The Stairwell by M. M. Silva

Author:M. M. Silva
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2013-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

AFTER BEING CLEARED THROUGH SECURITY, I noticed all the guests were guided to the right of the sweeping double marble staircase. A sign there indicated the direction to the east ballroom. East ballroom? It needed a directional indicator? Did that mean there were also north, south, and west ballrooms as well? Good grief.

The guard who’d spoken to me ushered me off to the left where there were two very large, ornately carved wooden doors, probably imported from some remote corner of the planet where special wood is grown just for extremely rich people. In front of the closed doors were several three-foot metal stands with thick, purple velvet ropes hanging loosely between them.

“This must be the V.I.P. section then?” I asked my escort, trying to calm my nerves as he unhooked one of the ropes. He gave me a tight smile but didn’t respond. Rather, he brought his shoulder to his mouth and spoke in low tones into a microphone I hadn’t noticed on his immaculate lapel. I couldn’t make out what he said, but I was certain he told someone the subject was in hand and to prepare the guillotine or the dungeon or whatever they had in store for me.

I took a quick glance back at the security area and saw my three friends. Doob’s mouth was agape, Kayla looked concerned, and Jeff was speaking to one of the guards and pointing at me. The guard shook his head at Jeff and motioned for him to move along.

I turned back around to face the music. My guide-slash-captor ushered me down a hallway that would rival any grand hotel at any locale in the world. Like the staircase, the floor was white marble with brushes of a muted feathery silver color throughout. Hanging every ten feet from the high ceilings were crystal chandeliers with multiple layers, and above the wainscoted lower half of the walls was artwork undoubtedly worth beaucoup bucks. Between the priceless paintings, sparkling mirrors brightened the long hallway. The entire area gleamed and glittered, so it would have been easy to miss the tiny cameras mounted throughout, but thankfully I’m a crack detective. The child in me wanted to wave at one of them, just to say, “Hi, I see you watching me,” but I restrained myself.

We arrived at another massive double doorway, this one made of some type of white material that looked less like wood and more like ivory. I studied the doors as my escort knocked softly. They’d probably been hand-carved out of elephant tusks from Borneo over the period of twelve years by some poor skeleton-like-figure making two cents an hour.

The whole grandiose place reeked of wealth and omnipotence and was so ostentatious I found myself irritated. I guess going from Eileen’s modest home and her sad story to this over-the-top castle with directions to a ballroom burned my ass. Or maybe I was grouchy because I arrived at the gala on offense, and now I was being put in the position of playing defense.

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