Chapter 6
The rain drummed a relentless rhythm against the rusted roof of the Maplewood Central Bus Station, a cavernous, poorly lit terminal smelling of diesel exhaust, stale coffee, and damp wool. Elena clutched Leo’s small, cold hand tightly as they navigated through the crowds of weary travelers and stranded commuters. Behind them, keeping a sullen and reluctant distance, Clara trailed in her wet golden satin top, cursing under her breath every time a puddle splashed against her tailored grey pants.
The heavy brass key felt like a lead weight in the pocket of Elena's beige blouse. According to the engraved numbers, Locker 142 was located in the subterranean luggage level near the old loading docks—a secluded zone where security cameras had been out of commission for months.
"This is completely insane," Clara hissed, catching up to them near the top of the concrete stairwell. "Dragging me down to this filthy bus station because of some stupid metal key? I have a hair appointment at four, Elena. You're wasting my time."
"If you have nothing to hide, Clara, then why did you follow us all the way from the property office?" Elena snapped back, not slowing her pace as she descended into the damp gloom of the lower level. "You could have gone home. You could have gone to your hair appointment. But you're terrified of what's inside that locker."
"I am not terrified," Clara shot back, though she flinched as a distant announcement echoed over the PA system. "I'm just tired of cleaning up the messes your irresponsible family makes!"
Leo looked up at his mother, his eyes wide and anxious in the dim overhead yellow light. "Mom, is Uncle Julian going to be down here?"
"I don't know, buddy," Elena said softly, squeezing his hand in reassurance while her own heart hammered against her ribs. "Just stay close to me, okay?"
The lower level was deserted save for a row of rusted metal lockers lining the water-stained concrete wall. The air tasted of ozone and old dust. Elena walked down the row, her eyes scanning the faded black numbers until she found it: 142. The small padlock securing the door was unlocked, hanging loosely from the metal latch as if someone had just opened it and left it waiting for her arrival.
Elena stopped in her tracks, her hand hovering just inches from the swinging metal door. Clara stopped beside her, her breath hitching in her throat as she stared at the dark interior of the locker.
May you like
With a deep breath, Elena reached out and pulled the door open.
Inside sat a single leather briefcase splattered with dark, dried stains, and resting on top of it was Julian’s favorite silver wristwatch, ticking loudly in the dead silence of the terminal.
