Ghostwriter

Chapter 15

Red Hood takes the blindfold off my face once we step into the site. Paranoid, much?

I frown at the cement floor of what looks like a giant garage. What if Colton scrapes his knee? Red Hood—Jason--- walks ahead of me, still wearing his hood. He put it and the mask back once we got out of Barbara's place. It's cold in here; the air conditioning is turned off.

He and I carry duffle bags filled with stuff we grabbed from my apartment, but he carries more because I'm still limping a bit from the wound on my leg. Colton sleeps in a blanket that I wrapped around my torso. Red Hood shoves open a door and ushers me inside.

It's not much better in here, but it is a tad warmer. There's too many child hazards for me to count. A gunrack sits the wall, but there's no guns (yet). Dust covers the place. I squeeze and start to worry about germs and babies and doctors and bills. Colton sniffles, and I shove my shirt over his face.

"Haven't used this one in a while. I save it for special occasions." He sets the bags down on the table, and I copy the motion. "Obviously, there's no leaving for you until it's safe. Don't touch my guns or my gear. No cell phones or internet. But other than that, have at it."

No leaving? No cell phones? But what about when Maja dies and Hill needs me? What about my job? Or my apartment?

He sees my mouth open to ask, but he shrugs. "Deal with it."

Wonderful soulmate material, right there.

Good thing Red Hood (Jason?)'s not mine.

I refocus. One step at a time. First order of business: making sure Colton doesn't die from dust intake. "You have any paper towels?"

"Maybe somewhere. I'll need to go out and grab stock." Red Hood walks into the kitchen area and bends down. He fiddles with the area under the sink.

Alright, second order, then: set up a safe space for Colton. I scan the space, looking for the most child-friendly section.

White sheets cover most of the furniture. I walk over and pull one off to reveal an old red couch. A couple pillows line the cushions, and the area's considerably less dirty than everywhere. I brush off the area with my hand anyway.

I rearrange the throw pillows into a small, rectangular blockade, then unwrap Colton from myself. I swaddle him in the blanket. I set him in the middle of the pillow-pen. He snuggles into the pillows and slumbers.

I unload some of Colton's formula into the fridge. At least the electricity's on.

"Bedroom's over through the living room on the right, doll." Red Hood wipes his hands then jerks his thumb to the right. I wonder if he's going to take the helmet off, but I decide not to ask since I'm sure I would get a cocky reply instead of an answer.

The door to the bedroom is ajar. I creak open the door and step inside. There's a single window, but the curtains are drawn. White sheets cover everything, I slide them off and fold them, placing them in an empty corner. I sit on the mattress. There's no sheet or blanket. One squashed pillow lodges at the top, sinking beneath the copper bedframe's head piece.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rub my calf.

There's another door to my left that leads to a bathroom. A wardrobe—not a closet—stands like an old regal queen, facing me. It's wood chips around the edges, and it needs a paintjob, but the curves demand attention and speak of its forgotten beauty. It's the only other piece in here aside from a tall lamp. I walk over and open it, only to shriek when two brown bats zip out.