Page 46 of Hannah.
Johan pushes the handle, creaking the door open, and we hurry inside. The scent of old paper and wood fills the air as we step into the dimly lit storage room. Shelves and boxes line the walls, bathed in slivers of light streaming through high windows, where dust motes dance like tiny stars.
“We need to find the right box,” Johan says, his eyes scanning the labels on the shelves.
We split up, each carefully examining the contents. My fingers trace over faded labels and dusty surfaces, my mind racing with thoughts of what we might discover. The silence is thick, broken only by the rustling of paper and the occasional creak of the floorboards.
After several minutes, Johan’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Hannah, over here.”
I hurry to where he stands, holding a small, unassuming envelope with the word “Rosebud” written on it. His hands tremble slightly as he hands it to me.
“Go ahead, it’s your great-aunt, after all.”
We exchange a look, the gravity of the moment pressing down on us. I open the envelope, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Inside, there’s nothing but a small newspaper clip. My breath catches as I read the headline: “Cambridge’s Professor kidnapped at the entrance of Globe Theatre during Twelfth Night performance.” Below, there’s her picture—she’s standing leaning against her desk, glasses on, wearing her hair high. The article is yellowed with age, but the details are clear: Professor Amelia van Wassenaer, head of research of the Department of Archaeology and a well-respected figure in the academic community, vanished without a trace, leaving behind a mystery that has never been solved.
Johan’s eyes widen in shock. “Amelia was kidnapped?” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I had no idea. Why would someone kidnap her?”
My heart aches with the weight of the secret I’ve been carrying for the past two years. Oma had confided in me about Amelia’s disappearance and had insisted I keep it to myself. I wonder if Amelia believed her sister would never disclose such a secret, keeping it hidden even from me.
“She must have been working on something significant.” My voice’s steady despite the turmoil inside. “Something that must have made her a target.”
Johan's brow furrows as he processes the information. “We need to look into her research files,” he says, determination hardening his features. “Maybe there are more clues there.”
I nod, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. “Let’s go back to your office and find them.”
I carefully place the clip back in the envelope and shove it into my bag. The mystery of Amelia’s disappearance hangs heavily over us as we leave the storage room. Our next steps are clear, but the path ahead is shrouded in uncertainty. Johanreaches out, his hand gently brushing mine. The contact sends a jolt through me, a reminder of the unspoken feelings simmering between us. The air feels thick with the weight of our shared secret, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
“We’re getting closer, Hannah,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “We’ll find out what happened to Amelia. I promise.”
I squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his resolve. “I know we will,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
The corridor outside the storage room feels oppressively silent. Each step we take echoes through the empty hallways of the museum, amplifying the tension that crackles between us. My mind races, each thought a flurry of images and questions. Why was Amelia kidnapped? What was she working on that made her a target?
Johan’s grip on my hand tightens, grounding me in the present. I glance at him, noting the determined set of his jaw and the furrow in his brow. He’s processing everything, just as I am, but there’s a fire in his eyes that I’ve rarely seen. It’s a mixture of fear, anger, and an unyielding drive to uncover the truth.
Stepping back into his office, he offers me a seat while he goes to retrieve the papers. I watch him as he starts at his desk, rifling through the piles of papers and journals he’s left somewhat organized. Each stack gets a quick shuffle through, his fingers flipping through pages faster as his frustration grows. Looks like there’s no sign of the folder there.
Johan stops for a moment, his head shaking in thought. “This doesn’t make any sense. I had them right here.”
I search his face, a knot of worry forming in my stomach. “They aren’t here?”
He moves to the bookshelves, scanning the labels, pulling out potential candidates, flipping through the contents, and closing them just as quickly.
I stand behind him, looking on with worry. “They have to be somewhere….”
He opens a few drawers, flickering through the files before moving around to check another shelf. “Maybe I placed them here.” Then he moves to another drawer and opens it. “Or here…. I’ll find them, just a minute.”
“Take your time. I have the whole day.” My remark doesn’t sound as funny as I intended, and I can sense his frustration, which keeps building up.
“I swear I saw them somewhere.” Sweat beads on his forehead as he double-checks some folders, second-guessing himself. The room feels smaller, the walls lined with books and artifacts, watching us in silent judgment as Johan scrambles to find what I need.
“Do you think someone took them?” Disappointment is bitter on my tongue. I missed my chance to see the papers when Johan first found them, and I may never get another opportunity. “Someone from outside the department, perhaps?”
He glances at me, his face contemplative. “It’s a possibility. Last Sunday, I thought I heard footsteps, but I chalked it up to the settling of the building. But maybe there was someone…someone who knew about these papers and came to take them.”
Fear tightens its grip on me, and my voice trembles as I speak. “Footsteps? What footsteps? What could be so important about those documents?”
Johan turns to face me, his gaze steady and reassuring. “I didn’t mention it to anyone because I thought it was just my imagination. I didn’t think much of it then, but now it seemssuspicious. Maybe someone took advantage of my absence…but there’s no need to worry, Hannah. I can handle myself.”