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I move quickly through the lobby, ducking behind furniture, walls, pillars, and desks. I’m grateful none of the lights are on; it gives me even more shadows to hide in.
I don’t head straight to the front door, where Raymond and his two accomplices stand. That would be too obvious. Instead, I stealthily weave my way around construction equipment until I reach the manager’s office—nothing but plastered walls, cement flooring, and cans of peach-colored paint.
There’s a window in the room that peers out into the courtyard, and it’s there I head.
Casting a quick glance in both directions, I unlatch the window and push it open the tiniest bit, just so noise can filter into the room. Then I crouch down, only allowing my eyes to peer outside.
It’ll be impossible for Raymond or the others to see me in this position. I’m bathed in darkness, while they’re highlighted by the floodlights and headlights.
This close, I can see Raymond’s tight frown, the move pulling at the scar slicing through his cheek.
The woman with him appears to be older—in her mid-fifties, if I had to hazard a guess—with graying hair combed into a tight bun and sharp features. The final effect is a severe, no-nonsense look that makes me wary of getting on her bad side.
The man, on the other hand, appears to be in his thirties. He has dark skin, closely cropped black hair, and eyes that glimmer with suppressed mirth. He isn’t smiling now, but the lines around his face indicate it’s something he does often and frequently.
Who the fuck are they? And how do they know Raymond?
“…nothing of importance,” the woman is saying in a curt voice befitting her appearance. Her lips thin even more, a brutal slash of pink on her face. “You need to give us more, Raymond.”
Ellie’s uncle runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m working on it.”
“We’ll do some digging on the names you gave us,” the other man says. “But, fuck, man. We can’t keep covering for you like this.”
“Why do I have a feeling you know more than you’re telling us?” The woman’s beady eyes narrow on Raymond’s face.
“Marsha, don’t be ridiculous,” Raymond scoffs.
The woman—Marsha—huffs and sticks her nose in the air, her nostrils flaring, as if she just smelled something particularly pungent.
“I don’t know whose pocket you filled to get this position, but so far, you’ve been giving us nothing.” Marsha dusts an imaginary piece of lint off her suit jacket’s sleeve. “This…operation of yours has gone on long enough, and we’re not getting any results. If anything, our suspects have mysteriously gone missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now would you?”
“Marsh, enough,” the other guy snaps, throwing Raymond an apologetic smile. He turns back to the woman and frowns. “Think very carefully about what you’re accusing him of.”
Marsha doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns on her heel and stomps back to the car, throwing open the passenger side door and slamming it once she’s safely inside. Through the slightly tinted windshield, I can see her folded arms and fierce scowl.
The other man steps up to Raymond, and the two of them converse for a few more minutes, their words too soft for me to hear. But I’m not sure I’d even focus on them if I had the ability to. I’m struck dumb by the exchange I just overheard.
Who is Marsha?
What did she mean?
Just who the fuck is Raymond working for?
Unease settles in my gut like a heavy boulder.
I need to get the fuck out of here. Now.
I begin to sneak back out of the office, a plan already formulating in my head. I’ll head back to my room, pack my stuff, and then sneak out when Raymond’s least expecting it. Right now, he assumes nothing’s wrong.
But where will you go?
The sly, bitter voice in the back of my head reminds me I have no home to return to, no family who would greet me with open arms.
That doesn’t matter. You can figure it out later.
I’ve just turned into the lobby, still clinging to the shadows, when a light opposite me turns on.
And Raymond’s gaze latches unerringly onto me.
