Laila stood undecided in the cathedral-like room.
Like the pointed teeth of a small predator, Doubt doubted her mind.
You did not notice anything decisive.
You missed something.
Laila frowned.
What the hell was going on with her?
Unrest spread in her.
Uncertain, she put the IV pole on the floor.
She had the black folder, she had a plan.
Where was the weak spot, where was the hole?
At the word hole Laila slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
Damn, how and above all, where did Summersby get into this basement? With the leather folder in his hand, Laila ran back to the first room.
She looked around attentively.
No door except the one whose frame had demolished.
The second room - Laila stood with his back to the door.
Except for the purple curtain no further entrance or exit possibility.
So back, under the artificial starry sky.
This was the only room that lay in diffuse twilight.
Due to the light conditions, the boys and girls and the impressive pedestal, she could easily have missed something here.
Laila narrowed his eyes to slits and stared at the purple wall behind the pedestal.
She looked behind her and studied the curtain.
Was it possible to achieve such a great optical match through color?
Slowly Laila walked towards the wing platform.
When she approached the pedestal for the first time, she only had eyes for the marble wings and the big book.
She stepped toward the purple wall and hesitantly stretched out her hand.
Her fingers touched rough fabric.
Laila went to the left and felt the end of the cloth wall.
She pushed the purple material aside.
Silently, it glided aside on a rail embedded in the ceiling, exposing the view behind the wall and the hidden door.
Laila quickly pulled the fabric back to its original position.
Summersby's destination had to be relocated.
First, Laila carried the IV pole and leather folder back into the tub room.
Then she began to postpone the thin glass elements behind which were Summersby's victims.
The girls and boys stood on oval metal plates, in their back each thin steel struts, which were welded to the metal plates and the bodies offered additional support disappeared.
Uncertain, Laila reached out her fingers for the first figure.
The girl wore a sun-yellow summer dress, Laila grinned at the idea of coming into contact with the dead skin.
She wiped her damp palms on the sides of her jeans.
Her eyes slid past the trellis of the lined-up children.
Relieved, she saw that only a few were wearing short-sleeved clothes.
Laila looked nervously at the unknown girl.
No child of their clients.
Laila tried with all his might to push back her rising disgust and to replace it with pity—in vain.
If she stood there indecisively for some time, she lost valuable time.
Carefully, Laila put her hands on the girl's shoulder, careful not to come in contact with the skin.
She pressed gently against the body.
The left side of the metal plate lifted.
Well, that thing was not anchored.
Through the steel brace Laila could not grab the girl from behind.
She had to step in front of her.
As if following an inner compulsion, Laila looked the girl in the face.
From Summersby could also have become a first-class make-up artist.
Cleverly, he breathed life into the dead face with make up.
He had a rosy glow on his cheeks.
The lips shone in an almost natural pink tone.
The skin was neither artificial nor painted.
Uniform was the hue that stretched across the face, neck and arms.
Laila almost forgot what abominations Summersby had to do to the dead children until they were ready to paint them.
Every mortician would have envied Summersby for his talent.