Abla’s strangely seductive, tittering laugh, could not be heard outside the chain link fence that surrounded the decrepit warehouse near the pier - the signs on the link warning that the property was decrepit and dangerous, closed by legal order. It could not be heard from just outside the broken windows, or outside the inside perimeter of small glow lamps used to illuminate just enough of the structure’s outline to help those who knew find their way.
But inside that, it echoed. It covered the darkness, and the walls. “Maeve,” Abla said, in-between titters, “come here.”
A surge of guilt washed over Maeve, and as she went to Abla she wondered: *’What did I do?’* A hasty review of the recent past yielded no insights. It might be nothing at all. She hoped it was nothing. She put on a smile. “What is it?”
Abla was holding on to a long link of chain extending down from one of the open stairwell’s above. She smiled back at Maeve, but it wasn’t the same kind of smile. “I …” she said, holding on to the chain and twirling around it, “... have … something … to show you.”