The Portrait of Amélie

Scarlett

We made it to the airport and got on our plane late at night. I bought some gummy bears for the ride.

As I drifted off to sleep and tried to convince myself that we would find the painting and be home soon. I groggily woke up and remembered where I was. My watch read 1:00 A.M. As I glanced out the window, I noticed that the lights from the buildings and street illuminated the city, much like the lights in New York did.

"Thank you for flying JetBlue." The flight attendant announced as the wheels on the plane slid down the runway. We grabbed our stuff and got off the plane and out of the airport.

Once we made it to a hotel, my phone rang again. "Hello." said a mysterious-sounding voice that sounded similar to the last mystery caller.

"Hi," I responded tensely.

"Come to Hollywood Roosevelt tomorrow morning if you want the painting"

"Huh? O-okay."

"Hey Gwen," I said, "someone told us to go to the Hollywood Roosevelt for the painting"

"Oh. Well, might as well try it."

When I woke up, the morning sun shone intensely through the window. I liked how it was different from only seeing skyscrapers against an overcast grey sky. I checked the time, and it was already 10:00 A.M.

Gwen soon woke up too and we packed up our things and left the hotel. I looked up directions to the Hollywood Roosevelt and got a cab. Cabs were much harder to come by in LA than in Manhattan so it took almost 20 minutes. Finally, we walked into the hotel lobby and found the same strange man from the coffee bar gnawing on another pickle on a couch. He indicated to us to come to him. We hesitated and after checking our surroundings multiple times, we walked over and sat down. Who is this guy?... wait was he the one who called us? I thought.

"Shalom," he said in an accent I couldn't identify, "I have been expecting you."

Gwen looked at him and glanced at the pickle he was holding.

"I am the great, the powerful, the amazing, the incredible, the..... Uh," he said, "um the great, the powerful, the amazing, incredible, Sir Stanley!" It then dawned on me. Pickle man had a part-time job as a taxi driver! I proclaimed.

"Wait, so are you a cab driver or master criminal?" I questioned.

"I am a news reporter!" he responded enthusiastically.

"A news reporter?" I questioned.

"Yes. I am doing a piece on the missing painting."

"Gwen, let's stop wasting our time with this guy." I said, though still suspicious, "He's just a news reporter."

"Then why did he make us come all the way to LA?" Gwen questioned.

"Because I have information," he interrupted.

Scarlett and I glanced at each other before looking at him and telling him to continue.

He eventually told us about a journal and where to go to find it. He told us to go to Kansas where we can find a journal in a section labeled 'HISTORICAL' in the Garden City library.

"How do we know we can trust you?" I asked.

"I'm all you've got to find this painting. So if you are not going to trust me, who are you going to trust?" He replied shrugging and walking away. We glanced at each other and watched him walk outside into a cloud of mist. Clutching our bags we left the train station.

Author note:

Hey heyy. This part is a bit short but I hope you enjoy it anyway.