There’s a loud bang as the gate behind me is torn from its hinges, my body instinctively crouching and my free hand covering my head.
Splash!
The gate lands in the pool to my right.
I stay laser focused on my escape route, catching sight of another gate just a few yards ahead. This one exits the grotto and emerges onto the opposite side of the parking lot horseshoe.
“Hey! What the hell?” shouts one of the men in the hot tub.
“Slit your throats with those bottles!” Eddie commands as he lopes past them, his voice rattling through his broken throat like a fiery jet engine. “Every last one of you better bleed out before I get back or I’ll make you pluck out each other’s goddamn eyeballs andfucking eat them!”
I don’t turn back, but I can already hear the bottles shattering behind me, transforming into jagged weapons. By now I’ve reached the second gate, yanking it open andslipping through, and in the few seconds when the line of sight is broken between Eddie and me, I hatch a plan.
It’s not a complicated plan, or a particularly good one, but it’s what I’ve got.
I scoop up a golf ball–size rock from the immaculate desert landscaping, turning my body in a single motion and then hurling it down the line of cars that run along this side of the parking lot. The second I release my little projectile I can feel my breath catch, praying with every fiber of my being that this actually works.
My rock strikes its target, a hollow thump followed by a deafening eruption of caustic sound and flashing lights. The car alarm blares ferociously, filling the night air with its dissonant wail.
I cut hard in the other direction, immediately noticing this side of the resort is slightly different. I’d assumed the layout here was perfectly symmetrical, but it appears a small stucco-covered building is tucked against the grotto. The wordSpais elegantly written above the door, which is locked, but there’s a small open-air supply area next to it. I immediately duck into the hidden cove, blending with the shadows and holding my breath.
Eddie bursts through the second gate, hesitating for a moment as he glances up and down the parking lot, then creeping toward the flashing car. He crouches slightly as he goes, peering under each of the parked vehicles.
The nook I’m lurking in hosts a number of pool supplies and fluffy white towels. They’re perfectly folded and neatly stacked on a waist-high tile counter, ready for tomorrow’sswimmers. Next to me is the spa’s outer wall, and it’s here that I notice a small window with a distinctly vintage frame.Allthe frames here are vintage, actually, coated with a splash of fresh paint during renovations because it’s much cheaper than installing an updated replacement.
I know the difference between something new that’stryingto appear vintage, and something that is actually vintage. It’s literally my job … sometimes.
Regardless, I’m willing to bet these older frames never received the same state-of-the-art alarm system that the new doors probably did.
I carefully reach up and take down two fluffy towels. I wrap one around my fist and stretch the other across the entire pane of the window, then glance around the corner to confirm Eddie is still investigating the car alarm, distracted for now but likely seconds away from moving on.
There’s only so much muffling one can do with a pool towel, so I need to make my move before the alarm stops. I double-check that my fist and arm are fully wrapped, then grit my teeth and center myself with the window. I throw my punch.
The crash is loud, but it’s certainly no match for the digital howls and squeaks from the nearby BMW.
It takes a moment to knock out all the glass around the frame, removing each renegade shard and tossing it to the side. After I’ve extracted the pieces, I lay one towel flat across the windowsill and carry the other one with me. I place this second towel on the floor as I slip inside, protecting my hands against the sea of twinkling fragments below.
I’m in the spa lobby now, a dark space for patrons to sit and relax before they’re taken back into private rooms for hot stone massages, exfoliating facials, and rejuvenating mud baths. The area is sparse and clean, with comfortable chairs against one wall and a large desk in the middle. Shelves on either side are decorated with gorgeous unglazed pottery and a selection of perfectly curated wellness books—all available for purchase, of course.
It’s what’s covering the central desk that really catches my eye, however. Cream-white candles are laid out in their own individual glass holders, the wax cylinders clustered together and burned to various heights.
I hurry over, crouching low as I move. Behind me, the walls flicker and dance with the sputtering glow of the nearby car alarm.
The backside of the desk features a single large drawer, and it’s here that I find exactly what I’m looking for. I extract a lighter and grab the closest candleholder. Instead of lighting the wick, I remove the solid body of the candle and focus on all the drippings that have coalesced at the bottom of the glass. They’re already quite soft, but not enough for the project I have in mind.
The car alarm stops.
I take the lighter and place it under the candleholder, slowly heating the wax until it’s a malleable putty. When it’s finally warm and ready, I scoop up as much of the stuff as I can manage, rolling it into two vaguely oval shapes.
I take a deep breath through my nostrils—recognizing this might be the last one I get for a while—then I shovethe wax into my nose as deep as I possibly can. My eyes immediately start watering again as my body struggles to reject this foreign entry, but I refuse to surrender. I push deeper and deeper, calling on the tenacity of a shark. I make more little ovals, then do it again, and again. I force so much wax into my nostrils that, eventually, I’ll have to go to the hospital to get it all taken out.
Because I will survive.
I will win.
“Stop right there!” comes an unfamiliar voice. It crackles through the parking lot, faintly distorted, and it’s only when I notice the flashing red-and-blue lights that I realize what’s happening.
Now completely stuffed up, I crawl around the desk and over to the spa’s front windows, the ones that look out over the parking lot.
