Chapter 5 The Red Photo Labyrinth

I staggered back from the door, my body sliding down until I collapsed onto the cold floor. My hands clamped tightly over my mouth, trying to suppress the sob or scream threatening to break free. Julian’s voice, shouting Felicia Vance’s name, still echoed in my ears, pounding against my skull like a hammer.

“What does that mean? Why is Julian looking for Felicia? Does he know my sister?”

Dark thoughts began spinning through my mind like a broken tape. Memories of the human trafficking conversation in the Chicago warehouse, Sarahh’s warning that I would be the “next victim,” and the way Julian had beaten those men in the hallway with his bare hands. Every piece came together into one terrifying conclusion. Julian was part of the system that had erased my sister.

I walked unsteadily toward the sofa, grabbing the sketch of Felicia’s face that Julian had seen earlier. I stared at the pencil lines, at her smiling eyes that seemed to look back at me.

“Where are you, Sis…?” I whispered. A single tear fell, staining the edge of the paper.

I stood and moved toward the large window overlooking the streets of Long Island City. Below, New York glowed like a living monster. Cars rushed past, people walked quickly, uncaring of anyone else. For a moment, I thought about packing my things and leaving this apartment. New York was too dangerous. Just like Julian.

But my hand froze when I reached for the suitcase under the bed.

If I left, I would lose the only lead I had on Felicia. Julian knew her name. Julian was looking for her. If I wanted answers, I couldn’t run. I had to get closer to the monster. I had to step into his world and steal the truth.

I wiped my tears roughly. I had to be brave.

I stepped out into the hallway, glancing left and right. No one was there. The blood I had seen earlier was gone, as if the brutal fight had never happened.

I walked up to the door of unit 401 and knocked softly. “Julian?” I called.

Silence.

I knocked again, louder this time, but still no response. He must have already left with Sarahh, to the “warehouse” or the “port” they had mentioned earlier. I exhaled and turned to go back to my unit when my steps froze.

At the end of the hallway near the elevator, three men stood there.

I recognized them. They were the same men from the warehouse in Chicago.

Instinctively, I spun around and ran toward the emergency exit.

“Hey! You!” one of them shouted.

Their footsteps thundered after me. Before I could reach the door, they surrounded me. I was trapped between the corridor wall and three large men reeking of cigarette smoke.

“Where’s Julian?” the man in the middle asked. A scorpion tattoo curled along his neck.

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my voice shaking. My knees felt weak.

“Don’t lie, sweetheart. We saw you enter this building with him this morning,” said the blond man beside him as he stepped closer.

“I really don’t know! We’re just neighbors!” I cried.

They exchanged glances, then smirked.

“Neighbors? Julian doesn’t have neighbors as pretty as you,” the man with the scorpion tattoo said with a low laugh. “Or are you his new toy? Brought to his apartment so he can use you whenever he wants?”

“I’m nothing to Julian! Move!” I shoved at the man in front of me, but he didn’t budge.

“Shhh… don’t get feisty,” the third man said, his rough finger tilting my chin upward. “Julian’s taken too much profit lately. Maybe our boss will be pleased if we bring you in to make up for last night’s loss.”

I raised my hand, ready to slap him.

But before I could, a cloth with a sharp chemical smell suddenly clamped over my mouth and nose from behind.

I struggled, swinging wildly, but my vision blurred. The hallway spun, the lights above dimming, until everything dissolved into darkness.

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A crushing dizziness slammed into my head as consciousness slowly returned.

I tried to move my hands, but they were stiff. I opened my eyes, struggling to focus in the dimly lit room.

My breath caught.

I was sitting on an old wooden chair. My wrists and ankles were tightly bound with coarse rope, the fibers biting painfully into my skin. A cloth was stuffed into my mouth, tied tightly behind my head.

I tried to scream, but only muffled sounds escaped. The room smelled damp and stale, like an abandoned underground warehouse. The only light came from a single bare bulb hanging low from the ceiling.

My gaze drifted across the room until it locked onto the wall in front of me.

It was covered by a large board, filled with photographs of women. Almost all of them were marked with bold red Xs drawn across their faces. Dates and locations were written beneath each photo.

My heart seemed to stop as my eyes scanned row after row.

In the top right corner, one photograph remained untouched.

A woman with honey-blonde hair and a smile I knew too well.

My sister.

That was Felicia.

She wore the same jacket she had on the day she left three years ago. Beneath the photo, neat but chilling handwriting read:

“Felicia Vance. High quality. Dispatched to Moretti’s Private Archive.”

Heavy footsteps echoed through the darkness behind me.

Someone stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light.

“Awake already, Evelyn?”

My eyes widened. Julian.

He stood there, staring at me with those same cold eyes. In his hand, he held a red marker, its cap already off.

Julian stepped toward the board and slowly lifted the marker toward my sister’s photograph.

“Felicia Vance. She’s your sister, isn’t she?”

Then he moved closer to me, bending slightly, his lips near my ear.

“You’re looking for her? I can show you where she is. But I have one condition,” he whispered.

My heart pounded violently as I turned my head toward him, trying to speak, but only a muffled sound came out.

“Give me your body, and I’ll show you where your sister is.”

His words ended with a light, deliberate bite at my earlobe.