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“Shit, shit…” I mumble to myself silently, then dive down, in search of something that might resemble a map.
Initially, I keep finding old documents which I don’t even bother to read. Then, something catches my attention. The flashlight beams on a document that seems to number something, like steps that you need to take.
I quickly grab it and stare at it, for closer inspection. The first step is to find the old willow tree. The second one is to go in the direction of the rising sun and count to fifty. I skim through the rest, and finally, there it is. The well.
I have no idea what old willow tree the document is referring to. It could be long gone by now. I quickly fold the document and shove it into my pocket. I pick up the rest of the papers and put them back where they were. Then, I slowly tiptoe back to the cellar.
The moment I close the door behind me, I hear something upstairs, the sound of something heavy falling onto the floor. I freeze in place.
I listen intently, following every sound, but for a few moments, nothing is heard. My heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest, beating all the way in the back of my throat.
Another second passes. Then another one. No more thumping sounds are heard.
I take this as my cue to leave. If I stay any longer, I am putting myself in even more danger, especially now that I have what I came here for.
I do the same thing I did when I was climbing up the stairs, but I again hit the creaking stair. The noise from upstairs occurs again. It is immediately followed by footsteps which I hear above me. I know I don’t have a moment to lose. They probably heard the noise from the basement and are now coming down to check it out.
I run towards the window and jump to catch the opening with my hands. I realize that I can’t climb up, unless I have something to step onto. I quickly look around. My anxiety and fear are through the roof.
I see a chair. I run to fetch it, adjusting it just underneath the window. I step onto it and climb out.
Once I feel the night breeze, I can breathe properly again.
The street is empty, but I know I’m still not safe. My feet take over and once again, I start running back the way I came from. I try to remain out of sight, sneaking behind houses, running by trees and then, when I see the woods, I dive into them, knowing that they will protect me.
I run even faster now, heading back to the factory. My heart is full. I have no idea if what I have will be of any help, but at least it’s something we can try.
I keep running, breathless and full of some strange awe and pride. I dared to do this. I felt like I would change my mind and run back like the coward that I always believed myself to be, but I didn’t. I pushed on until the end. This made me think that perhaps I’m not such a scaredy cat as I always thought.
The moon above me lights up the way. I smile at nothing, but I can’t stop smiling for some reason. The branches are scraping at my arms, but I pay no attention. I have a place to go to, and nothing will come in my way.
When I finally reach the factory, I freeze. There is someone standing in the door, looking about.
I swallow heavily, thinking that one of the shifters must have figured out we were all hiding there. But the closer I get, I realize that it’s not a shifter. It is Edmund.
As soon as he sees me, he runs towards me. Before I can say anything, he wraps his arms around me. Then, he looks at me like I’m a child that did something wrong and needs to be punished.
“Where the heck were you, Bianca?” he asks. “I woke up and you weren’t there!”
Chapter Sixteen
Edmund
“Why would you disappear like that? Do you know what could have happened to you?” I keep asking her a million and one questions, and although I want to shut up, I can’t.
The questions are just pouring out of me, driven by much more than mere concern for her wellbeing. She’s just standing there, listening to me go on and on, until finally the questions seem to dry out. I notice she is smiling.
“Why the heck would you be smiling?” I ask incredulously.
Before I can grab her by the hand and pull her back inside the dilapidated building, she extracts something out of her pocket. I can’t tell what it is at first.
“What is it?” I ask, staring at the folded piece of paper.
“This is what you’ve been searching for,” she tells me. “At least, I hope it is.”
“You don’t mean to tell me…” I start, but I’m unable to finish the sentence.
