Chapter 17: Watch Night
1416 Words
Ella
“Ella, you're such a fool. You met Adrian just once, and you feel you should trust him?" I mumbled angrily to myself.
The workspace Victor had prepared for me looked like a cross between an art studio and a high-security prison cell.
I saw canvas, brushes, paints, and charcoal. Everything I needed to get the job done was available, apart from freedom.
I ran my fingers along the smooth surface of a fresh sketchpad.
If Mom could hide messages in her art, so could I. However, I need to be smarter and more careful. Victor wasn't some amateur collector; he looked like someone who had been in the game his entire life.
"Think, Ella," I whispered to myself, settling onto the uncomfortable wooden stool. "What would Mom do?"
The answer came to me like a whisper from her grave. She'd document everything. She would document every face, every conversation, and every detail that could bring this monster down.
I quickly got to work. I started with a simple landscape, rolling hills, and flowing rivers that looked innocent enough. But hidden in the curves of those hills were the measurements of the basement corridors I'd memorized during my brief walks to the bathroom. The flowing rivers? Guard rotation patterns I'd noticed during my captivity.
"Guard change at 6 AM, 2 PM, and 10 PM," I muttered under my breath, disguising the timing in the positioning of birds in my sketch. "The night shift guard 1 is Luke; he is tall and has a scar on his left cheek. He drinks coffee every hour. Guard 2 is Tommy; he is short, he makes a nervous laugh, and he checks his phone obsessively."
The door creaked, and I quickly flipped to a fresh page, starting an abstract pattern.
"How's our little artist doing today?" Luke startled me. His voice was cheerful, but it wasn't real; it was all fake.
"I'm just peachy," I replied without looking up. "Nothing says ‘most creative princess’ like being locked in a basement
Luke chuckled. "You've got spirit, you know; Victor likes that."
"Yeah, well, Victor can…" I caught myself before saying something that might earn me a dirty slap. "Victor has interesting taste."
"You are a smart girl, Ella. Just keep that attitude in check, and you might actually enjoy your new life."
"New life indeed. Where exactly am I going, anyway? Victor's been a bit vague on the details."
"Certainly above my pay grade, sweetheart. But I hear it's somewhere exotic. You'll love the weather."
"Hmmm, you think it's better than here?”
"Of course it is. I hear those guys are the rich men of the city. They have no use for money, and they spend it at will without blinking an eye. I envy you, girl.”
"Well, if you say so." I kept sketching, avoiding his gaze.
“I see you have a deadline to beat. Bye for now." He waved and closed the door behind him.
I immediately went back to my coded journal and continued from where I stopped. Every sketch I made was a piece of evidence.
It was very difficult to capture Jon, Maya, and Sophia. Could they be spies, too? Victor had mentioned something about them doing his bidding. This is so frustrating; there's absolutely no one to trust.
"You think you're so clever, don't you, Ella?"
I spun around to find Tommy standing in the doorway, and he had a wide grin on his cold face.
"I'm sorry?"
"Drawing your little pictures, thinking no one notices." He stepped closer, and I caught the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne. "But I see everything, sweetheart. I see every damn thing."
"I'm just drawing, Tommy. It's what artists do." I replied, trying to stay calm. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs
"Yeah? Then explain why you spent twenty minutes staring at the door hinges yesterday."
Shit. I had been examining the hinges, wondering if they were the type that could be removed from the inside. "I was thinking about perspective lines. You know, for my drawings."
"Hahaha. Funny,” he laughed nervously. "Perspective lines. Right." He moved closer to my sketchpad. "Mind if I take a look?"
"Actually, I do mind." I clutched the pad against my chest. "Artists are superstitious about showing unfinished work. They say it's bad luck."
"Bad luck, huh?" Tommy's hand moved toward his belt. "You know what's really bad luck? Trying to escape from Victor Dane."
"Who said anything about escaping?" I tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. "Where would I go? We're in the middle of nowhere."
Tommy studied me for a long moment, then shrugged. "Just remember, sweetheart, Victor's got eyes everywhere. And I mean everywhere." He tapped his temple. "Even the walls have eyes in this place."
After he left, I sat trembling for several minutes. The walls have eyes. Security cameras. I'd been so focused on the human guards that I'd barely considered electronic surveillance.
I looked up at the corners of the room, searching for the telltale glint of camera lenses. There it is in the northeast corner; it was partially hidden behind an air vent.
But I'm sure they wouldn't see what I'm doing. The angle of my easel blocked their view of my sketchpad.
I had to be more careful, but I couldn't stop. These sketches might be the only evidence that survived if Victor's plan succeeded.
Over the next two days, I developed a system. During the day, I worked on innocent landscapes and still lifes for the camera. But at night, by the light of the single desk lamp, I added my coded messages.
The worst news came when I overheard Victor on the phone outside my door.
"Yes, the Kozlov transaction is confirmed for tonight... No, the girl doesn't suspect anything... The Moscow flight leaves at 11:47... Yes, all four packages will be ready for transport."
Four packages. Jon, Maya, Sophia, and I. We were all being shipped out tonight.
My hands shook as I began my most important sketch yet, a detailed portrait of Victor that included everything I'd learned about his operation. In the background were patterns; I encoded dates, times, and financial information I'd overheard.
But as I worked, I suddenly realized that even if someone found these sketches eventually, it might be too late, and by the time anyone decoded my messages, we could be halfway around the world.
“Ella, you need a backup plan,” I whispered to myself. I looked around the room, and my eyes caught the mattress. It was quite old with a torn seam.
I carefully tore out the most important pages from my sketchpad, the ones with the most damaging evidence encoded in their patterns.
I slipped them through the tear in the mattress, spreading them out so they wouldn't create obvious lumps.
I had just smoothed the mattress cover back into place when I heard footsteps in the hallway. Quick, light steps that I recognized immediately.
“Could it be Alice?
I dove for my easel and grabbed a brush, pretending to work on an innocent flower painting. My heart pounded so hard I was sure whoever it was would hear it through the door.
The footsteps stopped outside my room. Then the lock clicked.
Victor stepped inside; his sharp eyes immediately scanned every corner of the workspace.
"Working late tonight, I see," he said with a rather cold voice.
"Couldn't sleep," I managed to say, not trusting myself to say more.
He ignored me and walked slowly around the room. He paused at my easel and studied the flower painting I was sketching. I think he wanted to find out if I had encoded something in it.
"Lovely work," he murmured. "Though I notice you've torn some pages from your sketchpad. Artist's mistakes, I suppose?"
My mouth went dry. "Yeah, just... practice sketches. Nothing worth keeping."
"Hmm." Victor's gaze shifted to my bed, and I watched in horror as his eyes fixed on the exact spot where I'd hidden the journal pages. The torn seam in the mattress was barely visible, but Victor had the eyes of a hawk.
He took a step toward the bed.
Then another.
"You know, Ella," he said, never taking his eyes off the mattress, "Marcus mentioned how impressed he is with your... attention to detail."
My eyes went wide as he reached for the mattress.
"s**t! Could this get any worse?" I mumbled.
- Writer
