Page 20 of The Celtic Resolution
“A woman of many talents,” Bruno says with what sounds like real admiration in his voice.
“You don’t get out much, do you?” I say, climbing to my feet.
“Prison, remember? This is the most excitement I’ve had in years.”
“And what an upstanding citizen you’re proving to be.” I shoot him a smirk and unholster my gun. “Come on, stay close.”
Bruno pulls out his own weapon, and I want to tease him about the gun I dismantled and trashed last week, but we’re inside now and silence is imperative. There’s no telling what we’ll find.
The hallway is dimly lit by a single light bulb flickering overhead. Two closed doors line the left wall, while the right only has one just in front of the stairs. Bruno and I exchange a glance and he moves toward the door on the right. I take the one on the left. We might be here together, but it’s safer to split apart when we have no idea how the other operates. One wrong move and we could get each other killed.
Behind my door is a dusty sitting room filled with furniture covered in dust sheets that have yellowed with age. Threadbarecurtains cling to the window, allowing several streaks of moonlight and streetlight to trickle through, painting an array of patterns on the walls. Peeling wallpaper and a thin, worn carpet add to the sorry state of the room. I wrinkle my nose against the stale smell of old cat piss that radiates through thick, dusty air. No one’s been in here for years, it seems.
At the far end, on the other side of a worn sofa with the seating sinking so deep into the floor that the dust sheet has slipped, is another door. This one creaks loudly as I push it open with my gun held high, but the next room is as abandoned as the first.
The kitchen has an oven with the front door missing and a fridge with no door on the top section. The bottom door hangs at an angle in the darkness. Several countertops have been ripped out, exposing old piping and wires, and a single table on three legs rests against the far wall under two filthy windows.
Empty.
I drag my tongue over my teeth as footsteps outside the next door send my heart rate skyrocketing, but when I lift my gun to the door, it’s Bruno who sticks his head through.
“Anything?” he whispers.
I shake my head. “You?”
He does the same. “Old bedroom with a hospital bed. Like some oldie lived their last here and been empty ever since.”
Did Bruno’s contact lie? I shouldn’t be surprised. The words of a drunkard are hardly to be trusted, but I was hoping we’d finally make a breakthrough. Either that we’ve come on the wrong day and whatever we’d hope to find simply isn’t here.
Then, the floorboards overhead creak and a sprinkling of dust rains down on both of us.
Our eyes meet.
Tightening my grip on my gun, I follow Bruno out of the kitchen and up the very creaky, very rickety stairs. Each step isslow and careful as we both try to balance our weight in ways that reduce the creaking of the wooden floorboards. Luckily, we make it to the top without alerting whoever is up here, but I’m drenched in sweat by the time I join Bruno on the landing.
He shoots me a concerned look, and I wave him off with a roll of my eyes. The air here is so thick with dust that it’s a wonder he’s not sweating as much as I am. My heart continues to pound frantically as we approach the only closed door in the entire upstairs hallway. The other two rooms don’t have a door and we clear them with a quick glance. Bruno moves to the right side of the door and keeps his weapon close to his chest—whoever is on the other side is in for one hell of a surprise.
Hopefully, they’ll have answers.
I raise my leg and kick hard near the lock, sending the door crashing open with a creak of metal hinges and a splinter of weak wood. The door bounces off the opposite wall and shudders back toward me, so I throw out my hand to block it when we charge into the room.
There’s no threat here. No people with guns ready to fight back, no crates of weapons or misplaced drugs that shouldn’t be here. There’s nothing but six dirty, thin mattresses spread out across the floor. Each one holds a naked woman in various states of consciousness.
Bile rises in my throat at the sharp, acidic stink clinging in the air and the lack of reaction from the women to our presence. Bruno darts forward immediately and presses his fingers to the throat of an unconscious woman. The relieved slope of his shoulders tells me what I need to know. Everyone is filthy and bruised, with messy hair and streaked faces from countless tears. They’re all drugged, judging from their lack of reaction and the track marks on their arms.
So. These are the dolls.
“Shit,” Bruno says, and he sounds pained as he climbs back to his feet. “I knew and yet… it doesn’t prepare you.”
“No,” I reply stiffly as I glance at each victim in turn. “It really doesn’t.”
It didn't take long to get my people here and each of these women is taken straight to the nearest hospital. One woman in particular, a blonde woman with rose tattoos down one arm, takes a liking to Bruno and latches on to him when he carries her out of the house and into the waiting ambulance. Her frantic distress when he tries to leave her inside only amplifies the pain he can barely keep from his face, so he agrees to ride with her to the hospital. I have my people search the house from top to bottom to make sure no one is left behind, then I follow the last ambulance in my car. Within two hours, the place looks completely untouched. It’s like we were never there.
The doctors have their work cut out in treating the victims, and since none of them are in any fit state to talk, I put them all on my card to ensure they get the best treatment possible. Bruno waits for me out in the parking lot looking as drained as I feel.
“You good?” I ask as I approach.
He rests against the hood of my car, minus his leather jacket. Last I saw it, he’d placed it around the shoulders of the blonde victim. His hair has lost a lot of its volume and he reminds me of a sad puppy left outside for too long. It pulls my heart in a different direction, but when his eyes meet mine, he smiles softly.
