I insert the screwdriver into the lock and wiggle it softly until the blade is between the tumblers. With a gentle push and a soft twist, the knob turns as easily as if Paxton had made me a copy of the key. Before opening the door all the way, I hold my breath for a moment, listening for movement ahead of me. The worst part of sneaking around is being caught by surprise. I would rather know my doom was ahead of me than be blindsided by it. There is nothing but silence ahead. Quietly, I pull the screwdriver from the doorknob and slip it back into my pocket.
I pull the door open all the way, relieved there is no squeak from the hinges. I hold onto the side of it until it closes silently behind me. I let out a sigh of relief and turn to find myself in the café’s old kitchen, though it isn’t much of a kitchen anymore. Sinks sit dirty and bare, and refrigerators stand open and unplugged. Dirt and a sticky slime is pasted against the walls. A roach narrowly escapes the destructive power of my boot as I take a step forward.
This place isn’t quite up to code, I think to myself. Of course, the kitchen has probably never been used by Paxton or anyone else here for that matter. I just hope it isn’t completely closed off to the main seating area where I will gain access to the stairs. I walk to the end of the kitchen and stand in front of a set of double doors that are meant to swing in or out. I take a deep breath and push against the right one softly but it doesn’t move. I try the left one, same story. Next, I try to slip my fingers into the small crack between the doors, and once I finally get a good hold on the left one, I pull it toward me. I’m relieved to see that only a table has been pushed up against the doors, and I will be able to sneak past it. I’m not taking my chances by crawling on top of it, so I hold the door open with my left and crouch to my knees. There is plenty of room for me to crawl underneath and to the other side, so I start to move slowly and I ease the door shut against the table.
The aged carpet beneath my palms and knees leave a grimy residue on my hands. The feeling makes my lip curl into snarl. When I get out from under the table, I wipe my fingers on my pants and scan the room as best as I can. The only light I have to work with is the moonlight, so all I can see are a few tables set up with three rows of chairs nearest the entrance. Closer to me, there is a single chair, probably where Paxton sits to address the committee.
My eyes go to the top of the front door and I feel relieved that I chose to go through the back. A single bell hangs over it, announcing to anyone in the building that a customer has arrived.
The stairs are to my left, and when I get to the bottom, I look up. The dark shadows loom over me as a warning for me to stay where I am and not to go snooping, but I ignore them and take each step with caution. The first stair gives off a short groan as it settles under my weight, but it’s the fourth step that makes my heart stop for a beat. It creaks loudly and slowly, and I know if I recoil, it will only sound louder. My teeth mash together as I look up, but I don’t hear any movement ahead. As long as Paxton remains sound asleep, I will be safe. I lift my foot; the step lets off a short squeak, but it’s not nearly as loud as before. The rest of the steps are silent.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I can see that the layout is much like the diner below, but has substantially more clutter. It’s an open room without walls in the middle or any doors but for a small bathroom in the back corner. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books line the spaces between the windows. There is a round, wooden table with five chairs around it, probably where the elders meet together. To the right of the table is the large desk that Gabe told me about. Jackpot.
I wait by the stairs for a minute and look up, listening for any sound or movement, but there’s nothing. I don’t really like nothing because that means there isn’t heavy breathing or snoring. But I suppose right now, nothing is better than something. As I walk slowly toward the desk, I keep my head up, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on any noise from above. To the left… to the right… silence, so I continue to walk forward. Finally, when I’m only a foot or so away from the desk, I can hear the faintest sound of breathing. In and out, in and out — I must be standing directly below Paxton’s bed.
I go around to the other side of the desk and slowly pull out the middle drawer. Gabe said that Lillian had mentioned putting in a request with someone called Shadowface. I shake my head at the thought. Someone that calls himself Shadowface couldn’t have had too many friends growing up. I smile at my own thoughts, but can’t help but wonder why someone would need to disguise himself… or herself. I haven’t been a part of this town for very long, but having secret dealings with someone that keeps his own identity a secret seems… shady. Part of me doesn’t care what these people do so long as I have a roof over my head, and food in my stomach. I’ve long given up on caring about the corruption of leaders and people that go on power trips. It seems to always lead to death.
I catch myself staring at the open drawer, forgetting to look through its contents. This happens sometimes. My thoughts take over my mind and I forget where I am. It can happen to me anywhere, at any time. I think about the last group I was with before I lost them. Two had been bitten. Another was eaten completely. Then I was separated from the last one in our group. I bite my lip and shake my head sharply.
How can I be so stupid? I can’t keep going into a daze like this. Those people are gone. I’ve got walls now. The greyskins are a memory. Now I can spend the rest of my days in Crestwood in peace.
I stare down at the desk and my heart beats like a drum in my chest. What am I doing? Why am I risking my future in Crestwood just so I can work as a soldier? Why do I even want to be a soldier? Shouldn’t I just be happy watching after those snot-nosed kids where I’ll be safe? What do I care if Gabe feels uneasy about some loser that calls himself Shadowface? It means nothing to me.
But I’m here now. The desk is right in front of me. I push aside papers and pens, looking for the journal Gabe told me about. I reach for the drawer to the left when my eyes see the drawer on the far right. It has a lock. I reach for my small screwdriver and insert it. I’ve always found that doors tend to have easier locks to pick than safes and drawers because of the size difference, but the drawer pops open after a few attempts.
I feel my eyes widen when I see a pistol lying on top of a stack of papers. I let my fingers clasp around the metal handle and admire the silver glint in the moonlight. I pull the magazine from the bottom and find it fully loaded. I shouldn’t take it. I know I shouldn’t, but my instincts force me to tuck it safely under my belt at my back. I feel like I’m too loud as I shuffle through the papers. It’s too dark to really see what all of them are, but I freeze when I see a small, leather-bound book at the bottom. I drop the papers to the floor and grab it. This must be the journal. It has to be. I flip open the pages, but there is no way I can read it here.