The Arrangement 11
Page 10
It feels like everyone is watching me, but no one even glances my way. People are huddled together, talking in quiet tones, saying things that I can’t hear. A couple passes me after showing their room key to the guards at the door while others do the same thing at the elevator bank. A man hurries past me and out the front doors. He’s wearing a suit with a red tie.
His voice booms as he explains, “There was an unfortunate event here this evening, and we don’t want to make it more difficult on the family than it already is. Please separate...” his voice dies as the doors close behind him.
It’s not true. It can’t be. I don’t know what happened in that room and I can’t leave this place until I find out. I don’t care what Black does to me or if I incriminate myself. I’m frozen in place, halfway between the doors and the elevators when my phone vibrates.
It’s Marty. I pick up without thinking and he starts spewing questions at me before I can say anything. “What the hell happened? Are you guys all right? They said on the news that there’d been a violent crime, but they didn’t say anything else. Then, Ferro’s name popped up and, my God—tell me that you’re all right. Tell me that bastard didn’t hurt you.”
“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. Sean didn’t hurt anyone, but I think something happened to Mel. Gabe is waiting for me outside. He wants to take me back to Black’s but I can’t leave her here. I can’t leave.” My voice trails off and I already realize what I’m doing. Walking past the guard, I flash my room key card and step into the elevator, and press the button.
Marty is scolding me, telling me to get the hell out of there, but I don’t understand the rest. As soon as I’m standing in the metal box, the connection is lost. I turn off my phone and shove it into my purse, and press the button.
When the doors open I have a strange sense of déjà vu, except last time I was here, I was happy. Glancing down at the ring on my finger, I take a step. I’m out of the elevator and onto the hallway carpet. There’s a uniformed police officer with his back to me. Someone inside the room is talking to him. Every step I take feels unreal as I brace myself for whatever I might see. Mel can’t be dead, she can’t be, but when the open doorway comes into view I freeze.
There’s a limp, mocha-colored wrist lying on a blood stained carpet. The manicured fingers are curled and still. Her forearm disappears beneath a white sheet and the black bead from her bracelet is shattered next to her on the carpet. I stand there and stare, unable to move. My mind rejects what my eyes are telling me. Everything around me floats away as horror slams down hard on my shoulders, making my knees buckle, and forcing me to the floor.
