T.N - Chapter 21

To say that Heathcliff and Charlie were a mess after the trip would’ve been an understatement. Their eyes were bloodshot, they couldn’t walk properly, and any comprehensible speech through their slurring was punctuated by drunken laughter.

What on earth did Heathcliff drink? He normally avoids alcoholic drinks like the devil; he knows he makes an absolute fool of himself when he gets even the smallest glass of alcohol. The only times I’ve seen him drink was if he needed the courage, or if he was tricked into it. Either the Dragon had some impressive persuasion skills (I wouldn’t have been surprised) or he was tricked. Either one was possible.

“The bedrooms are this way,” the Dragon called over the boys’ laughter. “I suspect you’re tired. Come along!” For some reason, I don’t know whether it was my imagination or not, but I thought that the Dragon’s voice had softened a tad, and he sounded almost fatherly.

I glanced over at Wolfgang. He had a mixed expression, and I could see hints of jealousy, surprise and a bit of joy. He shook his head quickly, and then started after his father. I had to hurry after him so I wouldn’t be left behind. Who knows what the terrorists would think if they saw me by myself.

By the time we caught up, the Dragon had already deposited Charlie and Heathcliff in a room. I peeked into the room, and saw them sound asleep. Charlie was sprawled on the bed across from Heathcliff, who was curled up into a fetal position. I shut the door quietly behind me, and I saw the Dragon beckon me over to a room. Wolfgang had disappeared somewhere.

“This will be your room. Wolfgang will be placed in another room. I noticed you two didn’t seem to be very…comfortable together when you came out of the truck. I'll send some clothes over. You can't sleep in the dress you'll be wedded in!" He laughed.

"Thank you very much." I know I was in an interesting situation, but you must show gratitude when it's due.

He looked me over, and I felt rather vulnerable. I was by myself, in front of a man that could easily kill me if he wanted to. Instead of killing me, he just gave me a small, sad smile. "Don't break my son's heart," he said softly, brushing past me.

I watched him disappear around the corner. I tried to remember if I've ever seen Wolfgang's mother during the conferences that our parents had had in the past. But nothing came to mind.

I sat down on the single bed, taking in the room's decor. The walls were butter yellow, softly lit by the various lamps placed around the room. The floor was made of hardwood, matching the desk across the room from where I was.

It was an interesting writing desk, very antique, and well loved. I stood up to look at it more closely. I could see scratches in the wood, and ink blots where the ink well had tipped over, or a pen wandered off the page. There were a few drawers also built in, and so I tried to open them.

The first few I tried were stuck, the wood swelled up from old age and moisture. Finally, I found one that actually opened. There were a few pens scattered inside, and a book with an unlabelled cover. I picked it up, and found it was quite small, and the pages were well worn. Some of the corners were dog-eared, and a ribbon hung out of one of the sections. I opened it to where the ribbon marked its place. I found a journal entry, dated to about 20 years ago:

Journal,

I don't know where to start. I've found out today that I'm pregnant with our first child! It was a joyous day for my dear, but I'm afraid that our child will have to take over the family business. I know it is useless trying to bring up the conversation again with my husband, but I wish he would go back to more...lawful pursuits. He is clever at disguising it, but I fear Damian North is catching on, and that we may have to flee. But I don't want to spoil my dear's happiness. He has wanted a child ever since we were married all those years ago.

We have already started discussing names. If it is a boy, I want to name him Wolfgang, but my husband wants to name him Sebastian. If it is a girl, I was thinking of perhaps Grace, or Hanna. He hasn't decided on any girl names yet, but he said that maybe we should name her (if it is a her) after myself.

I can hear my husband coming. I must sign off for now.

Your friend,

Laura

Someone started opening the door, and so I shoved the diary back into its drawer. A terrorist stood at the door, and he was holding a bundle of clothing. I took it from him gratefully. As he left, he shut the door behind him and locked it.

I quickly changed into the clothing. The jeans were a bit too long for me, and the t-shirt too baggy, but they were comfortable. I lay down on the bed and thought of the journal entry I had just read. Who did it belong to? I thought back to what the content was.

A wife to someone practicing something illegal (and hiding it from my grandfather), pregnant with her first child whom she wants to name Wolfgang...

It has to be the missing mother of Wolfgang.