Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Twenty-Six (Pt. 2)

Besides some slight bumps and jerks, we had a considerably smooth landing for a military chopper. Based on Layla, we had landed in an open grassland, which was just a few miles away from the safe house. She also said there would be a car waiting to bring us in. The sky was dark when we got out, but I spotted our ride at a distance. It was a black Cadillac.

Despite my recent brush with a killer chauffeur, I got into the murky sedan without any complaints. "So," I whispered to Layla as she came in through the opposite door. "Tell me this isn't one of the perks of being a federal agent."

"Contrary to common belief, we don't always get this kind of rides often, you know? It's public transport most of the time." Layla gave me a yeah-I-know-that-sucks smile.

We reached the so-called safe house five minutes later. It was an ordinary-looking worn-down pawn shop (its sign being 'Humphrey's Pawn Shop'), and despite the darkness, I could make out the dirty mould stains on the long-unfurnished exterior walls. This building looked older than...I don't know, the Colosseum or something.

"C'mon." Layla was beckoning at me. I followed her in. It was a small but totally legit pawnshop. There were rows and rows of shelves displaying all kinds of random pawned items, ranging from an old kitty basket to some golden butt plugs.

Wait a minute. Did I say butt plugs?

The shopkeeper was a long-bearded, bespectacled old man. When we entered, he was perched on a flimsy ladder, shuffling through some ancient books on the upper shelf by the counter. Without even a glance in our direction, he slurred out lazily. "He's in the basement."

I wanted to ask Layla whether if we'd came to the right place, but before I could do that, she was already marching past me without a word. Burying my doubts and turning to my instincts instead, I hurried after her.

There was a door at the back of the shop that said 'STOREROOM'. Like it made perfect sense for the staircase to the basement level to be located in a dark, dusty storeroom, Layla pushed the door open and disappeared into the void. I trotted along, no doubt less enthusiastically.

There were no lights, but Layla had a torch ready. Plus there was also the stream of light that drifted in through the opened 'STOREROOM' door, so it wasn't exactly Mariana Trench in there. I saw some bookshelves, and some even more random stuff stored in boxes all over the place.

Layla, however, was more interested in the bookshelves. She shone her torch along the rows of books, swiping her fingers over each one of them as she did.

"I never thought you were a fan of literature," I commented, clapping my hands together. "Who is your favorite? Thomas Hardy? Mark Twain? Jane Austen? The Brontë sisters?"

"Jane Austen," Layla replied distractedly.

"Oh really? Emma, P-and-P or S-and-S?

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but speaking of alphabets, I'll suggest you watch your P's and Q's," Layla advised as she plucked out a tattered copy of Sense and Sensibility from the shelf.

All of a sudden, there was a deep rumble, and half of the bookshelf swung apart. Did I say 'swung'? More like 'creaked slowly and noisily'. When the shelves had finished their creepy greeting, they revealed a dungeon-like cobblestone staircase behind.

"Shut. Up." I gasped.

Of course. Sense and Sensibility―the key to opening a hidden bookshelf-door. Makes sense.