Cinders of the Conspiracy

Chapter 8

Room of Secrets.

With careful but methodical movements, Silas inserted the key into the lock. The slight scratches surrounding the lock were a quiet tribute to its past, and the tarnished brass doorplate read 214. Standing right behind him, Eleanor's eyes darted to the dark hallway and her breath was shallow.

Silas pushed the door open as the latch snapped, revealing a dimly lit room. The slight mustiness of inactivity blended with the subtle scent of stale cigar smoke. The room itself was simple, consisting of a desk with one chair pulled out, a dresser, and a bed that was well made. It was simple, but it exuded a sense of secrecy.

"Are we sure this is the right place?" Eleanor murmured.

With a nod, Silas entered. A minor scuff mark on the floor near the window, an ashtray full of lipstick-stained cigarette butts, and a small stack of papers on the desk were among the features he saw as he looked around the room. Shutting out the unpredictable world outside, he locked the door behind them.

He pointed to the documents on the desk. "Begin there," he suggested softly. "Search for anything related to Hartwell."

After a moment of hesitation, Eleanor went to the desk. She rummaged through the papers, a collection of letters and receipts with the same handwritten initials: C.H. Her fingers were shaking. Her heartbeat accelerated. She inhaled, "These belong to him."

In the meanwhile, the dresser caught Silas's eye. One by one, he opened its drawers, but until he reached the bottom drawer, nothing caught his attention. Beneath a pile of crisply folded clothes was a tiny, secured package. Its weight suggested significance as he brought it up to the light.

"Eleanor," he cried in a strong, urgent voice. Her eyes widened as she turned to see the box.

She inquired, "What's inside?"

Placing it on the desk next to her, Silas looked at the lock. His response was bleak. "We'll find out soon enough," he said. The weight of discovery was bearing down on them both, and he could feel the tension building in the air.

Under Silas's fingertips, the cold, smooth surface of the closed box sat menacingly on the desk. Eleanor hovered close by, her interest aroused, her nervousness scarcely disguised. Her voice was shaking as she asked, "Do you think it's important?"

"There's only one way to know," Silas whispered. He took a thin knife from his pocket and inserted its edge into the little opening in the box's lid. After a moment of resistance, the lock gave way with a gentle click that reverberated across the otherwise quiet room.

Inside, a pile of glossy photos shone in the dim yellow light of the room. Silas placed them out on the desk after gently removing them. Eleanor recognized the faces in the pictures and gasped, putting her hand to her mouth.

Hartwell was seated at a circular table with three other men, all of whom were dressed sharply in suits, in the first picture. A lavish setting with chandeliers and exquisite artwork served as the backdrop. As he examined their faces, noticing the resemblance in one of the men's features, Silas's brow furrowed.

"These are strong individuals," Eleanor muttered. “Are they not politicians?”

Slowly, Silas traced the border of one face with his finger as he nodded. He whispered, "That's Senator Thompson." And Judge Barrett, that man there. Both are surface-untouchable.

Eleanor's tone became stern. "Not if these are released."

A folded piece of paper dropped out from among the pictures. A scribbled letter read, "The deal goes through next week," as Silas unfolded it. The key is Thompson's permission. Don't allow it to collapse.

Eleanor squinted her eyes. "This demonstrates Hartwell's influence."

Silas's face grew serious. His voice was low as he said, "This is bigger than we thought." "But it's riskier as well."

The slight creak of footfall in the hallway halted their discoveries. They both froze and exchanged a powerful look.

With tense muscles, Silas moved toward the door as the sound of footsteps outside increased in volume. With his finger pressed to his lips, he gestured Eleanor to remain silent. Her hands gripped the desk's edge for balance, and her face was pale.

Suddenly, right past the threshold, the sound ceased. Silas listened intently, picking up the faint sound of voices. One voice stuck out, a low, familiar rhythm that chilled him to the bone, and his breath caught.

He murmured to Eleanor, "Stay here," and she nodded, her huge, terrified eyes bursting.

Just enough to get a glimpse of the corridor, he cracked open the door. A few steps away, two men stood, one of them with a phone to his ear. The man, with his hands in his coat pockets and his back to the door, exuded a sense of threat despite his stiff posture.

Silas turned to Eleanor and silently shut the door. "We have company," he remarked somberly. "They are keeping an eye on this location."

She hardly raised her voice above a whisper. "What are we going to do?"

Silas's mind was racing with thoughts. "We must depart. Right now.

Eleanor hesitated as they collected their findings. "Silas," she uttered in a tremulous voice. "Do you believe that some of your coworkers might be involved? Those from your history?

Her question struck a nerve, causing Silas to freeze. His jaw tightened as he looked into her eyes. His voice was filled with wrath as he said, "I don't know." "But we're in more trouble than we thought if they are."

They were startled into action by the sound of a doorknob turning down the corridor. Eleanor was dragged toward the window by Silas, who took hold of her hand. "We don't want to wait to learn."

The cold night air pricked their flesh as they climbed out onto the fire escape. The discovery weighed heavily on them as they dropped, and they became increasingly aware that their enemies were getting closer.

Silas was stopped in his tracks by the distant sound of approaching footsteps. He curled his palm into a fist and hovered it over the photos. Eleanor's eyes widened in panic as she looked at him. She looked toward the door and murmured, her voice shaking, "Someone's coming."

Silas put a finger to his lips and gestured for her to keep quiet. The slow, methodical beat of the footfall got louder, echoing in the small hallway outside. The floorboards' creaking sounded louder than it should have, a menacing alert to their intruder's approach.

As the tension increased, the shadows in the room grew deeper. Silas's thoughts were racing as he looked about for alternatives. He fixed his gaze on the window's fire escape. His voice was hardly audible as he turned to Eleanor. "We're heading out. Right now.

Silas slipped to the door while Eleanor nodded and gripped the edge of the desk for balance. He strained to hear the intruder's next move as he put his ear on the wood. His assumption that they were being pursued was verified by a low mutter and a gentle tinkling of keys.

The knob on the door shook.

Silas wheeled toward Eleanor as she screamed and gestured quickly toward the window. She hurried, her hands shaking as she slid the sash open. The distant hum of city activity was carried by a gust of frigid air that rushed in. Grabbing the edge of the fire escape, Silas swung out, his boots clattering lightly against the metal grates. Eleanor climbed through and he steadied her with his hand.

The door behind them exploded open as they vanished into the night. Silas was so focused on helping Eleanor down the escape ladder that he dared not turn around. The sound of their pursuer's voice calling out from above caused their breath to cloud in the cold air and their hearts to race.

With his hand firmly grasping Eleanor's to slow her descent, Silas guided her down the final rung of the fire escape. The faint light created long, slack shadows on the brick walls as they landed in the alley below. Silas breathed in short spurts, but his mind was alert, looking for a way out.

"We must move," he insisted, pulling Eleanor in the direction of the small alleyway that led to the main street.

A figure materialized at the top of the fire escape before they could exit. The man was in the shadows, but Silas felt a rush of adrenaline as he saw the metallic shine of something in his palm, possibly a weapon. His muscles tensed with preparation, he pushed Eleanor behind him.

The man's low, poisonous voice echoed down. "You ought not to have interfered."

Eleanor's words was almost heard as she gripped Silas's arm. "He wants the pictures."

Silas's mouth tightened. "Then give them to him," he whispered. He jerked the pile of evidence out of his coat and tossed it into a nearby dumpster. As he contemplated descending, the man paused, his body tense.

Silas seized Eleanor's hand and ran out into the street, taking advantage of the confusion. Their boots' steady hammering matched the frenzied pulses of their hearts as their footsteps reverberated against the small alley walls.

Eleanor slipped and almost fell as they approached a corner. With a hard yet delicate grip, Silas grabbed her. His voice was tense as he pleaded, "We can't stop." "Not just yet."

They blended with the wave of moving bodies as they dived into a crowd on the busy street. The alley became quiet behind them, and the man's figure was no longer discernible. Silas, however, was wiser. The chase was far from done, and their escape was only temporary.