Young Writers Society

Undercover

Chapter 1

Place: Bay City, Massachusetts, United States. Port 59

Time: January 14, 10:45 P.M.

Objective: Unidentified

A small light flickered on in the second story window of the Bay City Warehouse. The room, illuminated, was full of various stolen items packed closely together due to the size of the space.

A figure appeared out of the shadows, covered head to toe in a black thermal disguise. He shuffled through the room, around cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling. The little fluorescent light bulb kept on fading in and out, making it hard to see.

The person flinched as a siren wailed from outside, blue and red lights flooding the window panes. He backed up against the wall and breathed silently. A few seconds later, he looked back into the window, seeing that the cop car was quickly chasing down a Sedan on Highway 56.

“Thank god they don’t know about this yet.” The figure thought, creeping off the wall, back on the prowl.

The figure shook some cardboard boxes; feeling for something he knew had to be in this room. Each second made the waiting unbearable, and he knew that he would have to find it fast.

He finally decided to open the boxes, realizing that the police would most likely find evidence anyway from this robbery. Each time he came upon another box, he shook it more violently than the last, determined to find the object it was looking for.

The light bulb hanging from the ceiling by the cable was now fading in and out quite more rapidly than it was already, so the figure knew he only had a limited amount of time to find the object

He picked up another box, and when it shook, a different noise arose. Without pause, the figure furiously ripped open the box. He ripped through the thick duck tape and the packing peanuts, throwing them all behind him. He then gripped what he had been searching for all along.

Holding it under the weight of his palm, he felt the familiar sensation in his fingers; it was hard, rough, and bumpy, just like he remembered. He pulled the mask off and the figure’s blond hair shone under the limited light, his blue eyes sparkling with delight. The boy smiled, licked his lips, and placed the object in his pocket.

“One down,” he thought, “Five more to go.”

Out of the other pocket, he pulled out a small white business card and threw it hastily on the floor. Then he turned the flickering light off.

Place: Paris, France. Le Grand Hotel

Time: January 15, 8:31 A.M.

Objective: To finish reading Wuthering Heights, and to drink a caramel latte.

Camilla stared at the worn out ink before her, all-encompassed in the words of Emily Bronte. She nudged a red silk pillow below her elbow and shifted in place, the black leather easy chair surrounding her with comfort. She re-adjusted the thick black glasses on the crook of her nose, and then once again concentrated on the novel.

Except for Camilla’s slow breathing, the only sound that could be heard in the suite was the traffic below the Le Grand Hotel, reminding the Parisians that the morning was just starting.

Camilla twirled her dark brown hair between her pointer and middle fingers, pondering the whole character of Heathcliff, and why he always seemed to walk aimlessly through the moors. The scratchy complimentary bathrobe brushed up against her skin as she turned the page, the sweet aroma of Camilla’s cinnamon body lotion wafting through the air.

She yawned as she heard the doorknob jiggle, and the wooden door opened with a flourish. A small girl with an equally small crop of bright red hair came in, holding two cups of coffee in one hand and a large brown bag in the other.

“The usual,” the redhead placed one of the cups down on a small table next to Camilla’s easy chair. She then glided into the quaint kitchen, setting the brown bag and the other coffee cup down on the countertop.

Camilla put down her book and picked up the cup, smelling it cautiously, then placing it down on the table. A look of displeasure crossed her face as she picked up the tattered book again. “The line at the café must’ve been long today. My latte is cold.” She peered over the top of the book and saw her assistant unload various things from the brown bag: four tomatoes, some parsnip, artichoke hearts, and a baguette.

“It’s cold out today Miss Shaw.” The assistant, now finished with the groceries, grabbed her coffee and settled in the other leather chair parallel to Camilla’s. “Not that you would know. I can’t believe you’re visiting Paris, one of the greatest cities in the world, and you’re not even appreciating it. We have to go back to St. Louis in a couple days, you know. You don’t have maybe the tiniest desire to go to the Louvre, or maybe ride a boat up and down the Seine with your parents?”

“Nope, not really.” Camilla answered in her usual 'I don't care' demeanor. She moved her feet and tried to focus on Wuthering Heights, but her assistant, Jill, refused to move onto a different subject.

“How about visiting the Eiffel Tower?”

“No.”

“Shopping on the Champs-Elysees?”

“No.”

“We could see an opera?”

“No. If you haven’t noticed, all I want to do is finish my book.”

“Camilla, your parents are begging you to at least do something that kids your age do on a regular basis. You’re sixteen years old, and you shouldn’t just waste your life and youth away by staying in door all the time. Don’t you want to have fun once in a while?”

“If you haven’t noticed, Jill, I’m not a regular teenage girl. I work with the CIA and I could belong to Mensa if I wanted to. Even though I’m still in my teens, that does not make me any less capable of taking care of myself.” Camilla put down her book, a sharp scowl crossing her face.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but your parents and I just want you to try to at least function a little bit in society besides solving crimes and sleuthing.”

“I talked to the man working at the concierge desk yesterday. That, you have to say, is socializing.”

“We want you to talk to someone your own age.” Jill’s plead echoed through the room, and Camilla looked through a window towards Notre Dame, only a couple blocks away, sadness plastered on her face.

Jill started to regret what she had said, after seeing the sensitivity she had sparked in the girl. She knew that Camilla had always had trouble making friends and being with new people besides the ones she worked with. She sighed, and then swallowed down a sip of her mocha.

Camilla slowly spoke, a new tenderness evident in her voice. She seemed to annunciate each consonant. “I’m excellent at catching criminals, but I’m terrible at making friends.”

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