PART 8: Shadows in Warehouse 42
The heavy metal doors of warehouse 42 stood ajar. A faint yellow light spilled from the inside onto the wet concrete quay, where the harbor water gently lapped against the stones. Lisa and I pressed our backs against the wall, listening to the sounds from within. There was the monotonous hum of a generator and the muffled voices of two men dragging something heavy.
"Are we sure the coast is clear?" sounded a deep, rough voice from inside. "Yeah, that mother is at the police station or wandering around the station. We won't see her back until tomorrow morning." One of the men gave a dry laugh. I felt fury course through my veins; they thought they had won. I looked at Lisa, who was trying to calm her breathing.
"How do we get inside without them seeing us?" I whispered. Lisa pointed to a high, open ventilation grille on the side of the building, just beneath the roof. "We can get onto the metal gallery via that ladder over there. But it's high and dangerous." I didn't hesitate for a second. My child was in there. I grabbed the metal rungs of the ladder and began to climb, ignoring the coldness of the iron. When I was almost at the top, I heard the screech of brakes below. A car stopped with squealing tires in front of the warehouse. The doors flew open, and a familiar, cold voice echoed across the quay: "Where is the baby? The plans have changed, we're leaving right now!" It was Mrs. Kramer.
