I look around and realize that I could take her out and no one would even blink an eye. No one would even be around to care. And from what Sven told me, this place doesn’t have any cameras, so I know I won’t be filmed. Her murder would go totally unnoticed.
But I don’t go there. Not yet. I pull out an envelope full of cash and slide it toward her.
Her beady eyes move toward it, and her wrinkled hand pulls it toward her. Her front tooth wobbles precariously and then falls out.
She doesn’t even look down at it.
The tooth just sits on the counter, untouched.
The woman, instead, peers inside the envelope, her fingers flipping along the bills, and then her watery gaze meets my own.
“Who you lookin’ for?”
“They just checked in earlier today.”
“Had several of those. Anything else you can give me?”
“About mid-twenties, black hair, has an East Coast accent.”
“Yeah, I know that one. Real rude. A bitch, honestly. Room twenty-one.”
She tucks the envelope under the desk, and I don’t even pretend to care. I just turn around and walk outside. Part of me thinks I should tell Anthony about this small development, a crack in the case, but I don’t want them involved. This is bigger than they think. And if they find Henry—or whatever his real name is—and kill him, we won’t know who is behind all of this.
We won’t find out who the shadow is that’s lurking and wreaking havoc.
It’s absurd, and yet still, it bothers me.
Who is the one behind it all?
My feet stop in front of room twenty-one, and I pull out a few tools to let me inside. With a flick of my wrist, the door opens, and I push it wider.
The lights are off, almost as if no one is here. But I can see a small knapsack on the chair and a phone on the bedstand.
Someone is hiding.
My favorite fucking game.
I set my bag on the floor, the syringe in my hand, the scalpel in the other, as I step forward. I hear nothing. Silence. Notthe sound of the TV or the shower in the dim space. As if I’m completely alone.
Sven better not be wrong about this.
If I sat in that diner and now have to smell like waffles for nothing…
Suddenly, something hits my ankle, and I grunt as pain radiates up my shin. Another knock to my foot has me jumping backward.
A form scurries out from beneath the bed, and my heart jumps in my chest.
Blyat, this is creepy. Like a little Russian doll come to life. I always hated that tale growing up.
I fling my arm out in an attempt to immobilize them, but they’re too fast. They dart right and then left, and something knocks into my lower back. I curse in Russian, trying to gain the upper hand. I will not be taken down by a person half my size.
A loud screech has me flinging my arm out, catching them in the throat. A gag and a gasp meet my ears; a figure hunched over in the corner as I approach with long black hair hangs over their shoulders as they turn to stare at me. Dark, glittering eyes, spittle forming at the corners of their mouth. They use the back of their hand to wipe it away.
I cock my head, eyeing the large metal pole in their hand. They don’t drop it. Only seem to hold onto it tighter.
“You’re going to die tonight,” I tell this person, but they don’t seem afraid. They just sneer at me.
I hold up the syringe, and they glance at it, sneering, “Not unless I murder you first.”
