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“Why?” I push, and I watch her turn back to Charity, rubbing the animal’s ears and pressing a gentle kiss to her nose.
“Something happened tonight,” she responds.
CHAPTER 6
AMELIA
Today has been so weird. Guests have had all sorts of problems and I’ve been running from one end of the hotel to the other. I’ve managed to avoid catching the attention of Adrian from what I know, but I’ve seen him down in the lobby several times. He’s seemed tired the last few days and his agitation is only growing. He is far quicker to lash out than I’ve ever seen before.
I can’t help but question if it’s my fault, but I also wonder if that’s just me being conceited. He doesn’t care about people…the only one he shows an iota of interest in is Russell and that still seems mostly for selfish reasons. So I can’t imagine him being upset over me: a stranger and an employee in his hotel no less.
I’m glad to finally be on the subway home. New York’s streets are chilly in early spring, and I tuck my trench coat tighter against my body even as move onto the train and manage to find a seat. Nothing seems to be warming me up tonight and I can’t wait to get into some pajamas and feel my extremities prickle to life. I ride the evening train as more people pack onto it and I shrink further into my seat, reading a book I’ve been working slowly through on my phone.
The call of my stop rings over the speaker and I stand, pushing through the crowd with small apologies as people shuffle what little they can to make room. I burst through on the other side of the open doors and see my station nearly empty before me. This is a rarely used stop around this time and I’m glad to be out of the stifling train car.
I slowly make my way out of the underground station and into the colder streets of my Washington Heights neighborhood. A burst of wind greets me, and the sky is icy and clear. Twinkling stars make me feel stupidly safe. It isn’t until I reach the front of my apartment building that I realize something is wrong. The door is propped open, which it never is unless it’s daytime or a tenant is moving in or out. I don’t see anyone around, so my breathing catches a tiny bit, my nerves trembling at the strange circumstance.
I deny anything is wrong though, instead focusing on getting home, getting into those warm pajamas and turning on the heater. I walk up the stairs quickly, turn into my hall, and then stop dead in my tracks. My door is hanging on a single hinge, its fragile wood caved in slightly.
I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder to see an empty corridor, before cautiously approaching to my wrecked entry. I pause once again, before the shadowy doorway, swallowing my fear and forcing my confidence forward. My hand finds the little can of pepper spray in my purse and I grip it tight. I will my heart to slow down so I can focus on the sounds that may be drifting around me and not the pounding of my blood in my eardrums.
I finally step into my apartment and notice it’s dark, more so than usual. I often leave a small lamp on to make it easier, more comforting, when I come home. But it’s not there, and my eyes are taking too long for comfort to adjust, so I reach over to the wall and fumble for the switch. When the lights finally click on, I take in the damage.
Papers are strewn everywhere, my wooden coffee table is flipped, and the lamp that I usually leave on is broken and pulled from the socket. I can’t take a step further. My limbs are trembling, and I lick my lips. I take two steps backward before I turn on my heel and run directly for the front of the building.
Has he found me?
I need to get somewhere safe. I need to get out of here. I swallow as I dial for a car to come pick me up, pressing the urgency of the situation to the person on the other line and they assure me the driver will be here in a few minutes.
It really only takes about ten minutes for the driver to arrive, but it feels like the longest ten minutes of my life. I’m twitchy and shrinking into shadows, pressing my back tight against the rough brick in hopes to protect myself. I don’t know if it helps but no one approaches me.
As soon as the car is in front of me, I’m flying to it and snatching open the door. There is only one place on my mind to flee to. The safest place to go: the hotel. The one thing I can think about is finding a room to stay in, which means I need more money. Which means I need to accept an offer I want nothing to do with.
The car drives slowly through the streets of Manhattan and eventually my fingers loosen around the pepper spray in my purse. Slowly, my hand retracts from the safety of my bag, but it doesn’t relax my nerves. My mind constantly replays the scene I just left, how unsafe I felt in my own home. I’m no longer sure that the hotel will even be safe. But it’s the only place I can think of, it’s the only place with people I know.
In my haste to escape, I didn’t even think to check for my artwork, my pride. Pieces I poured hours and days into, flowing from my soul…possibly gone forever. My stomach twists, and I want to be sick. I fight against the burning in my eyes, forcing myself to prioritize my next steps.
My fingers tangle into a knot on my lap as we drive through the nightly traffic until finally, he pulls up in front of Infinity Hotel. I step out, thanking the driver profusely and giving him a far bigger tip than I can afford, but it’s worth it. It’s worth knowing I’m safe and that this person helped make it possible.
He gives me a look over with suspicion obviously glowing in his eyes, but I turn around, ignoring his judgment. I quickly hurry to the front desk.
“Hello Amelia, did you forget something?” The young man asks.
“No, I’m sorry, I need a room,” I say, and I can tell my words are breathless, slightly panicked.
He sends me a curious look but types away on his computer. “We have four available.”
“I don’t need anything fancy, just a single bed would be fine,” I tell him, biting on my lower lip.
“We have one single bed,” he answers, typing out something again. “Do you want to reserve it?”
“Yes, but I will need to talk to Mr. Saunders first.”
“Alright, because it’s you I will let you put your name in for the next few hours,” he types something into the computer before turning to me with a sympathetic gaze. “Good luck.”
I laugh, my inner turmoil in complete contrast to the action.
* * *
