The crew left the police station, shaken by the disturbing discoveries. They walked together, heads low, each trying to process what they'd learned, their footsteps heavy with worry and disbelief. They eventually reached the garden, a quiet place where they often met to talk in peace. This time, though, the silence felt oppressive, almost choking.
"Do you think… she had other places to hide?" Leo's voice broke the silence. His gaze was distant, reflecting a mix of anger and sadness. "If she was sneaking off to the red district, maybe there's somewhere else we don't know about."
Maya thought back, remembering a time Elena had joked—half-seriously—about wanting to conquer her fear of a certain locked-up room at school. A room that had been abandoned for over two decades, rumored to be haunted. Each time they had club night, Elena would tease, saying, "One day, I'll go in there and face it. So I won't have to be scared anymore." But back then, nobody had taken her seriously.
They exchanged glances and, almost wordlessly, decided to head back to school, to that dark, forgotten room.
When they reached the abandoned room, it felt even eerier than they remembered. Dust blanketed the floor like untouched snow, and a stale, musty smell filled the air. As they walked in, they noticed a desk near the back of the room with a small, neatly arranged setup. A lighter, a candle, and an old notebook lay atop it, as though waiting for someone.
Leo picked up the lighter, casting a hesitant glance at the others. With a shaky breath, he lit the candle, its flame flickering in the dimness. Maya picked up the notebook, her fingers brushing over the worn cover.
She opened it, revealing Elena's handwriting—raw, slanted, filled with frantic scrawls and aching words. It was a diary. And as Maya read, they were pulled into Elena's life, her story unraveling in jagged fragments.
The diary began with memories from her childhood. Her words were fractured, reflecting her parents' bitter arguments that reverberated through their home.
Elena's Childhood
"Sometimes, I wonder if I was ever meant to be happy. My first memories are of their arguments echoing through the house, night after night, endless and bitter. I remember hiding in my room, hugging my stuffed bear tight to my chest, pretending his stitched mouth was smiling just for me. They fought about everything and nothing – money, time, me. I didn't understand it all back then, but I could feel the anger like a storm in my small world, tearing things apart.
When the court finally stepped in and gave my mother custody, I thought maybe things would get better. I thought maybe if it was just us two, there would be peace. But life with her wasn't what I expected. She was always on the phone, always arguing with clients, always drowning in work. People say she's this brilliant lawyer, someone who helps people, who wins cases and changes lives. But when she came home, she was exhausted, empty. The smiles she saved for court were never there for me.
I tried to be good. I learned to cook early, way before any of the other kids did. I'd make scrambled eggs for us on mornings when she couldn't get out of bed because of the tears she tried to hide. I'd put the food on her nightstand and tiptoe away, hoping she'd wake up and feel a little less alone. Sometimes, she'd give me this sad smile, and I'd feel like maybe I was helping. But most days, it didn't matter. She was broken, and I felt too small to fix anything.
Other kids had two parents. They'd come to the park on weekends, playing, laughing. I'd sit on the bench, watching them while my mom took business calls nearby, pacing back and forth, her face tight and tired. They had both a mom and a dad. I had a lawyer with too many cases, too many clients, and a world that felt way too heavy for a kid like me.
I learned early on that happiness was for other people, not for me.
First Kiss
"I always thought that no one could understand me, but when I met him, I realized I was wrong. Sam was different from everyone else. He wasn't loud or attention-seeking. He was quiet to the point where you didn't notice him at first. He wasn't like the other boys who tried to impress everyone. He preferred to stay in the background, just like I did.
I remember the first time I noticed him in the school library. He was sitting there among the books, reading, almost as if he was escaping from something. His eyes were lost in the pages, and I could feel that, I could understand it. We were alike in that way. I sat down near him, not planning on talking, just being in the same space. But when we started talking, I realized how rare he was. He didn't raise his voice, never boasted, he just smiled when he spoke about the things he loved, like his dream of becoming a writer. He had this simple view of life, and his thoughts were deeper than anyone else's might seem.
At first, I wasn't sure if there was something between us. But every moment I spent with him made me realize there was something special. He calmed me when I spoke of my feelings, even when I couldn't put them into words. I'd rest my head on his shoulder in silence, and we'd drift between casual words and quiet laughter. It was as if I didn't need to say much. He just knew.
I sometimes wondered how someone could be so genuine in a world full of lies, but Sam was different. When I lost all hope, he remained calm, telling me everything would be alright. And in those moments, I believed him. Despite the pain I carried, he was the hope I couldn't deny.
But as time went on, I began to realize that he was carrying his own pain. He was shy, never talked about his past, and I think I understood that. I knew he was struggling with something, but I never asked. It was enough to have him there, with me, calm, always ready to listen.
Our first kiss was on a rainy day. We were hiding under a tree in the back of the schoolyard. The sky was overcast, and the rain fell gently around us. Neither of us spoke, but there was something in the air, something that made us close the distance. That moment, I felt for the first time that I wasn't alone. But at the same time, something inside me hurt. I knew I couldn't keep him to myself forever. Sam was innocent, and he deserved better than me.
I couldn't explain it to him. As the days passed, Sam started noticing the changes in me. He began to see that I couldn't handle the pressure, that I was hiding behind my quiet demeanor. He saw it, and he tried to help, but the closer he got, the more I pulled away. I couldn't be the one to hurt him. He was too pure, too good for me.
I think I needed him more than I needed anyone else. But he was too much for me to hold onto. Some days, I saw him giving me everything I needed emotionally, and on other days, I saw him pulling away, and it hurt because he couldn't feel what I felt. Our relationship grew more complicated, but he was always there, present in his silence, in his gaze, in his pen.
The days passed, and everything seemed on the verge of breaking. I couldn't stop thinking about him, and at the same time, I feared being the one to drag him down. But one day, when I was about to break completely, he came to me and said, 'Elena, no matter what happens, I'll be here for you.' I couldn't believe those words. I couldn't believe that someone could love me like that, even with all the darkness surrounding me.
But after everything, there was only one truth: I wasn't ready to be the one holding him back. He deserved someone who could embrace life, someone who wouldn't drag him into the shadows. And like I always do, I decided to let him go, because I couldn't be the cause of his pain.
All I have left now are the memories. Memories of that person who made me feel like I wasn't alone, but also made me feel like I wasn't worthy of being with him."
The Red ditrict
"The Red District was never a place I intended to end up in, but somehow, it became my reality. I always told myself it was temporary, a means to an end. But deep down, I knew there was no escaping it. People didn't see me as Elena—the girl who used to be a law student's daughter, a child from a 'perfect' family. They saw me as a commodity, an object to be bought and sold, something to be used and discarded. I was just another face in the crowd, another girl with empty eyes.
I remember the first night I walked through those streets. The air was thick with the scent of cigarettes and cheap perfume, mixed with the pungent stench of alcohol and desperation. The neon lights flickered above, casting everything in an unnatural red glow that only seemed to make the ugliness of the place stand out more. The sound of heels clicking against the pavement, the distant shouting of men and women fighting, the moans of people trying to escape the loneliness, all melded together into a symphony of despair.
I was a part of that now. I wasn't an innocent high school girl anymore, pretending to study and live a life of normalcy. I had become another lost soul, and with every step I took deeper into the district, I could feel myself drowning.
The first few days were the worst. I had no idea what I was doing, what kind of people I was getting involved with. I could feel the eyes of the men on me, as if they were already undressing me with their gazes. Old men, hungry men, desperate men—all of them were the same. But it wasn't just them. It was the women too. They were no better than the men, each of them sizing me up, seeing me as a threat, envying my youth, my beauty. They looked at me with such hatred, such jealousy, as though my mere existence was a reminder of what they no longer had.
I remember one of the older women who worked there, a woman named Clara. She was in her sixties , with a face that had long since lost any trace of youth. She pulled me aside one night and, with a sneer, told me how I was 'too good for this place.' I don't know why she said it, but I felt her bitterness seep into my skin. She didn't want me to survive here. She wanted me to break, just like the rest of them.
But it wasn't just the women who made it hell. The men—old enough to be my father, or sometimes even my grandfather—would buy me drinks, touch me, make me do things I couldn't say no to. And then they'd disappear into the shadows, never to be seen again. It was as if I didn't matter, as if I was just another notch on their belt, another story they'd forget the moment they left.
There were nights when I'd cry myself to sleep, my body aching, my heart hollow. But I couldn't stop. I couldn't leave. I needed the money. And I couldn't work at a normal place, not with my name, not with my family's reputation. People would ask questions. They would wonder why a girl like me was working at a supermarket, when my mother was a lawyer, a high-profile one.
One night, it was late, and I was walking back from one of the bars. My legs were sore, my face was numb from the fake smiles I had to wear all evening. The streets were quieter now, most of the bars closing down for the night. But as I turned a corner, I saw a car slow down beside me. The window rolled down, and a man's voice called out to me.
"Hey, you shouldn't be walking around at this hour. It's dangerous for a girl like you."
I didn't know why, but I got into the car without hesitation. Maybe it was because his voice was different from the others, calm and soothing in a way that made me feel safe. He didn't make me feel like a piece of meat. He didn't look at me with those hungry eyes that everyone else did.
He introduced himself as James. He said he was an artist, that he had been watching me for a while, wondering what a girl like me was doing in a place like this. For a brief moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time—relief. I wasn't a prostitute, I wasn't an object to him. I was just a person.
He didn't touch me. He didn't try to make me feel small. He simply talked, asking about my life, and for once, I didn't feel like I was lying. He even gave me his card. Told me to call him if I ever needed help, or if I wanted to talk. I took it. Maybe I was foolish. Maybe I just needed someone to care.
But the next day, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I sat in my room, staring at his card, wondering if I should call him. I had nothing to lose, right? But when I did call, he acted as if he didn't remember me. I was shocked, confused. I hung up on him. But then he called back. He laughed, told me it was a joke, and suddenly, I felt like a fool. But I didn't mind. Not really.
We spoke a few more times, and he told me he had an 'artistic project' he wanted me to be part of. I wasn't sure what he meant, but the thought of something different, something outside of the Red District, made me listen. He promised he'd pay me well. And in the end, I agreed, because what else could I do? I didn't have a choice. I needed the money, and maybe, just maybe, he could offer me an escape from this hell.
Maya read in silence, the rawness of Elena's words echoing in her own heart. She looked up at Leo and Riley, both of whom wore expressions of sadness, anger, and confusion.
"That poor girl," Riley whispered. "She went through all of that… alone."
Leo clenched his fists. "And we had no idea. We just thought she was… going through a phase."
There was a heavy silence as they absorbed the weight of the diary. Every word was a testament to Elena's loneliness, her pain, and the desperate choices she'd made to survive.
Finally, Riley spoke, breaking the tension. "So… what do we do now? Do we keep looking for her? If James has connections to her, maybe he's the one we need to find."
Leo nodded, the resolve hardening in his eyes. "We can't give up. Not now."
But a part of them, unspoken, feared what they might find.
The crew stepped out of the dimly lit room, the heavy air thick with the scent of dust and forgotten secrets. As they made their way down the narrow hallway, the eerie silence of the building enveloped them once more. The faint sound of their footsteps echoed against the walls, the only noise in the otherwise still night. The cold breeze from the cracked windows brushed against their faces, making them all pull their jackets tighter.
They didn't feel it.
Leo, however, felt the chill deeper than the others. It wasn't just the cold. His eyes flickered to the dark alley at the far end of the building. It was empty, or so it seemed, but a prickling sensation crept down his spine. He couldn't explain it — it was as though someone was watching, waiting.
But the others kept walking, chatting, oblivious.
"Do you think she left any other clues?" Maya asked, her voice casual, like nothing was out of place.
"I don't know," Leo replied, his voice far more distant than he intended. "Maybe... But we should check with Robinson about what we found first."
As they walked out the door, the night greeted them like an old friend, dark and quiet. They made their way down the street, laughing about the absurdity of what they'd just witnessed, how Elena had been hiding a life like that. But Leo couldn't shake the feeling. His mind kept going back to that alley, to the eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness.
A feeling, too real to ignore, gnawed at his gut.
The others didn't seem to notice as they kept walking, unaware of the figure lurking just beyond their sight.
From the shadows, a pair of eyes watched them leave, hidden beneath the brim of a dark hood. The figure stood still, motionless, as if waiting for the right moment to move. They didn't make a sound, didn't even breathe too loudly. Their eyes never left the group, and when Leo glanced back for just a second, he didn't see them.
He walked on.
The figure in the alley remained there, still and silent, their presence like an echo in the air.
And the crew walked on, none the wiser.