Chapter 15
Ez carried me down a very dark block before he finally set me down to open the doors to what looked to be an old fashioned root cellar. A root cellar? Who had a root cellar in the city? Didn’t those things go out of style about a hundred years ago?
The door was barely opened a crack before I was shoved in. The door slammed shut behind me.
I fell onto the stone steps and felt pain shoot through my knees. Damn, my knees were never good and they could not take abuse like this. I heard the bolt, which he’d pulled back to throw me in, being slammed closed.
“You frisk her?” Uri’s voice asked.
There was a slight pause before Ez grunted in affirmation. “Good,” Uri said. “Let’s get hunting.”
Frisk me? Ez hadn’t frisked me. Why had he lied?
Thoroughly confused, I eased myself to my feet and was greeted to a tiny, flickering flame from an old oil lamp. Really? An oil lamp? Who used oil lamps in this age of technological marvel? It was probably some crazy who thought using outdated equipment meant getting closer to his roots, roots which he was liable to set on fire with his oil lamp.
By the light of the oil lamp, I was able to stumble my way down the steps to a group of women, girls, who had also been captured this hellish night.
The girls, most of which appeared to be underage, were all clad in club clothing, though what club they could have thought they were going to was beyond me. Clubs were very strict at keeping the underage out. If caught, either by the mob or the berries, they could be shut down, burned, or the owner killed. So where had these little girls been going so late?
As I got closer to them, they huddled together even more, acting scared that I might be with the ones who’d thrown me in here with them.
I gave them a disgusted look, which I knew they wouldn’t be able to make out well in the dimness around us, and pulled my phone out of my pocket.
“Typical,” I griped. The one time I really needed reception, I had got nothing. Turning back to the girls, I said, “Any of you have reception?”
“They took our phones before throwing us into this dungeon,” one of the older girls said. That must be why Uri had asked Ez if he’d frisked me, to stop me from calling for help. With as busy of a night as this one, however, he must have forgotten. Ez hadn’t sounded like the brightest bulb in the shed, so I guess it wasn’t that surprising.
“This isn’t a dungeon, it’s a root cellar,” I said absentmindedly as I took in my surroundings. The six girls filled up the small space almost completely. If Uri and his friends brought in any more girls, we’d be packed in here like sardines.
“Have any of you found a way out?” I didn’t hold out much hope they’d say yes, otherwise why would they still be here?
“We haven’t found anything except this grate,” their spokesperson said. “Move away so she can see.” There was some shuffling of the girls before I saw what she was talking about.
About a foot above the ground was a very ornate, Steampunk looking ventilation grate which was about a shoulder’s width long and tall. (The grate’s ornamentation reminded me of the Steampunk style which was portrayed in the highly popular tv show called Lost in the Past, where a group of space dwellers fell through a blackhole which took them into the past. The show itself was only marginally interesting to myself. From the little I did see, I was fascinated with the architecture and ornamentation they portrayed on everything from buildings to clothing. This grate reminded me of this embellishment which has sadly gone the way of the past. They really didn’t make things as nice as they used to.) I rushed to the rectangular grate and put a hand in front of it, feeling the flow of cold air coming at me.
“If we can get the grate off,” I said, feeling around the edge, trying to find some way to release the grate, “we can get out of here.”
“But you don’t know what’s on the other side,” one of the girls whined. The whining grated on my nerves. I’d always hated those who whined. “It could lead nowhere.”
“And what harm would that cause?” I asked. “Or do you want to be sold into slavery, prostitution, or worse?”
“What’s worse than slavery and prostitution?” another girl asked.
I wanted to groan in pain. These girls were children. Babies even. And it was up to me, as the adult, to get us out before Ez came back.
I kept feeling around the grate, noticing that it wasn’t firmly attached to the stone of the wall, but there also wasn’t much give. I could get about a finger under the edge, but that was all the space I was given.
Sitting back on my heels, I thought. What could I do to pry the grate off the wall? What I really needed was a crowbar or a screwdriver. But I never carried those with me. But I did have a knife – never left home without it.
I reached down and was about to pull the knife out of my boot when I paused. Why should I use my stuff when these girls might have something we could use – and break – instead? Not moving from my place, I said, “We need something to pry this grate off the wall. Does anyone have anything thin, like a knife or screwdriver?”
“I have chopsticks,” one of the girls said, pulling said chopsticks from her hair and passing them to me. I looked down at them and saw that they were made of stainless steel, not plastic. Perfect, I thought.
“I need one of you to stay by the door and listen for anyone coming. I need another person to hold the oil lamp by me so I can see what I’m doing.”
“You’re going to get us killed,” the girl who’d been so pessimistic before said. The others ignored her and did as I said. Two girls went to the cellar door while another grasped the light off the hook and brought it over my head.
“Oh, you’ve finally figured out what’s worse than slavery and prostitution? Good for you, but right now I have to get us out of here.”
I strained my eyes, trying to see the gap I knew had to be on the side of the grate, but the light was just too weak. “This isn’t going to work,” I said, sitting back on my heals. I looked at the girl holding the lamp. “You got a phone?”
The girl shook her head. “They took them all before throwing us into this pit,” she said.
“Right, forgot about that. Then we’ll use the light from my phone. It’s got to be better than this piece of crap.” Now I knew why everyone had flocked to electric lights when they’d been invented.
The girl set the lamp back on its crate and grabbed my phone from my hand. She tilted it over my head, illuminating the grate much more than the oil lamp ever could have.
Under this light, I slipped one chopstick on the right side of the grate, getting it easily in place. “Hold this,” I told Miss Pessimistic. Her shaking hands took the chopstick. Maybe she wasn’t as confident and hardnosed as I’d thought.
The second chopstick was harder to get into the side of the grate than the first one had been. I worked and twisted the stick, trying to get it in every which direction I could come up with, but nothing seemed to work.
I was just about ready to scream in frustration when the person holding the light said, “Let me try.”
I gladly changed spots with her. If she could get it in, she was welcome to the glory. All I wanted to do was get out of this hellhole.
The girl had just started working on the grate when one of the children by the door said, “Someone’s coming,” and rushed away from the door. I put the lamp back on its hook and made everyone stand in front of the grate, hiding Pessimistic, who still held the chopstick behind the grate.
I needn’t have worried, however, for Ez just threw his latest victim into the cellar as he’d done with me, closed the door, and walked away.
The girl who’d been thrown in looked petrified, but we didn’t have time to hold her hand and tell her everything would be fine. We needed to get out of here before dawn, or whenever they happened to come back to move us whatever came first.
The girl who’d taken over trying to pry the stick into the grate began to frantically work, jabbing
the stick here and there.
I watched her work, willing her to be more successful, but I stayed silent. Yelling, crying, or even noise in general, wasn’t going to do any of us any good.
The girl was successful faster than I’d expected, soon she had the tip of the chopstick under the metal grate.
“Good,” I breathed, exchanging the lamp for the chopstick. “Now, on three we pry it off the wall. One. Two. Three.”
I pulled with all my might on the chopstick and I saw the grate bow out a little.
I kept pulling, along with the other girl, expecting it to come off at any moment.
The girl suddenly stopped pulling, breathing heavy. “It’s not going to work,” she panted.
“You give up too easily.” Were all girls so easily discouraged? What was happening to today’s youth?
“Move out of the way,” the girl who’d gotten the chopstick into position for me said. “I’ll do it myself.”
The girl really put her heart and soul into pulling on the stick, trying to get the grate off. I went back to work and after a few minutes of pulling, I heard the scrape and groan of metal ripping away from stone.
I felt the grate loosen a little. Dirt and crumbled stone fell to the floor. The middle of the side of the grate where the stainless steel chopstick was pulling on it like a stainless steel hook, (which it had become by now because the steel had bent some at the tips, creating a hook which allowed us to pull easier, with the end of the chopstick working as a handle we could grip) was bending beautifully. In fact, such wanton destruction of property had never been more gorgeous than it was at this moment when I could almost taste freedom just a few pulls away. “Come on, come on.”
With one big pull, my side of the grate came off. I fell to the floor, suddenly exhausted. But after a second’s rest, I got back to my feet and went to help the girl who was still working on her side.
I thought about just bending the grate open enough so we could all squeeze through, meaning we wouldn’t be bothering with removing the entire grate, but dismissed this thought almost immediately for a few reasons. One, was that it would take a lot more energy than it was worth to bend the metal back enough to create the hole we’d need to get inside. And second, it was just simpler to take it off. We could pass through without the hassle of someone getting cut on a sharp edge or complaining the hole wasn’t big enough for them to get through. With the entire grate off, there would be no complaining because there was nothing we could do about the hole size, but with it on, they could complain to their hearts content until I finally snapped and killed one of them. So, all and all, it was just better to take the whole thing off, for everyone’s sake.
With the two of us pulling with two different chopsticks and a little help with our fingertips, the second side came off much easier. (In retrospect, we might have had an easier time getting this side off if we’d just wiggled the grate back and forth, thus loosening it from the wall. But at that second in time, I was more interested in doing what I knew would work, not taking a chance at what only might have a chance of working.)
There were excited murmurings from the other girls, but I stopped them with a glare. Now was not the time to make lots of noise and attract attention. I pulled out my own phone and put it into the vent, trying to see how far it went, but it was too dark to see anything.
“I can’t see what’s beyond the light,” I said, “but we’re going to have to take the chance. I’ll go first and –”
“No,” Pessimistic said, “I’ll go first.”
“Fine.” I didn’t put up much of a fight because I knew sooner or later we’d come to another grate and the first person would have to break through it all by themselves. If she wanted to take on that responsibility, she could have it.
I watched as she began to make her way, headfirst, into the dark shaft, the light from my cell phone barely enough to illuminate even a fraction of the vent. As children, they were so small boned I didn’t think they’d have any trouble maneuvering in and out, but for me, it was going to be a tight fit. And if the shaft got any smaller…I didn’t even want to think about what that would mean to me.
One by one I watched as the seven other girls left the dark cellar and crawled into the dark tunnel.
As the last girl disappeared, I began to make my way through the hole when something came to me.
When they returned, they’d know exactly how we’d gotten away if I didn’t do something to cover up the hole. Once inside, I wouldn’t be able to replace the vent, so I needed to move something to conceal it.
I tried to recall what had been in the cellar before I’d turned off the lamp and hidden it away and remembered seeing some barrels. If I placed them in front of the opening, Ez and his friends might not even realize the vent was there in the dark. Even if it only delayed pursuit for a few minutes, it was better than leaving an obvious exit revealed for all to see and follow. Anything I did to delay them was better than doing nothing.
Fumbling around in the semi dark, (for I did have my phone tucked into my cleavage, allowing me to get some light from it) I found the barrels and rolled them into place. When I finally had the hole surrounded, I squeezed back to it and began the painful processes of fitting into a square vent never meant for people.
I pushed myself into the vent shaft headfirst, ignoring the scrapes I got from the metal border the grate had been attached to and friction burns from dragging my hips against the sides of the opening. These were minor pains I’d nurse when I was safe. The hardest part to get through the rectangular vent shaft opening was my hips, for they were slightly broader than my shoulders. I had to twist and turn them, putting them at an extreme angle before they got through. I was just lucky that the vent shaft was wider than the vent opening, meaning I didn’t have to crawl through it sideways. Not much bigger, mind you, but enough so I was able to crawl normally and not hit my head every three seconds.
Once in, I crawled at a brisk pace, or as fast as you can go when you’re crawling entirely on your elbows, belly, and knees, all of which immediately started hurting, and tried to ignore the immediate claustrophobic feeling which pressed in upon me.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d been able to actually get into a high crawl, where I could use my hands to support me more so than my elbows, but what really bothered me was my knees. They’d already taken abuse tonight and repeatedly banging them on hard metal was not helping any. At times, they screamed out in pain, cursing they’d ever been attached to me, but I ignored them the best I could. If I wanted freedom, I had to suck up the pain and keep moving.
But the pain wasn’t the only physical discomfort I had to deal with. Do you know how difficult it is to crawl in low heeled boots, a short skirt, and a low cut top? If not, I’ll tell you. It’s very uncomfortable. The skirt kept riding up as I moved my legs. After the first few attempts at pushing it back into place, I gave up. It was just going to continue riding up and there was nothing I could do. It wasn’t like anyone was behind me to see anything anyway, so why was I trying to protect my modesty?
As for my boots, they were so slick soled that they got no grip at all. Frankly, I’d have been better off taking them off and just going barefoot, not that bare footing it was a good idea especially when I didn’t know what was in front of me, or under me, but at least I’d have gotten some traction, which was sorely lacking with these beautiful shoes.
If anything, the top was the least of my concerns because other than slipping down to show even more skin than normal, and riding up a little from the bottom, it stayed in place. While I’d have been much more happy to have a long shirt which wouldn’t have bared more of my skin to the elements, as long as everything stayed where it was supposed to, I was fine with the uncomfortableness I was left with.
As for the claustrophobia, I tried to ignore this too, but it was harder than I’d like to admit. The walls were right there, giving me no breathing space to even think about. It didn’t help that with every breath I too
k my chest would push against the floor of the vent and my back routinely brushed against the ceiling of the vent, enhancing the no excess space feeling. How I got through it, however, was by believing that instead of being in an enclosed space, I was in a larger space, going toward something. As long as I could go toward the exit, the vent wasn’t confined and I had a way out. This worked most of the time, but there were those moments when I could feel the walls pushing in on me. Thankfully, they were few and far between.
I was so quick in my crawling maneuvers in fact that I met up the rest of the group in a few minutes.
“Faster,” I urged them. “We haven’t got all day.”
“We’re going as fast as we can,” one of the girls whined, but with my constant prodding and urging, they picked up the pace.
I have no idea how far we crawled or how long it took, but it felt like we covered miles of dusty, dirty, bug infested vent shaft without ever coming out.
The girls kept complaining they were tired and they needed to rest, but every time I reminded them why we were in this shaft, they would go for a little longer without voicing their fatigue.
Finally, Pessimistic gave a cry of relief. “There’s a grate! And light!”
Excitement filled the air, but I burst that bubble fast. “We still have to get past the grate, and not meet anyone else, so don’t start celebrating yet.”
“How are we getting past the grate?” Pessimistic asked.
“There is no we. It’s you. Break it out.”
“But –”
“There are no buts. You wanted to go first. You get the responsibility the person in the lead always has. Get the grate down, make sure nobody’s coming, and hop out of the shaft.”
Pessimistic pouted, but my heart had long ago hardened to those who failed to help themselves. Or those who didn’t think about the future when they made hasty decisions, as she’d done.
When she saw nobody else would, or could, come help her, Pessimistic began weakly banging on the grate. The sound vibrated up the shaft, making me suddenly aware of how vulnerable we were.
“Try to be quiet!”
“You be quiet! I’m the only one doing anything to get us out of this horrible place!”
“Do you want everyone to know where we are? If you do, then keep on being loud!”
Pessimistic didn’t reply, but she was quieter with her efforts. I heard her grunting and groaning, but I didn’t hear the grate moving.
After a minute of no progress, I had to say something. I could feel time running out. “Can you turn around and use your feet to push the grate out?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty tight in here.”
“Oh, try,” one girl begged. “I feel like the walls are closing in on us! We’ve got to get out of here!”
“Fine,” Pessimistic huffed. There was much moving around and griping, but she was finally able to somehow turn around. I silently thanked my luck she’d insisted on going first. I’d never have been able to turn around in the shaft.
With her feet now in a good position to kick at the grate, the grate had no more resistance to give. After four or five powerful kicks, it clanged to the stone floor below.
All of us in the shaft held our breath. Would someone hear the noise and come investigate what it had been? If we were lucky, we’d be entering into some type of sewer pipe nobody cared about.
But…if it was a sewer pipe, wouldn’t we be smelling the scent of excrement and whatever chemicals were used to destroy said substance? And hear a splash when the grate fell into the unholy pool of poo?
There was no smell, other than the must and dirt which I’d become used to and no splash. Instead, I heard a loud clang, as if the grate cover had hit cement or brick. I was very grateful there was no splash or reeking stench of sewage because if there was, I’d have been in deep trouble. I didn’t want to be walking around in that stuff on the best of days, and those days would be in a hazmat suit with its own air circulation system. Could you imagine me walking around in a short skirt in this crap which would probably go up to my waist at the very least? I could and I shuddered at all the infectious diseases I’d have been wading through, so you could say I was very, very grateful not to hear a splash. In fact, the thud was such a beautiful sound which I was thanking my lucky stars for.
We waited for about a minute and when we didn’t hear anyone come running Pessimistic began to shimmy her way out of the vent.
I heard her feet fall to the ground, the sound like a gunshot in the shaft. A second later, she said, “It’s clear. Come one.”
One by one, the girls in front of me crawled out of the dusty shaft, until I was the last one left. Sticking my head out after slipping my phone back into my skirt pocket I took in my first good clean breath of air in what felt like ages. Two girls were there, grabbing my shoulders and arms, holding me steady as I tried to wiggle my way out of this sardine can someone liked to call a vent shaft.
Again, I made it all the way to my hips before I began having problems. “Maybe it you turn…no the other way…or what about…?”
“Damn. This hole must be smaller than the other one. You’re just going to have to pull me out,” I told them grimly after a few minutes of maneuvering which wasn’t getting any closer to freedom.
“But we could hurt you,” the girl on my left said. She looked absolutely petrified at the thought of hurting someone. Obviously she led a very sheltered life, for hurting others was unavoidable in the real world.
“Pull,” I ordered them. We were wasting valuable time. A little pain now was better than more pain when they found us.
The girls glanced at each other, trepidation on both their faces, before they gave halfhearted pulls on my arms.
“That’s never going to do anything,” Pessimistic screeched, storming over to them. “Here, you two take that arm and I’ll take this one. We’ll have her out of there in no time.”
The look she flashed me was positively primal. I saw she wasn’t afraid of hurting someone who stood in her way. They gave me one very strong yank, and I came out of the shaft as if I’d been lathered in butter.
But all was not well. Not only did I almost fall on my face, but my hip dug into the sides of grate and I felt something pierce my left side.
The girls helped me to my feet, and once up, I put my hand to my side, trying to feel if the cut was large or small. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to tell much without looking at the injury.
However, that would have to wait until we were someplace safe. I looked around and saw that we were indeed not in a dingy sewer at all, thank the Ancients. Instead, we were in a well-crafted, underground tunnel. The pointed barrel vaulted ceilings had to be at least ten feet tall at their peak, making them look cathedral-esque in their majesty. The cement walls, which encased us were smooth and without any of the normal flaws associated with underground cement work. In fact, they were so clean and beautifully white that I’d have expected them to be in a home or apartment instead of underground where nobody was able to enjoy them. This whole space seemed a shame not to share with the world, but that was how it always was, wasn’t it? The beautiful was hidden away while the bland and boring was out for all the world to see.
The ventilation shaft we’d fallen out of was probably one of dozens which allowed air into what would otherwise have been a stifling space. I could see little beyond the cone of light given off by the one light above our heads besides concrete, which faded into the ever-darkening shadows. The other lights remained steadfastly dark. They must have been motion activated. Or perhaps just burnt out. Who knew until we started in a direction?
“Which way do we go?” a girl asked. She was huddled against one of the others, looking as frightened now as I’d seen them in the cellar.
I looked right and then left, trying to come up with some direction. When I found nothing to differentiate one direction over the other, I decided to guess. I was just about to start the old rhyme about the Ancients and toes when I realized m
y phone was buzzing like crazy. Pulling it out, I saw that while I still didn’t have any reception, it was trying to tell me Meredith had traveled near my present location.
It all came to me suddenly. This tunnel must have been how she’d escaped the club and gotten around the brick wall.
Turning back to my phone, I saw we were only a few blocks from the nearest trolley stop. I could get them there, and then I could search this tunnel and find the jewels.
“This way,” Pessimistic said, pointing to the right.
“That’ll take us right back to them,” I said. “This is the way out.”
The six girls looked between the two of us, obviously unsure who was right.
“And how are you so sure you’re right?” Pessimistic asked.
“I have perfect direction. If we go this way, we’ll be at a trolley stop in a little bit. If we go that way we’ll end up under some club and you know what happens to underage girls at clubs don’t you?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I started walking the direction I’d indicated was the way out and after a few steps, heard the others fall in line behind me. A quick glance over my shoulder told me all six sheep had decided I was the correct one. Only the pessimistic sheep was standing there, looking after us. Her confidence, which had been so high only seconds before, was lying at her feet, ready to be shattered.
My sheep and I were only a few lights away from her before we heard her run to catch up to us. She never said a word, never gave an excuse as to why she changed her mind. She simply brought up the rear, acting huffy and unhappy.
Every step we took, my phone vibrated, letting me know I was finally on the right path. I looked around, hoping there would be more tunnels which would intersect this one, or someplace else appropriate to hide the prize.
All I saw, however, were ventilation shafts. So many in fact that they were too numerous to count and each grate was decorated and sized different than the last. Some had faces of realistic animals, while others were just representations of animals which may or may not have been alive at one time in the world’s history. Others were of shapes and lines so theoretical and conceptual in nature that you’d have thought an abstract artist had been given leeway to create them. These abstract grates were side by side with those of unknown people’s faces carved and created in such loving detail that you knew they meant something to someone. But whether those lovers of the unknown faces were alive anymore was the real question. I thought not or else they’d have been down here worshiping these faces, keeping them shiny and clean instead of dusty and cobwebbed covered.
The ones which weren’t recognizable were very ornate in a general sense with each made in a completely different shape and size than the one before them. Some were as tiny as my purse, and as perfectly circular as could be, while others looked to be the size of doors, rectangular to the point of exaggeration. There was no rhyme or reason as to why they were the size and shape they were. For some of the largest ones were near the ceiling, while the minuscule ones near the floor. If I’d been the one to design such a weird system of grates, I’d have done it the other way around, or else had a healthy mixture in their placement. But who knew the thought process behind the maker? I surely didn’t.
We were passing one when I noticed that the larger vents actually had what appeared to be handles and that’s when it hit me. These weren’t just ventilation shafts. They were doors connecting other tunnels to this main one.
How could I be so unobservant? I should have noticed that ages ago. But my mind didn’t stop at that feature. It kept going as if it were racing to catch up to the cheetah that had all the information on its back.
If these grates were also doors, then wasn’t it possible to hide a package just inside of the door, or one of the smaller vents, and nobody would notice?
This created a lot of territory, especially since she could have hidden it anywhere. I’d have to come back later with a microchip detector which was specially designed to pick up the small signals the microchips which were embedded in jewelry sent out.
(These microscopic microchips were placed in every piece of jewelry worth stealing. The cheap bobbles most people buy for their girlfriend or boyfriend weren’t worth the time or energy to microchip. But the expensive pieces, or anything over a couple thousand dollars, had a microchip embedded, enabling them to be found if they’re ever lost or stolen. This microchip detection system has cut down on the number of “stolen” jewelry claims by ninety-five percent, much to the insurance companies’ happiness.)
That did mean, however, I’d have to barter with Darius. (Darius was a good friend who was always willing to help a friend in need. Especially when it was beneficial to himself.) But he owed me a few favors. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him to lend me his detector for the day.
After a long while, the tunnel began sloping upwards. I could tell we were probably ascending to the street, so I had the others stand a little back and I went ahead. I didn’t want any of us doing anything stupid, like walk up on Uri, Ez, and that evil woman.
But my fears were for not. After going up a half dozen steps, I came to a very large grate, one that looked like every other sewer grate in the city. I peeked through the bars and didn’t see anyone.
I went back down the stairs to where they’d been waiting. “I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t be out there. Everyone stick together and stay quiet.”
We crept to the grate and I looked through it again, making sure it was still clear. I opened the door slowly, expecting screeching and grinding sounds, but they never appeared. Someone had oiled the hinges so they barely made a sound.
I got out and waved the others to hurry. While they almost trampled over each other, I brought up the map of trolley stops and came up with the direction we should go.
When the last person ascended, I shut the grate door, making sure to not close it all the way. I didn’t want to have to deal with the grate being locked when I came back later.
“Trolley stop is about a block away.” Dawn was now approaching and the streets would shortly become busy with morning commuters hurrying to their cubicled offices for another day of grinding and unthinking labor.
We ran toward the stop and as we got nearer, we saw the trolley come closer and closer. I started to yell at the driver to stop and the others followed my lead even as we picked up our pace a little more.
Our antics must have caught the driver’s attention because he stopped five feet away from the stop, opened the door, and waited for us to hurry aboard.
“No need to rush, little ladies. Would have been around again in twenty minutes.”
None of us answered him. I sat down at the first available seat, clutching my side even as I tried to get enough air to make the stitch in my side go away. My hand brushed my hip and pain shot through me. My injury. I’d completely forgotten about it in the rush to get to safety.
The movements of the trolley went by in a whirlwind. I don’t know when the children got off or what part of town they lived in and I didn’t really care. Our solidarity only went as far as the trolley. Once we were speeding away from danger, they were on their own. Hopefully they’d learned not to go walking at night in horrible neighborhoods.
I’d learned where Meredith had been and that was well worth the incident with Uri and Ez.
Finally, after my mind stopped swirling about, I began to pay attention to where I was and where the trolley travelled. Incredibly, if I got off in five stops, I’d only be twelve blocks away from Darius.
I’d go to Darius, he’d patch me up, I’d get the detector, and then I’d come back, in the light of day, and find my jewels.