Zac stood there, fists clenched.
Luke splashed his face with cold water. He poked at the green-yellow puffiness around his left eye, surprised to see it there; he’d become accustomed to a narrow view of the world and had forgotten about the black eye. He sighed. He understood that he should be feeling pretty wrecked, given what they’d just been through, but still, he couldn’t believe how tired he was. He’d planned on catching a nap, as Georgia was doing, but Zac’s sense of urgency was beginning to worry him. Why didn’t he feel that way too? He remembered feeling a pressure to discover who he was, but the drive had left him. He felt as though he was drunk.
He left the bathroom. ‘We’ll leave first thing tomorrow,’ he said to Zac. ‘But I really need to get some rest tonight.’
‘It’s only seven o’clock,’ said Zac.
Luke yawned.
‘I think she could be drugging the food,’ said Zac.
‘You’re paranoid.’ But the suggestion set off a tick in Luke’s mind. ‘Why would she do that?’ he said.
‘Maybe she knows who you are.’
‘How?’
‘How do I know?’
Luke shook his head. ‘It’s impossible,’ he said. ‘Even if she somehow knew who I’m supposed to be, how could she possibly be on the exact train we were on when we broke out of Dwight? I didn’t even know we were going to be on that train.’
‘Well, she’s up to something. Listen, you know how she told us that all her brothers are away at school? Well, I’ve heard something in that room she told us to stay out of.’
‘When?’
‘A couple of times,’ said Zac. ‘I reckon there’s someone in there.’
‘I doubt it. Why haven’t we seen them? They’d have to eat sometime, right?’
‘Well, Georgia’s in her room, asleep, or doing whatever she does in there,’ said Zac. ‘Come and listen for yourself.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
He followed Zac quietly up the stairs to the third level of the house. The doors to the two rooms they’d raided for clothes were slightly ajar. Georgia’s bedroom doors were shut, as were those of the off-limits room. They tiptoed towards it.
Zac put his ear to the door, motioning to Luke to do the same. Luke tilted his head close, feeling sort of stupid. What if Georgia walked out here right now? She’d told them to keep away from here.
He wrinkled his brow when he thought he heard a sound from inside, like maybe a door being gently closed.
See? Zac’s eyebrows asked him.
Maybe the sound came from outside, he thought. This room must face the street. He reached out and ultra-carefully tried the door handle. Locked. Hmm. Shouldn’t be a problem.
He turned back towards the stairs, motioning Zac to follow.
Back in his room, he went straight to the middle pillow and reached a hand into the pillowslip. He turned to face Zac.
‘You really wanna know what’s in there?’ he said, holding out the torque wrench and rake.
‘Are you crazy?’ hissed Zac. ‘No. I just wanted you to know that this chick isn’t telling us everything, that’s all. Let’s just get out of here.’
‘But aren’t you a teensy bit interested now?’
Suddenly, Luke felt much more alert. The locked door was a puzzle, just like the riddles online. He wanted to know what was behind the door.
He raised his eyebrows, asking without speaking, Coming?
Zac sighed.
They made their way quietly back up the stairs.
Circular Quay, Sydney, Australia
Samantha felt unnerved by the tall boy standing silently above her. He’d been holding that notepad out in front of him for several minutes. She didn’t want to touch it. How could there possibly be such a picture? Who had drawn it?
The boy had arrived right after she’d used the phone – had Sera sent him? Maybe he was the next part of her destiny. Maybe she was just crazy with fatigue. In any event, her bum was cold. She reached out her hand and the boy took it, pulling her up from the wet pavement.
‘Who are you?’ she tried again.
He twisted his full lips into a worried grimace and held the pad out to her. She took it.
He’d turned the page to a new picture. She felt a thrill jangle painfully through her stomach – excitement threaded with fear.
She recognised the railings bordering the harbour – she was standing right next to them. But there was no Opera House in this picture. What there was, though, was an image of herself standing next to the boy in the striped T-shirt, this time viewed only from behind. They stood facing a small structure, maybe the size of a phone-box, situated right on the edge of the water.
She looked up at the boy, frowning with confusion. ‘What is this?’ she said.
He pointed.
Her gaze followed his arm and she gasped. Maybe eighty metres from where they stood was the white structure from the picture. It resembled a miniature lighthouse. She hadn’t noticed it before, but given her extraordinary surroundings and the even more bizarre things that had taken place in them, this did not surprise her.
So – what did this mean? Was she supposed to go over there with him? She took another look at the picture.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
They reached the small building within a couple of minutes. She realised that it was not quite as tiny as it had seemed. She guessed that it was some sort of historical structure with a maritime purpose. It didn’t seem to be of much use – it was windowless and would fit maybe four people standing upright, and given that it was right on the edge of one of the most beautiful harbours in the world, it seemed to be pretty much wasted space. And whatever was in there was closed off to the world by a blue door.
‘What now?’ she said, looking up at the boy by her side.
She realised that someone viewing them from behind right now would be looking at the precise image captured on his notepad.
He reached into a pocket in his jeans and pulled out an old-fashioned key. He held it between thumb and forefinger, a question in his eyes.
‘You want me to go in there with you?’ she said.
I don’t think so, she thought. I don’t know you. Once we’re in there anything could happen. Maybe you think I’m some lost, naive little girl, but I’ve been running with Birthday Jones for five years…
At the thought of Birthday, the indignation melted away, leaving a residue of grief. Still, she wasn’t stupid. She opened her mouth to tell him to come up with another suggestion, and he gave her a lopsided, apprehensive smile. She supposed he was trying for reassuring. What he looked like was a kid trying to convince his mum not to take him to the dentist.
A train rumbled over the bridge behind them and she glanced up at it, startled from the moment by the sound. Rain began to fall again, spitting down onto her upturned face.
What the hell. She couldn’t sense any danger from him. She didn’t feel that he wanted to hurt her. And at least it would be dry in there.
‘Open it up,’ she said.
She watched him push open the door, and peered around his broad shoulders. It was nothing but a dark, empty room. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Maybe this could be a safe place to stay until morning; although it looked as though she’d be sleeping sitting up, given its size.
At least it didn’t look as though her night was going to get any weirder.
Shangri-La Hotel, Sydney, Australia
‘Harder,’ said Kirra Kiyota, draped in a towel, lying face down on a massage table in the penthouse suite of the Shangri-La Hotel. ‘I’m not going to tell you again.’
The Yakuza assassin massaging his boss cringed at the tone in her voice.
‘I’m sorry, Kirra,’ he said, applying more pressure to her petite shoulders and neck. He was stripped down to his waist, full-torso warrior tattoos the only thing covering his martial-arts-honed chest and arms.