Chapter Fourteen: Secret Secret Room

Later that night, the guys left to settle a dispute down at the shipping yard, leaving me alone again with Dart and Teddy. A plan had begun formulating in my head the moment they announced they were leaving. I could bring Dart with me, escape from this nice albeit traumatizing place.

“Don’t even think about running away, princess,” Tommy warned me as he adjusted the strap on his arm sling, reading my thoughts. The guy was in no state to be up and about but he was a stubborn jerk, insisting that he go with the other two. “Teddy knows the rules. You can’t exit this house without one of us by your side.”

Of course, I was as obstinate as he was. As soon as I was sure they were far away from me, I stole to the kitchen pantry for some chocolate and granola bars before bundling a sleepy Dart up in my jacket and making for the front door. It was a single door, with a handle doorknob. The minute I put my hand on it, Teddy shot up from her relaxed position on the sofa, hackles raised, head lowered, growling at me.

“I’m going out for a milkshake, Teddy,” I lied, much to the dog’s chagrin. Teddy wasnt having any of my nonsense; she got up, padded over to me and bared her teeth. I shifted on my feet nervously and she snapped at me with a loud growl, the click of her teeth instilling the same fear Tommy set in me. Quick thinking. I faked left and went right but Teddy saw right through me, in front of me on lowered front paws in one move. She barked once, granting me a chance to back down before things got messy. I was glimpsing the nasty side of the otherwise lovable Teddy: flashing eyes, tense body, teeth sharp enough to puncture arteries and leave me bleeding heavily. A dog breed for looking after sheep and fending off wild predators. Of course, Kieran. Dart whimpered in my arms, disturbed by the older dog’s noises and my movements.

“Fine,” I relented, running a hand over the smooth fur of Dart’s head to soothe his uneasiness. “Be that way.”

I walked to the kitchen where Dart’s new bed was: a wooden crate with lots and lots of blankets. The small pup was snuggled up in my arms, head already drooping, worn out from his exciting day. Gently, I laid him down and stalked to the pantry again, a small room at the other end of the kitchen. Chocolate wasn’t as appealing as gummy bears and there was a pack of them on a shelf a head higher than me. I would take pleasure in chomping the chewy heads off, taking out my frustration on the miniature bears instead of the actual humans who were the source of said frustration. Standing on tip toe, I leaned on the wall shelves for support, fumbling blindly for the gummy candy.

The shelves swayed, unexpectedly, under my weight. This was a very unstable structure if it could barely hold me against it.

Then I noticed that it wasn’t swaying but in fact swinging slowly backwards, the way doors do. Startled, I stumbled back and watched as the entire wall with its shelves swung back, set in motion from the pressure my body put there, revealing a secret doorway. It didn’t have stairs leading down into a dark abyss nor was it musky or dusty or decorated with cobwebs. Rather, an LED motion-sensor light came on as soon as the door was opened. I peered inside, feeling a mixture of curiosity and unease.

Oh, well. If I couldn’t escape, I’d explore.

The short underlighting-lined corridor opened out to a raised, semi-circular platform of which the edges ended with five steps leading down to a lower level. I craned my neck to see beyond that, to the lower level which housed a room with thick glass walls that occupied more than half the floor space and beyond that was yet another short flight of stairs leading to yet another lower level. Neglecting to remember that there may have been booby traps or alarms, I walked right in like the intruder I was. The floors were made of cold, gray cement, as were the stairs. My footsteps didn’t echo like I expected them to.

The first I examined was the glass room. In it, there was a rectangular metal table, equipped with wheels and stoppers. Stainless steel, I assumed. To one wall was a fridge, the industrial kind, where one might usually keep their frozen peas and ice cream in in a supermarket though I couldn’t make out what was in it. A machine stood by the table on another, smaller metal table and next to it, another. A trolley had been carelessly pushed into the wall, various metal bowls and instruments lying upon the surface and other unknowns in the gleaming drawers tucked beneath it. I pressed closer to the glass wall, frowning, wondering why all this stuff seemed familiar.

To my left, right at the edge of the room, was a door, glass like the rest of the glass room but with a metal handle. I was about to move towards it when it hit me.

This was hospital paraphernalia. A simple operating table, a heart monitor, defibrillator, oxygen tanks, oxygen masks, those breathing machines that pump air into one’s body, that pole-like thing with wheels that’s used to hold up an IV bag. I blinked, disbelieving.

“Whoa,” I breathed, pressing my palms flat against the glass. It looked like a coarsely put-together operating theater. Again, I was tempted to push open the glass door, itching to run my hands over the machines, to fiddle with the knobs and buttons because I’d never seen these things in real life before. I'll even admit it: I’d all love to play doctor, acting important and pretending to save imaginary lives.

A soft beeping sound beckoned to me, taking my desire to play with the machines and turning it into curiosity for the incessant noise. Pulling my gaze away from the pristine-looking, probably anti-bacterial smelling room, I looked down towards the lower level, curiosity peaking. Another five steps separated the floor I stood on from the lower, split floor, which seemed to be the main reason for the secret room.

I jogged down the few steps and came to level with curved tables arranged in a semi-circle. Various monitors and keyboards sat a top the tables. There were flash drives scattered around, CDs with their reflective sides turned up resting on top of them, crumpled paper. A few machines – little boxes that were the size of two Bibles stacked up together – blinked with a blue light. Two well-used office desk chairs were tucked into the empty leg spaces beneath the tables. To my right, five feet from the wall, was another table, its surface littered with oddly shaped gadgets, tools and strangely, letters. Behind that table was an entire wall plastered with pictures, maps and notes. SUSPECT WALL it read in red right at the top. Detective movie much? I wandered over to a row of three file cabinets that stood in one corner, not too far from a stack of storage boxes.

It didn’t have any locks on it. I slid open the first drawer easily, its rollers gliding smoothly along the metal tracks fitted to the inside. Several colour-coded file edges peered up at me, their bodies thick with paper contents. I let my fingers dance over the top but didn’t bother pulling any out to examine. Something else had caught my attention.

On the last wall was a doorway wide enough for two sumo wrestlers to walk through at the same time. Peeking out from it were some very interesting things. With a rather wary glance around at the room, I advanced towards the inviting doorway.

+++

Only a few pieces of Honey Stars were left floating around helplessly in my milk as they awaited their doomed fate of being scooped up by my spoon and into the chasm of my mouth. I’d ploughed through most of the box of cereal in the past fifteen minutes and was ready for something other than honey flavoured milk. Maybe some dried berries. I think I saw some stashed away in the pantry just now.

Just as I was about to get up, Tommy shuffled into the kitchen, his movements sluggish as though his bones were weighing him down. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to hide the fact that I was surprised at his sudden appearance and silently thanking the gods my snooping was long over.

“What are you doing back here?” I asked warily, stupidly. Last I checked, they had only been out for a little more than an hour.

“Says the victim,” he retorted with a look. Well, not a look. The look. His look. Really, Tommy only ever wore one expression. That little realization made me think of Danny and his expressionless mien. A chill slithered down my spine, much to my disturbance.

"Sorry,” I mumbled, gaze lowered. Guilt or even fear should have been biting at me considering the fact that I was eating in his kitchen and had brazenly questioned him in his own house, not neglecting the fact that I was utterly alone with him. Strangely, all I felt was . . . sheepish.

How odd.

Tommy moved, settling heavily into a chair across the table from me. He grunted as he moved his arm to rest it on the table. Unconsciously, I drew my arms protectively around my bowl, as if he could hurt my Honey Stars. What was left of them anyway.

“Do you want anything?” I ventured cautiously, not wanting to spark his fire.

“A drink.”

Hastily, I pushed back from the table and hurried into the pantry, frantically searching for the coffee. The shelves were spilling over with packages and packets of every size and colour, merging to form a kaleidoscope of bizarre patterns in my vision. Despite my frantic rush, I was able to locate the packet I'd been searching for – a black and gray one. Cradling my victorious finding to my chest, I scurried out only to be stopped by Tommy’s flat voice.

“Tea.”

“What?”

Not bothering with redundancy for my sake, he added, “I don’t drink coffee.”

Grumbling, I tramped back into the pantry, this time in search of tea. That was relatively easier to find compared to the coffee because it occupied an entire shelf. Green tea, jasmine green tea, lemon infused green tea, English breakfast tea, black tea, Oolong, Darjeeling and just about any type of tea that came to mind was there. One could be spoilt for choice here. Deciding against asking Mr. Grumpy McGrumpface for his preference, I grabbed a random box and backed out once more.

“What kind of gangster drinks tea?” I muttered, flipping the switch to turn on the electric kettle.

“The kind that lets his victims roam about free in his house,” he responded in kind. I shut up after that, proceeding to pour boiling hot water over the tea bag that rested in a thick ceramic mug. Then, like a submissive maid, I dutifully carried the steaming mug over to the table and set it down in front of the wounded leader.

“Master,” I couldn’t help but murmur subserviently. Tommy reached for his tea without acknowledging me. I slinked back to my seat and watched him. It was weird, staring at a guy while he sipped tea but I had no qualms whatsoever. Somehow, watching him brought up a contradicting sensation of calm in me, so I kept watching, until he desisted in his sipping and locked gazes with me. Startled, I jerked back, nearly tipping my chair to the ground.

As a way to recover from my embarrassing reflex, I blurted, “What’s your deal?” then clamped my hands tightly over my mouth. Tommy blinked, keeping his eyes trained on me. He didn’t lash out at my misbehaviour. I tried pushing my luck.

“Why are you back so soon?”

The corner of Tommy’s lips twitched, I noticed.

“Why hasn’t Teddy attacked you yet?”

“Hey, I asked first,” I complained. Then I swallowed, realizing I might have just sealed my own fate. Conversing with him was like walking in a field filled with landmines. One minute you’re fine. The next, someone could be scraping your bloody parts off the ground with a spatula. You’ll never know what to expect.

To my pleasant surprise, Tommy just wrapped his hands around his mug. Did the heat not sting him? I thought back to the cold wind blowing in through his windows. Does this man not feel things?

“My house, my rules,” he stated simply. Arrogant prick.

“Fine,” I groused. “I tried. Teddy was built to attack bears and I’m way more docile than a bear. The odds were stacked against me.” I lifted my gaze to find Tommy staring idly into his cup. “Your turn.”

At first, he just continued the stare-off with his tea, seemingly ignoring me. I slurped my milk noisily on purpose, to draw his attention. When it seemed as though he had no intention of sharing his part, I stood up to bring my bowl to the sink.

“The guys sent me home,” he said softly, voice almost as vulnerable as last night when we spoke. “Said I needed to rest.” I was perplexed at the tone he used. People only spoke that way when something bad happened and it was their fault it happened.

Not a second later, his visage altered.

“Go get some sleep,” he said to me, off-handedly.

“But – “

“Go, princess.”

Inexplicably unable to go against his commands, I deposited my bowl in the sink and went straight upstairs.