirdo with too much money for his own good.
“Bring him in here!” Someone shouts, a crowd of cartel men making a hole as someone is dragged into the room, kicking and screaming.
My stomach falls.
“Get the fuck off me!” Officer Hancock shouts, thrashing about while large men struggle to hold him down on a gurney made from a folding table.
I can’t see very well from this position. There are too many people in the way. Moving down the shelf, I remove another book, hoping to get a better view of what they’re doing to him. That’s when I spot them…
Doctors Johansson and Hassan, crowding around a bleeding Officer Hancock.
And standing off to the side, looking exhausted and miserable, but still too damn gorgeous to be real, is my fiancé.
Lemuel!
I have to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from calling out to him.
“Let me go, you pricks!” Hancock bellows, still fighting.
But I’d say it’s no use. There are at least a dozen cartel men in the room, not to mention the asshole fucking doctors from the East who assisted in my assault.
My teeth are grinding to dust.
It seems like they’re trying to help Hancock, who’s bleeding from his shoulder—I’m guessing gunshot—though they’re also holding him prisoner. Which means he was captured during that shootout.
Fucking motherfucker… If I were out there, maybe I could’ve helped him.
Guilt weighs heavily on my gut, but it’s not as potent as the sheer anguish pumping through my veins at seeing the man I love, trapped in there. Knowing I can’t just burst through this wall and rescue him, despite how much it’s destroying me not to.
“I have an exit wound. Put pressure on this… Love, bring me the sedatives,” that fucker Hassan barks at my fiancé, who obeys, slowly.
The picture of unenthused.
He’s mostly focused on Hancock, the prisoner of war being given medical aid by the enemy… At a price, no doubt.
“Hancock…?” A familiar voice joins the noise.
I know it’s Kang before I even spot him, but I still slink back over to the other hole to verify. He’s standing beside Trevel Fenwick, the two of them watching this scene go down in obvious unease.
I can’t believe I feel bad. I’m covered in blood and muck and I haven’t slept more than ten minutes at a time in weeks, watching my fiancé who’s being held captive in this place while the two of them are probably sleeping comfortably, eating the yummy stuff the chefs prepare in the mansion, and fucking each other silly.
And yet, I do.
I understand why Byron and Trevel did what they did. They were angry, and clearly revenge is a powerful motivator. We’re all here out of revenge, in one form or another.
It just kills me because I know that if the circumstances were different, we could be good friends. Byron and Trevel are a lot like me, whether they’d ever admit it or not. We’re shadow dwellers. After-thoughts. Supporting roles.
I just hope they realize that seeing each other means not giving a fuck what the rest of the eyes in the world are doing.
A distinct clacking—dress shoes on marble floors—straightens everyone in the room. I brace myself for Manuel Blanco’s arrival, stuffing the books back into place. Shifting over to the end of the shelf, I remove a lower one, hoping he won’t notice.
“Hi, Simon… It’s been a while, darling.”