Dear Delilah West

Chapter Nine

So we are back again. The old brick building looms out of the darkness at us as we creep silently along the deserted street. I start to feel nervous panic settling in the pit of my stomach. I turn to look over my shoulder for what has to be the millionth time on our journey; I have the constant feeling we are being followed. I don’t dare tell Missy though – it is most likely just me being paranoid. I get paranoid a lot, when I am alert. But sometimes, I get so wrapped up in my own thoughts, so absorbed in my feelings, that I wouldn’t realise someone was coming up behind me until they slapped me in the face. Now, for instance. I am getting very distracted.

We stop momentarily in front of the big, seven story building to have a quick look around, check for pursuers. We find no distinguishable shapes in the dark, hear no unnatural sounds. Nothing but the crickets chirping, an owl hooting in the distance – all those sorts of night time noises. And, of course, the faint sounds of the city in the distance. The Strip is so noisy at night that the loud, wild sounds emitting from it reach us here. I’m glad that at least those people are having fun. Happy that somewhere, people are feeling good, having a good time. I just wish that I was.

We sneak along the west side of the building, as we had a few nights ago. I hope desperately that this trip will be different from the last. Very different. I crave information about Delilah the way a small child might crave sweets; the way an alcoholic might crave beer, wine, spirits. The way a drug addict may crave heroin, or cocaine. This is my chance to satisfy that craving. I hope against hope that I won’t be disappointed.

Like last time, Missy pauses at the corner of the building and pokes her head around. She waves me forward after only a few seconds, indicating the way is clear.

We melt into the bushes lining the fence, staying in the shadows, but there is no need. There is nobody around. We creep along until we are in line with the second door from the east side of the building. The memory of Regina’s voice fills my mind, echoing in every crack and crevice.

“If you manage to get out of there alive, you could try one of the back doors. There are four. You want the one second from the left. Try the other way first, though. It is much, much easier, and more efficient. Crawling through pipes in the middle of the night, without making noise, is very difficult. Make one sound, and you’re dead.”

Unfortunately, I happen to be quite a noisy person, and I am bound to make a sound. Multiple sounds, in fact.

Missy presents a solution to that problem, as it so happens. We sprint across to the door and find it unlocked, slip in, and look around us briefly. We are in a storeroom, as Regina had said we would be.

Missy turns to me.

“Sam,” she says quietly. “I think it would be better for you to stay here. No offence, but you’re going to get us caught.”

I just nod.

“If someone is coming,” she tells me, “hide. And if someone catches you, rap three times, as hard as you can, on the air vent – the metal part – so I’ll know that something is going on. I’ll rap if I find trouble, and you run, okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiles quickly, and pulls a piece of folded paper from her pocket, and unfolds it. I recognise it as the map of the air pipes that Regina drew for her, when she was instructing us on how to get to her husband.

Together, Missy and I pull a desk – storerooms hold more odds and ends than any other room in the world, I swear, the things you find in them – and we drag it under the hole in the roof. Missy climbs up onto it and removes the vent cover. She looks back.

“Good luck,” I say.

“Thanks,” she replies. “Same to you, Sam.”

I flash her a grin and she winks, before taking a deep breath and hoisting herself up into the ceiling, through the hole. And, before I know it, the vent cover is back on and the very, very faint sounds of Missy making her way through the pipes have disappeared. I sigh, slithering down to the floor, leaning my back against the cold, hard, grey cement wall. Now I am on my own. Only God knows how long for.

Even I’m not sure how long it was. During the time, I dragged the desk away from the hole, putting it back where we found it – resting on its side against the wall – and I found a good hiding place for myself. I crawled into what looked like a large laundry basket, with a lid, and put it in the corner closest the vent before climbing into it and replacing the lid. If anyone walked in, they wouldn’t see me. I put myself near the hole in the roof because I wanted to be able to hear Missy if she rapped. I was hoping that she wouldn’t.

But of course, she did. How could we have ever expected an operation to go smoothly, in a place like this? I don't know how long I sat in that basket for – no less than two hours, but no more than five – before I heard three loud, very deliberate bangs on the metal above my head, but way over to the left side of the building. I panicked, but before I ran, I did a couple of favours for Missy. I pulled the desk over from its spot to underneath the vent, then stood on it and removed the cover. Then I jumped down, landing hard, the impact shuddering through my ankles, and followed Missy’s instruction.

Run.

I sprinted as hard and fast as I could, automatically retracing our steps there. I bolted up streets, dodging cars, and whipping around sharp corners, reaching the Sphinx Hotel in record time. People stared at me as I panted past, sweaty and red-faced, but I didn’t care. It was only as I reached for the door handle of the hotel that I realised: this was not a safe place to be.

I whirled back around and headed for the next place that came to my head. It didn’t take me long to reach my destination, although by then I was thoroughly exhausted. My knees shook and my lungs were burning, screaming for air. I bashed on the door and it opened, revealing a blonde woman in an apron, wearing a very shocked expression on her face.

I stumbled past, inside, and collapsed on Regina’s couch.