Page 42 of Hush, Little Baby

I look ridiculous.

I look scared.

And most of all, I look like someone who has no idea what he’s doing.

I push that thought away frantically, needing anything but self-deprecation at the present moment.

Luckily, I find my hoodie folded on the counter. It looks like it’s been cleaned. The sight of it makes something tighten painfully in my chest.

My hoodie.

Mine.

I grab it and clutch it to me before I can think too hard about why it almost makes me cry.

My sweatpants are gone. My socks are gone. My underwear is gone.

My shoes are definitely gone.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

I search anyway because panic does not care about the obvious. I open drawers. I look behind the bathroom door. I crouch down and peer under the vanity like maybe my shoes crawled there to hide. Nothing. Nothing but towels, tiny glass bottles, extra toothbrushes, a hairdryer, and a scale I do not even look at because there is only so much psychological damage I can take in one night.

No clothes.

No shoes.

Just the robe and my hoodie.

I pull the hoodie on over the robe because I need it. It looks stupid. It feels bulky and wrong, the robe sleeves bunching inside the hoodie sleeves, but I don’t care. I tighten the robe belt again beneath it until it’s digging into my stomach.

I look down and spot the hotel slippers near the tub. They won’t be super helpful if I have to run anywhere, but they’re still better than bare feet.

I slide them on, then hesitate. I don’t know where my phone and wallet are. They might not even be in this hotel suite. I also have no idea where I am, other than that I’m in a fancy-shmancy hotel.

I want to cry again, but I sniffle back the growing pressure behind my eyes and remind myself that all of that is better than being taken across the country. My chances of a successful escape are exponentially higher if I leave right now, so I need to be strong.

I creep back out from the bathroom, check that my captor is still asleep, then go.

The bedroom door is open, leading out into the sitting area. Beyond that, the suite stretches long and shadowy, city light spilling through the huge windows and turning the furniture into strange, angular shapes. Everything looks different at night. During the day, maybe it would be beautiful. Right now, it just looks like a horrible obstacle course.

I step around a low table, trying to be as silent as possible, but the slippers slide on my feet, and I nearly trip. I manage to catch myself on the back of a sofa, then freeze to listen for any signs Nikolaus has woken up. There’s nothing.

Keep going.

The front door is across the foyer. It looks massive in the dark, the kind of door that belongs in a movie where someone opens it and finds either rescue or a monster.

My hand is shaking when I reach for the handle.

I can do this.

I can get into the hallway. Find the elevator. Get downstairs. Find the front desk. Scream. Tell someone. Anyone. Even if Nikolaus owns half the hotel or whatever insane rich people do, there has to be someone. There has to be a camera. There has to be a normal person somewhere who will take one look at me and understand that something is wrong.

My fingers close around the cold metal handle, and I take a breath.

Then I open the door quickly, quietly, and step out.

A hand clamps around my arm.