CHAPTER SEVEN
Emme’s bladder felt like it might explode. She opened her eyes and blinked several times. The opulence of the room was evident, even in the defused light created by the closed blinds and sheer curtains. The cream comforter under her hand was soft and luxurious. Where the hell was she? She closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered was the machete arching above her head and the explosion.
Jordan. She blinked her eyes several times. Was that a dream? How did she get here, wherever ‘here’ was?
Her immediate needs were more pressing. She pushed herself up with one arm, the other immobile against her side. Staring down at the cotton nightgown, she pulled the neck away and peeked at her shoulder. It ached, but no longer hurt like it was out of socket. Someone had wrapped it and taken the extra precaution of securing her arm to her body.
She threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor, trying to determine which of the three doors was the bathroom. The farthest one likely led out of the room. She swayed for a moment, before finding her balance. Door one led to a large walk-in closet, filled with men’s and women’s clothes. Whose house was she in? That closet was bigger than the bedroom of her first apartment. Shaking her head, she closed the door and tried door number two.
She was dead and this was heaven. That was the only explanation. The opulence of the bedroom carried over to the spa-like bathroom. A large, deep soaking tub and steam shower took up the back half of the bathroom. Shiny marble topped the his and hers vanities. Maybe there was an extra toothbrush. Of course there would be. This was heaven. Although she probably wouldn’t have fuzzy teeth in heaven or have to pee.
She sat on the toilet and looked to her right at the bidet. Europe? Rubbing at her ears, she tried to make them pop. She didn’t feel any pain, so her eardrum was probably fine. She’d ask whoever had wrapped her shoulder to look at them, just to be sure.
Someone knocked on the door and she jumped. “Miss France?” a woman asked.
Wide-eyed, she stared at the door. Was she supposed to have stayed in bed? “Yes?”
“Are you all right? Do you need assistance?”
She could hear a slight British accent in the woman’s voice. “No. I’m just using the facilities.” She cringed at having to tell a stranger she was peeing.
“All right. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”
“Uh. Okay. Thank you.” What was she supposed to need? Other than answers. She flushed, shuffled to the vanity, and washed her hands. Searching through the drawers, she found an unopened travel toothbrush and toothpaste.I am in heaven.She stared down at the vanity while scrubbing the fuzz off her teeth, an awkward thing to do left-handed. Using one of the glasses on the vanity, she rinsed then drank two full glasses.
A blissful sigh escaped. Water had never tasted so good.
She’d kept her eyes averted the entire time, but the urge became overwhelming. Pressing her lips together, she looked at her face in the mirror. No longer swollen shut, the area under her eye was still discolored. The fading yellow and brown bruises on her cheekbone looked like she suffered from jaundice. She lightly touched the bruised areas, testing for underlying damage to the bone. It hurt, but didn’t feel like anything was crushed.
Someone had braided her hair, but fuzzies stuck up everywhere and her scalp itched. She pulled the band from the tail of the braid and slid it on her wrist. Undoing the braid, she realized she wouldn’t be able to put it back up with only one arm. Oh well, she could ask whoever braided it the first time to put it back up for her.
Another knock. “Miss France?”
Jeez, she was impatient. “I’m coming.” Maybe this woman, whoever she was, could fill in some of the gaps. Her stomach growled. And provide food.
Emme opened the door and was greeted by an older woman wearing a hijab loosely wrapped around her head an neck.
The Middle East then. Or still Europe, but someone of the Muslim faith.
She stood with her hands clasped in front of her and a pleasant smile. “Good afternoon, Miss France. I’m Fatima, your nurse. How are you feeling?”
Good question. She didn’t really hurt. Achy, maybe. “Weak. Hungry. Dirty. Confused.”
Fatima’s wide smile displayed a tiny dimple under the corner of her bottom lip. “I believe I can help with some of those things.” She angled her body and indicated a padded bench at the foot of the bed. “If you would care to sit, I can pull your hair back for you.”
Emme ducked her head and ran a hand over her hair. “Sorry. It was sticking up all over the place.”
“That’s quite all right. I’ll pull it back in a bun. I can help you wash it after you eat.”
A bath would be heaven. Maybe two. One to wash the funk off and another to soak in. “Thank you.” She eased onto the end of the bench and Fatima pulled her hair away from her face.
“Where am I?”
“Abu Dhabi.”
One correct guess. “How did I get here?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that. Dr. Tuska hired me after you were already here.”
