Waking up the next morning, I notice that my body carries an unnatural ache. Opening my sore eyes, I can see why. I'm surrounded by numerous empty boxes and the dusty floorboards of the cold utility room. I must have fallen asleep on call with the boys last night. I decide to sit up, stretching the stiffness from my muscles, and move about a little. I need to be on top form tonight when we make our move. All of this will be over before I know it.
I'm going to see Lorrie tonight.
The very thought of that makes me buzz with an uncontainable energy. All stiffness forgotten, I quickly dust myself off and grab my phone. Turning it on and making my way towards the door, I notice that I have a message from Gianni.
Negative on Thea. Sorry Gen.
I stop in my tracks, my empty stomach dropping to my knees. Thea isn't on base which means that we still don't know where she is, and now we only have one day left to find her. We're running out of time and options.
"Gen?"
Snapping out of my daze, I look up to find a fresh-looking Morgan stood in the doorway to the room. She looks worried.
"Hey," I say, giving her a small smile. "I think I fell asleep up here last night."
"I went by your room and you weren't there. Why do you look so pale?" Morgan asks, stepping closer to me. My insides freeze over, going cold and brittle. I can't bring myself to hide the truth from her, she needs to know.
"I must have gotten this text through the night." I say gently, passing the phone over. She takes it silently and studies it for what feels like forever. I see so many emotions pass through her pretty eyes; confusion, anger, doubt, disappointment, hurt, and worry.
"Do you think that they're keeping Thea somewhere else entirely?" she asks, unable to meet my eyes.
"I don't know Morgan." I say, taking her hand and gently leading her towards the stairs. "But we're going to find her okay? Let's not give up yet. Shelley might not have cameras on every floor. She may still be here somewhere, but we're going to have to be quick."
"But Ren told us not to go rogue, remember?" She whispers, matching my pace.
"That was before." I reply, already feeling guilty for what we are about to do. "If we want to find her, then we're going to have to have a sneak around."
"But what if William finds us?" she asks nervously, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.
"Then we tell him that we're looking for Thea, tell him that you're missing her. We don't have to give the plan away. Now, you know this place better than me." I whisper, pushing the door open into my hallway. "So where do we start?"
"You need your meds first." She sighs, leading us down the corridor towards my room. "When Lorenzo finds out, you're the one that's taking his wrath. This wasn't my idea."
"Lorenzo isn't going to find out." I whisper, ignoring the nagging in my stomach that knows that I'm lying.
......
An hour later, Morgan and I have discreetly packed all of our things and are heading towards the west wing of the hotel where the main stairwells are. Given that I've never been this far out into the building before, I'm surprised at how modern everything is. As we get further into the wing, the worn navy carpets turn into glossy new tiles that click quietly under Morgan's heeled boots. The walls become taller and taller, with white velvet curtains. The fish pictures are long forgotten. The AC seems to be on full power over here, washing cold air over my slightly sweaty skin. It's so much easier to breathe.
"Why are we stuck in the dingy, fishy end of this place?" I whisper whilst patting my pockets to make sure, for the third time, that I brought my meds. Morgan smirks.
"William isn't exactly known around here for his expressions of equality." She replies, flicking one of the velvet curtains in disgust.
"Hmm." As we get closer to a large set of glass doors, I notice the green flickers of different cameras that surround us. "I get the feeling that you might regret saying that later."
"Oh they're definitely listening to us." She whispers, glancing up at the cameras. "I'm surprised that we haven't been stopped in our tracks yet. Not going to lie to you, this is further than I thought that we would get."
"Oh, thanks for the confidence boost." I say, trying not to make eye contact with any of the green flashes. "I thought that we were going for the blind spots?"
"They start beyond the door." She whispers, remaining expressionless.
Pushing the cool glass doors open, my eyes have to adjust to the darkness. Before they have chance to, Morgan grabs my arm roughly and pushes me to the left, through some kind of wooden door.
"What the-" I gasp.
"Shh." She hisses, steadying me with her arms. "We have to be quick, before they switch the lights on."
"Doesn't mean you have to attack me." I say, swatting her arms off of me. A second later, the lights switch on in the hallway where we were just a moment ago. From the small cupboard room that Morgan has pushed us into, I can see the dozens of green flickering lights that line the walls. We must be getting closer.
"Okay." Morgan starts, making me turn my head to focus on her. She is quietly, but quickly, moving boxes and coat hangers out of her way. "This is an old laundry room that they used back when this was a hotel." She gets down on her knees and begins patting the tiles on the floor, looking for something. "Just behind you, there is an old laundry shoot that the Shelley's seem to be unaware of. There are no cameras or motion detectors. Have a guess where it leads to?"
"Umm... The inaccessible floors?" I say impressed.
"Precisely. But in order to use the shoot, you first need to find the..." One of the tiles that she is patting makes an odd noise, as if it is looser than the others. Quickly, she nips the corner of the tile with her fingers and lifts it gently to reveal a small, dusty metal key. "Key."
I don't respond, purely because I'm too impressed to comment. Instead, I shake my head and chuckle slightly. She takes the key without hesitation, places the tile back into its original position, and begins to crawl through the stacks of boxes that surround us. I follow suit, ignoring the dust and cobwebs that set up base all over my body as I do so. Eventually, after moving boxes let, right and centre, Morgan navigates us to a small metal door. I squint in the dusty darkness and watch as Morgan carefully turns the key in place. A tiny, almost incomprehensible, click sound indicates that the door is open. Giving me an encouraging nod, Morgan quietly edges her body forwards, takes a deep breath, and then pushes her skinny frame off into the darkness of the laundry shoot without making a whisper of a noise.
......
After what feels like thirty or forty minutes of scratching around on our hands and knees in the heat of the dark laundry shoot, our hands and knees are starting to burn against the warm metal floor, becoming irritable and painful. The shoot consists of what can only be described as a long tin tube with a metal conveyor belt on the floor, which once must have pushed the laundry along to the vertical drop, that ends in the basement.
"I swear that the last time I came down here, it didn't take this long to find the door." Morgan mutters to herself, sighing in defeat.
I hear a hollow thump on the metallic surface and realise that Morgan has collapsed down beside me, in a sweat heap.
"Morg?" I ask with concern, leaning forwards and gently patting her shoulder.
"I'm good, I'm good." She replies, releasing an even louder sigh. "I'm just tired of all of this."
"What? The laundry shoot?"
"The laundry shoot, William, seeing you like this, hurting Ren and his friends, having to rummage around in the darkness to see my dead, but not dead, sister. We're literally only seventeen Gen, our lives shouldn't be like this."
"Well they are like this." I say quietly. "But they don't have to be for good-"
"Gen you're dating a Rose Street boy." Morgan says pointedly, stopping me in my tracks. "As long as you and Ren are together, this is your life. It will always be like this."
"Morgan stop." This time I'm the one that's sighing. "Lorrie isn't the one that got me in this mess. I'm the one that met with William. I'm the one that got myself abducted. I'm the one that didn't trust him to do what he does best. Regardless of Lorrie's Rose Street status, the only reason that I'm here is because of myself and my own stupidity."
"He still should have protected you better against William. I didn't think that he would fall for the trap, using me as bait is child's play in his world."
"The boys didn't fall for the trap, I did. They were planning on rescuing you despite your betrayal."
"Why would they do that?" She whispers, sitting up off of the metal floor and rubbing her palms.
"Because Lorrie cares about you Morg. You're his friend." I lean forwards and take her clammy hands in mine. "Even if you did go behind his back and hurt him. He knows that this isn't you and he wants to fight for that."
For a while, the gentle click and creak of the laundry shoot fills our thoughtful silence. Even in the darkness I can see that Morgan's eyes are glued to our intertwined fingers. Thoughts and memories are flickering through her mind, filling her head with emotion. My thoughts, meanwhile, are elsewhere. Looking far out into the eerie darkness of the tunnel, I remember the warm feel of Lorrie's hands that covered my eyes on our first date. I recall the different shades of pinks, oranges and reds that coloured the backs of my eyelids when he gently moved his fingers and readjusted his grip. I remember how young and happy I felt back then, only a few weeks ago, and long for that contact with him again. Turning my head to look at Morgan, I remember the first time that I saw her with Lorrie. She wasn't paying attention to May and the new girl... but Lorrie was. I remember the bolt of electricity that shot through my body when his green eyes examined me, head to toe, like he does. It used to anger me and make me feel exposed, but now I would give anything to have that familiar sense of examination from him.
"Let's find Thea." Morgan says, cutting through my thoughts. "And then we can just go home."
"Okay." I reply, refocussing on the task in hand.
"I could've sworn that the latch is somewhere..." Morgan mutters, creating an unorganised symphony of banging noises as she pats the metal walls. After a few moments, the noises stop as Morgan repositions herself so that she can get a better view. "Ah, here we go."
I move closer to her in the darkness so that I can see the small metal latch, positioning myself next to her so that I can help to pull it open. With a painful screeching noise, the latch gives way under both of our strengths. A small door on the floor of the tunnel in front of us opens up, letting a luxurious wave of cool air sweep across our sweaty bodies. There's no time to sit and savour the feeling. Instead, the pair of us close the last few steps towards the opened door and peak through. Without sparing a second to think, Morgan slides past me and quietly slips through the open door, disappearing into the ominous room.
......
As soon as my feet make contact with the cement floor of the abandoned room, creating an echoing smack from the impact, I find it hard to conceal my surprise. Morgan, a few feet away from me, also seems to be frozen in shock as her wide eyes scan the room, taking everything in. I don't really know what exactly I was expecting to find when I convinced Morgan to go looking for Thea with me, but this wasn't it. Maybe a clue to her whereabouts? Maybe a small cell in which she would be sat crying in the corner? Maybe just some evidence of her existence? Any of those would have been better than this. Why do I have to be so naïve?
It seems that the pair of us are stood right in the middle of what looks like an old warehouse. The cold concrete floor is dusty and obviously isn't used often, luckily indicating that we are probably safe on this floor. I quickly scan the room for cameras, but there's no sign of any green flickers. On the longest walls, running parallel to each other, have six windows that look out to the front and back of the hotel. The ones on the front are boarded up with pieces of cardboard and a few broken up palettes of timber. Through the small dirty spaces where the cardboard has deteriorated, I can see glimpses of the shimmering perimeter fence in the distance. Not for the first time today, I wonder if this will be the last time that I'll be stuck inside of it. The wall behind us, that is furthest away, is covered in peeling off-white paint, a sign of its age. Everything about the room seems bare, old and unused. To any other person, this room is just a room. But to Morgan and me, this room is the start, and end, of everything.
On the wall facing us, the main wall of the abandoned room, is a huge collage of old pictures. They range from black and white newspaper cuttings, CCTV and surveillance pictures, school pictures, prom photos, baby pictures, wedding pictures, and even pictures taken from a distance of people off-guard, like paparazzi shots. Still shocked to silence, I take a few more steps towards the huge wall and run my hand carefully along the collage. In amongst these pictures, diary entries, birth certificates, passport copies, vehicle registration documents, school reports, hand-written lists, visa applications, hospital documents, and post-it notes full of scratchy writing are stuck to the wall with tape. The more that I look deeper into each document, each picture, each list, the clearer it all becomes. I notice that they all have one thing in common... The Rose Street boys.
Pictures of Lorrie's parents smile back at me, Fran is wearing a tidy grey suit and holding a beautiful, young-looking Rita. Distant shots of Lucan, sat in his car eating a sandwich, also catch my attention. This can't have been that long ago, he's wearing the NYC sweater that Esidore bought for him in New York. Looking down at my feet, I notice that there are faded foot marks in the dust where people have been walking recently. Returning to the wall, I also see pictures of a younger-looking Mr De Luca, Lucan's Dad, leaving school with a stack of papers. In his back pocket, the handle of something long is revealed. A knife maybe? Pictures of a toothy Esidore as a little boy are also taped up, surrounded by baby pictures of other caramel-skinned boys, all with the same dark glossy hair. Clippings of newspapers are fading with age, becoming harder and harder to read as I continue my way along the wall. They include articles about robberies, shootings, drug raids, boarder violations... they're snippets of past Rose Street missions. As I silently examine the wall, I realise that the Rose Street operation is way bigger than I ever could have imagined; and this is just a snap shot, the only evidence that the Shelley's could get hold of over the decades. Hundreds of pictures show hundreds of familiar, and unfamiliar, Italian, and non-Italian, faces. Including Lorrie's. They've been keeping tabs on Rose Street for years, I realise. I carry on looking to see pictures of Lorrie's Chevy, and his bike, and even his home from a distance. I see pictures of Fran looking a lot younger, and a lot scarier, holding what looks like a small machine gun in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. Looking at this wall, the Shelley's hit-list, everything finally starts to sink in. I find myself frantically searching through the collage of Rose Street for anything to do with-
And there it is. Right in front of me.
Even though the picture is small, it manages to stop the breath from leaving my body, leaving me feeling very tense and trapped within myself. I'm looking at a picture of myself. It's not much compared to the rest of the wall, but it's enough to make me gasp out loud. Don't panic, don't panic. In the picture, I am getting out of Lorrie's Chevy the night of May's party. I look striking and older in my sparkly mini dress, but sad and panicked as I desperately look around for somewhere to run. It was the perfect shot for them really, the perfect chance to get the vulnerable, little girl that jumped head first into a world that she didn't fully understand. That's exactly the kind of girl that they needed. The perfect bait.
"Gen..." My thoughts are cut off by Morgan's quiet voice. Tearing my eyes away from the picture of me, I meet her sad gaze and instantly forget about my little crisis. Silent tears make tracks from her eyes as she returns her focus to the part of the wall that I haven't had chance to analyse yet; the part of the wall covered in CCTV pictures. Putting my own dramas to the side, I realise that she must have seen a picture of herself as well, maybe even a number of them considering that she has been involved with Rose Street for a lot longer than I have. I quickly make my way over to her, tearing my picture down and shredding it into pieces as I walk, and take my place by her side. A few of the pictures are shots of a young-looking Thea, wrapped up in a handsome looking Italian boy. Enzo. His arms are plastered in tattoos, making him look almost scary and unapproachable, but with his girl wrapped between his arms, his eyes shine as brightly as the sun. My heart instantly warms at the image, and then aches, as I realise that it was taken years ago. Other pictures of them include the pair of them arguing, kissing, walking down the sidewalk together, driving in a small pickup truck, entering Morgan's house, and even entering the hospital together. They really were together all of the time. Glimpsing over at Morgan, I realise that she is only focussing on one particular image though. The picture beneath all of them. The picture that brings tears to my eyes, just like Morgan.
This is a naked picture of Thea.
But in this picture of Thea, her lifeless eyes gaze straight up at the camera from the bloody grass. It was taken in a field. Deep creases of torn flesh create a rectangular shape on her stomach, evidence of some kind of lethal knife attack. She had literally been cut open... A thin, scarlet line also runs straight across her porcelain throat, making my insides twist unmercifully. I think that I'm going to be sick. Her beautiful red hair, the same red hair as Morgan's, had been hacked off carelessly, making her look rougher than any girl should have to look. A palette of dark blue and purple bruises cover her skin in unhealthy splatters, mainly around her lower arms, thighs and feet. At this point, I have to force myself to look away. I know now that The Shelley's lied about Thea's death. They lied that she is still alive to make Morgan cooperate. They lied about The Rose Street boys. They've lied about everything. How could any human being do this to such an innocent girl? She didn't do anything...
Morgan releases an agonising cry, tearing her pouring eyes away from the wall. I meet her gaze and see what can only be described as heartbreak flood every ounce of her being, causing her to shake uncontrollably. She's reliving the death of her sister. I catch her thin frame as she quite literally crumples to the concrete, creating a small storm of dust around our bodies. The pain that she's going through cannot be put into words. Weeks, if not months, of hope has just been diminished in the matter of seconds. Everything that she has sacrificed was pointless. This is where we sit for what seems like hours, intertwined and crying uncontrollably over the brutal death of a beautiful girl, an innocent girl, that will never breathe the same air as us again.