He remains still, leaving the words to hang between us. I try to steady my breathing, grappling with the implications of what he’s just revealed. For a moment, neither of us moves, the tension in the room thickening like fog. I study Kenneth’s expression, searching for any hint of remorse or uncertainty, but he’s locked down tight, his resolve impenetrable. Then, all of a sudden, he moves so quickly that I jolt back into my chair.
“Breakfast is over,” he states, removing the plates and cutlery before carrying them into the kitchen. I don’t have time to chastise myself for not grabbing the butter knife faster as he returns with a box in his hand. He drops it onto the table with a thud that echoes through the mic and judders my skull.
“It’s game time. Scrabble has always been my favorite, but there’s also Monopoly, Jenga and a whole bunch of strategy games from the eighties back there. Cool, huh? We can cyclethrough all of them before dinner, and this evening, I can make hot cocoa.” A glint of life returns to Kenneth’s eyes, his smile sloppy and words picking up their pace.
I stare at him, at the grin stretched too wide across his face, at the familiarity which he directs at me. The version of Kenneth standing before me now is the same one who used to ramble until he lost his breath, whose hands fluttered and fidgeted as if he didn’t know where they belonged, whose stutter tangled his sentences like he was constantly tripping over his own thoughts. Except now it feels like I’m watching someone wearing his skin, sliding back into old habits like a costume.
He lifts the box’s lid, shaking the plastic game tiles in the velvet bag with an enthusiasm that jars against my inner ears. Humming under his breath, I watch him set out the game board, bobbing his head to the tune he’s invented. I recognise the cadence and the familiar oddness, but none of it sits right anymore, not after hearing him speak so sharply minutes ago. Not after the confession that slipped out like a heavily guarded secret.
“Kenneth,” I say, interrupting his flow. His muddy brown eyes flick to mine, his brows pulling together ever so slightly.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Kenneth asks so innocently, I find myself at a loss. Part of me wants to shove the table into him and run for the nearest door, but another part screams that Kenneth needs help too, that deep down, he’s scared too, and currently, I might be the only person in the world who recognises that.
“You know I can’t just sit here,” I admit evenly. Kenneth’s brows crease further, but before he becomes angry, I weakly add, “I’ve never been the damsel in distress type.”
“Feel free to try and leave at any time,” Kenneth shrugs off his frown and continues setting up the game. “The doorsand windows are bolted, and if you become hysterical, I have permission to use this.”
Reaching into the back of his jeans, Kenneth pulls out a sleek, black handheld device and sets it on the table with a soft thud. For one wild heartbeat, I think it’s a real gun, that this is the moment everything detonates, but the shape is wrong. It’s too thick, too weighty in the middle with many safety switches underneath.
“Kenneth, what is that?” I scarcely breathe. Picking his Scrabble tiles from the bag, he sets them into a perfectly straight row on the holder.
“A tranquilizer gun, like the ones they use in zoos,” he replies without a trace of emotion. My stomach drops through the floor, my throat becoming so dry that I can hardly squeak. “It was waiting here when we arrived, like a gift I suppose.
“You’re kidding, right?” I manage. My fingers twitch toward the underside of the chair, gripping it tightly to stay grounded. Although whilst staring down the barrel end of the gun, it’s hard to think straight. He has permission to use it. The man who drugged my coffee and took photos of me passed out. What if this time, he does more than take photos? What if the lure of being alone is too much?
The fear I’d managed to convince myself wasn’t necessary returns with a vengeance. I have every right to fear Kenneth. He’s not my friend, he’s a wild card. I’m not sure even he knows what he’s capable of. So as much as I want to fight, flee, flip the damn table, dosomething, I stay stone-still, rooted by the dread growing in my gut.
“I don’t make the rules,” Kenneth hums softly. “I just follow them. Pick your tiles. I’ll let you go first.” Tossing the velvet bag in my direction, he grins wide like a madman. With a shaky hand, I take the bag and slide it towards my side of the game board.
Inside, my thoughts are on rapid-fire.Stay calm, don’t provoke him. You can’t outfight a dart gun, just play along. Breathe normally.I don’t trust my face not to crack, so I lower my gaze to the table, to the stupid little plastic tiles I’ve arranged like we’re about to have a cozy family game night instead of… whatever this is.
Kenneth pockets the gun, taking the threat off the table, but the tremor in his hand betrays him. He’s trying so hard to mask it, to sell this bizarre performance, yet the fear rolls off him in hot waves, as loud as any sound I can’t hear. “He said it’ll only knock you out for thirty minutes or so. Just to take the edge off if you, y’know… get overwhelmed.”
Overwhelmed. Right. I bite down a hysterical laugh that tastes bitter in my mouth. But unknown to Kenneth, he’s just revealed another breadcrumb clue. The person running this charade is a man. So I’ll keep playing, keep sitting here in the hopes that more clues leak through, and when I’m back in the solace of my room, I’ll piece together what I’ve discovered to try and make sense of it all. I just hope wherever Clay and Rhys are, they’re not too close, for their sakes.
Chapter Eight
“This wasn’t really what I was expecting,” Rhys mumbles, turning into the parking lot I’ve directed him to. We left the hotel early to find food, not that I could manage more than a few bites of the bagel Rhys bought. I have no appetite, my stomach twisted into knots thinking about where she is and what could be happening to her.
“Well, we don’t have any other leads. We’ve followed the trail we were given, now we do some investigating ourselves. Kenneth visited here,” I sigh, rubbing my nape. “If my mother doesn’t recognize him, maybe the staff will.”
“Ahh, the whole two holes, one cock strategy. I like the way you think,” Rhys shoots a wink to the side of my head. Other than a narrowed side-eye, I don’t react. We park up and just sit there, gearing up the energy to move. Or at least, I am. Rhys is probably thinking this is another dead end, but what have we got to lose?
The building looks softer than I remember, the same mismatched bricks giving the impression it’s patched together with good intentions and limited means. The white lights that once outlined the roof are still there, but half of them have burntout, leaving sporadic glimmers that blink weakly against the pale morning sun. The green canopies above the balconies sag under the weight of rain, but beneath them, someone has potted tulips. Tight buds which are just starting to show color in the impending spring. The only patch of color in fact.
Rhys glances over at me as I stare through the windshield, trying to steady myself. Not just for the chance at some answers, but for seeing my mom again. Every time she fails to recognize me, it’s like reopening an old wound that’s healed abnormally. The silence becomes charged with anxiety, Rhys’ thumb impatiently tapping on the steering wheel.
“We’re not going to find any answers sitting here,” he adds unhelpfully. With a deep breath, I push open my door, letting the cool morning air brush against my face. I’ve left my beanie hat back at the hotel, deciding to face the world without it. There’s no more hiding, not when it’s my time to step into the light. To be bold, fearless and seen.
Surprisingly, Rhys hangs back a few paces, letting me take the lead. As soon as the receptionist spots me entering through the double doors, she rolls her eyes and goes back to her computer screen. It’s safe to say, she’s not a fan of mine. I step towards the desk, forcing my face to produce a polite smile.
“Excuse me,” I start, although Rhys grunts behind me as if he expected more. “I know we’ve discussed this before, but I have a photo I’d like you to look at. Can you tell me if this is the man who’s been visiting my mom?” Pulling the picture from my pocket, I produce Kenneth’s face from his case file. It’s a younger photo, but his features are distinguishable. Stark orange curls, wide muddy eyes, a freckled nose. He doesn’t exactly blend in, which is why he stole one of my beanies.
With a disdainful, uninterested drag of her gaze, the receptionist looks from her screen to the photo and then to Rhys.He sparks some interest in her blank stare, but not enough to hold it.
“As I’ve told you before, we can’t give out resident info,” she says sharply. I inhale deeply, letting her tone wash off the strong set of my shoulders. I’m not taking no for an answer today.
“And as I have told you, my mother is a resident here, and her safety is paramount to me. You’ve permitted a stranger to visit her on multiple occasions, and if you don’t answer my questions, I will be pressing charges, personally naming you for your negligence. And in case you don’t believe I’ll win, my friend here is in contact with the best lawyers’ money can buy.” I stick my thumb up in Rhys’ direction, who, in turn, waves back with a wiggle of his fingers.
