Chapter 64: Kirstie's Christmas, Part 4

Chains and padlocks dangle loose from double-doors standing wide. The space inside is dim, beckoning us inside.

We enter, stepping between cones of bird droppings into a single open space, taking up what looks like the whole of the ground floor. Daylight filters through clouded glass and cobwebs from the far side. Pigeons scatter as we enter then resettle, cooing protest at our invasion of their private space. Their calls echo with our footsteps as, without speaking a word, we cross the open floor to the murky windows.

A quick search through my bag produces a tissue, and I swipe over dust to clear a small viewing hole through the grime, just big enough to peer out and over the river.

"We can do better than that," comes Ryan's voice from a few feet away.