Do Not Disturb || ONC2023

CHAPTER 1

ROXANNE

Monday, July 19 - 7:13 AM

A heartbeat is thudding in the lower left side of my skull. Thump thump thump. The more consciousness I regain, the harder it beats. I can practically hear its nonexistent rhythm. I groan, stretching from my faced down position on the bed, feeling my sore muscles come alive as if they died overnight. There's sunlight streaming through the open curtains, blinding me momentarily as I try to recollect the events of the previous night.

I wish the sun had blinded me for real, maybe then I couldn't see the lifeless human next to me, crimson fluid seeping out of the gaping hole on her forehead. I scream.

I scream and scramble out of the queen size bed like it's on fire. I scream bloody murder, because that's exactly what happened here. My breathing turns erratic, becoming more shallow with each inhale and making me lightheaded. The heartbeat in my skull transforms into a full-fledged striking pain that has me clutching at my head, fingers tangling into sticky strands of my dark hair. Wait, sticky?

Slowly bringing my hand before my eyes, a raspy breath escapes my throat as I stare, horrified, at the sight of my bloody palm. Something bad happened here last night, real bad. The scene in front of me is evidence enough of a gnarly crime involving myself and the very much dead, older blonde lady on the bed, not to mention the rest of the hotel room is also trashed. Holy shit. Someone tried to kill us. They succeeded at killing her!

I feel like throwing up, but I'm paralyzed in my spot on the carpeted floor, not able to tear my gaze away from the mystery lady. Questions flood my already hurting brain. Who is she? I don't remember.

Even worse, I don't remember who I am.

~~~

7:20 AM

Shaky hands grab the wireless telephone from the nightstand, dialing the number for the front desk. I need— I need help. I need them to call security. The police— fuck, anyone! Plopping my ass back down on the floor, somehow finding comfort in the plush, fluffy rug, I try my best to put my thoughts into actual words. Turns out, that feat is kinda hard to conquer when you have absolutely no memories whatsoever.

"H-hello? Hi, front desk?... Yeah, I need some assistance, p-please, Cassie." I extend my legs straight, only stopping when I hit my foot on something under the bed. "Yeah, um, room number? I— fuck- I don't remember. I just need—"

I don't hear what the front desk lady says next, my attention now on the open duffel bag I was able to pull from underneath the bed with my toes. At first glance, I think my screwed-up head is playing tricks on me, because there is no way I just dragged out a hidden bag full of money. There's no way. But the seconds tick by and it's clear as day that a black duffel bag overflowing with stacks upon stacks of cold hard cash is what I'm staring wide-eyed at.

A faraway "ma'am…?" sounds from the phone I discarded on the floor, muffled.

"I need…" The bag of bills mock me with its mere presence. Multiple polaroid pictures are scattered around too, I notice. The first I pick up is of me and the dead woman, smiling at the camera. The next is of her only, a seductive look in her eye as she stares into the lense. Another of the both of us. And another. And another. Us sitting closely. Us with our arms around each other. Us kissing. Her and I. Me and her. Wearing the clothes we are still currently in. Except she's dead now.

"I need…" I say particularly to no one, the phone call already forgotten.

I pick up one polaroid after another, each photo just confusing me more than the last. I don't remember any of these happening. I don't even recognize the lady without the bullet wound, and myself, well, at all.