Call Wolf

Chapter Sixteen

LieS

The room was way too cold. The light streaming in through the windows was blue and harsh, clearly from the moon, and caught stray dust particles as they wafted through the air. Undisturbed. Dead.
Maria raised her head.
"Hello?"
She looked down at her hands pressed against the mattress and then felt the familiar sheets as she wiggled her toes. She was back in her room in the Den. Not for all the pennies in the world could she figure out why.

It wasn't long until something began nagging her. Even as she laid her head back on the pillow, feeling drained, the thought wouldn't allow her to sleep. Neither did her bladder.
Trying not to think too much about it, Maria forced herself to swing her feet over the edge of the bed and then, wobbly and disoriented, blindly stagger to the door. She knew the bathroom was five metres ahead, the third of four doors. Her body mindlessly brought her forward. Maria reached for the handle. Opened. It took a few seconds for her to realize she'd opened the wrong door. Then another five to process what she was looking at.

The room looked like something out of a conspiracy theorist's lair. Papers were everywhere, stacked on the floor forming huge piles, photos too hard to make out in the dark were pinned to the wall along with red thread and in the middle was a small desk. On top it sat an empty mug and a thin, brown file.

Maria knew she'd probably walked into something she wasn't supposed to know existed, but that instantly made it all that more allouring. She looked behind her, hearing the rest of the Den completely silent, and then took a step forward. Then another one. Her careful steps had soon brought her to the far-end wall and she squinted at one of the photos pinned to it. Attached was a thread leading somewhere else, perhaps to another photo.
It was a man. No older than herself but with a look in his eye as if he'd aged tenfold. He was looking into the camera, his face sunken in and tinted blue. The photo brought chills down her spine. Underneath was a note attached by tape with a word scribbled in black ink: "Threat?"

She put her index finger to the thread and moved away from the photo. It was a bit too haunting for her taste and in the darkness she could almost feel the man's eyes following her. Her naked toes stiffened against the cold floor but she didn't dare start a fire, too scared of getting caught.
Maria followed the thread to another photograph, this one so blurry that she had to move a glowing fingertip up against it to see properly. It was the same man but not beaten and bruised, this time accompanied by a woman. They were kissing. Around them were tall houses and streetlamps illuminating the night. The photo seemed taken from afar, the person holding the camera hidden behind something as if not wanting to be seen. Maria's finger lingered on the couple and she almost got lost at the sight of such tenderness. Then she noticed the note underneath, this one not as vague: "There are two of them."

Once again, Maria followed the attached thread. She walked past the room's window then a vase just barely avoided by her reaching steps, and then stopped. Her fingers moved to this photo as well.

This photo was taken outside a window. The night was incredibly dark but from the window came a warm hue. It was Christmas -- Maria could tell because a Christmas tree had been put up inside the house. Around it was a family: two men and five women, some drinking and some having a laugh. Kids were scattered around them, babies and teenagers.
Maria's eyes shot open; a gasp passed her lips. Closest to the window was a woman holding a candle. The tip of her index finger was burning.

Maria's breath was gone by that point but her eyes still moved down to the attached note. This one was simple, but invited a stampede into Maria's mind: "Thousands."

She backed away. The thread continued but she couldn't bring herself to look. Something hit against the back of her knees and she quickly put her hand down to steady herself. Maria felt the thick paper against her fingertips and had identified it before she could think straight -- the file.
"Please," she murmured to herself as she turned around, grabbed the file in her hands. "Please no."
She let it fall open.
Her own face looked back at her.
The photo had been taken when she was sleeping. A soft stream of black smoke ringled past her parted lips before dissipating into the air. Her hair was messy and big but had been moved as to not cover her face.