“It’s a well-known deflection tactic. Aren’t you familiar with popular psychology?”
“You have ID?”
I manoeuvre the cuffs to reach into my pocket and find my wallet is missing. Along with my phone and my keys. “Guess your guard already got that for you.” I suddenly feel weepy. “Listen, is this interrogation going to take long? I need to find someplace safe to stay tonight and my limited circle of friends will all be heading to bed shortly.”
The circle is so limited, in fact, that right now I can’t think of a single person who’d fit the bill.
“You’re staying here tonight.”
Although I’d like to refuse and get the hell out of there, I find the offer such a relief that I just nod. And offer isn’t the right word. Decision. Command. Instruction? “Well, thanks, Sophia’s dad. Does that room also come with a shower?”
“And a change of clothes.” He hesitates, then unlocks the cuffs and takes them off me before pushing a button on the wall, which summons another gigantic man with tattoos covering his face. “Please show Ms Chappel to her room.”
It must be a standard guest room because there wasn’t time to communicate any of this since my arrival. I follow the new guard along a twisting maze of corridors, trying not to drip on the cream carpet, until he deposits me inside a suite and says he’ll be back in a half hour to collect me for dinner.
Dinner.
It must be after midnight.
Guess rich folks these days get their reputations for being eccentric by actually being eccentric. The fleeting thought he’s a vampire and I’m going to be the main meal crosses my mind. I dismiss it but the idea won’t budge. I’ve seen movies. I know how these things play out.
But a vampire would have licked me clean the moment I walked in wearing bad guy blood. The thought makes me feel oddly cheerful and I take in more of my surroundings.
The room is approximately twice the size of my rented bedsit and that’s including the upstairs, downstairs, and my half of the garage. When I push open the door into the bathroom, I have to suppress a gasp. It’s more luxurious than anything I’ve ever seen.
Marble tiles. Gold taps. A crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I mean, come on. A freakingchandelier!I thought those things only existed in Hollywood white boy imaginations.
The shower could fit me, both the guards, Sophia, and Sophia’s Daddy and still have space left for another few guests. Invitation only, of course. I have standards.
I adjust the knobs, the water instantly hot rather than the two weeks’ notice my shower requires.
After peeling the blood-soaked clothing from my body, I step into the steaming hot spray. My mind fixates on every sensation, hoping to form a core memory. This is beyond luxury. So sublime, it’s ridiculous. I’ll slice open a hundred men’s throats just to get another taste.
My eyes flick open as my memory pours the image of a geyser of blood erupting from the bad man’s neck into my visual field. Blood pounds in my ears and my eyes bulge, panic scrabbling like rat claws on the inside of my brain.
My muscles go from relaxed to so tense it feels like there’s a hundred charley horses clenching in my body. I try to run but slam into the shower’s controls instead, my ankle throbbing anew, my senses so scrambled I can barely tell what’s memory and what’s happening.
I flatten against the tiles, never minding that the temperature controls poke their hardened stainless steel into my soft belly. The piercing spray of water turns colder as I accidentally nudge a handle the wrong way and I step back, taking advantage of the fresh stream to shock the horrifying pictures from the forefront of my brain.
Eventually they go, peering reluctantly over their shoulders in case I change my mind.
As I gain control, I return the water to the hot position.
Okay. Maybe I’ll ease up on the bloodletting. Seems like there might be a few aftershocks on their way.
With a fresh dose of adrenaline coursing through my veins, I scrub myself clean of drying blood, trying not to watch the pink water as it washes down the plughole a la Psycho.
My hair takes two goes with the shampoo before it rinses clean and once that’s done, I stay a while longer in the spray. Since I’m not paying the electricity bill, I crank it up as high as I can stand it. Turns out, that’s pretty high. By the time I step from the cubicle, my skin is pink as sunburn.
A hairdryer hangs from its own special hook on the wall and is so powerful that my dark locks dry in minutes and can be pulled back into the usual ponytail. With a towel strategically hiding my best bits, I exit the shower and find a dress laid on the bed. My size. Plus, a bra and underwear. Plus, matching shoes.
Yeah, nah. Not creepy at all.
I dress, looking around the room for hidden cameras since the whole place definitely has that kind of vibe. I don’t see any but that’s kind of the point of them being hidden, isn’t it?
If they’re there, someone gets an eyeful. Happy hump day to my potential voyeur.
I smooth the dress over my nervous stomach and take a deep breath. The moment I do, there’s a knock on the door.
