Chapter 13 "I think you bruised a rib or something..."
My eyes glazed over as I stared at the nametag with gold letters reading ‘Maryann’. Maryann was the manager, here at the Four Seasons hotel in East Pasadena. Why this man wanted to pay with only cash, she didn’t know. Why the girl staring at her nametag had a blood stain in the side of her shirt, or why they kept looking over their shoulders. The first girl to try and book us in a room had the most worried look in her eyes when Justin asked if he could pay in cash. “Sir, we need a credit card for security purposes.” Maryann insisted. I rolled my eyes and shifted my weight onto my other let, my eyes wandering around the large extravagant room.
Justin sighed with frustration. He hasn’t slept in hours, he’s been driving in all that time, and all we wanted was to get in the room, order room service, and fall asleep. “Look, I just need a room for one night. I realize you need it in case of damage to property, but I assure you, we’re not going to damage anything or steal anything. We’re just going to eat, fall asleep, and get out at ten o’clock tomorrow.”
“Check out time is nine, not ten.” The first girl finally piped up. Maryann glared at her, forcing her to be quiet again. I once again rolled my eyes and turned around, not wanting to listen to this anymore. Walking slowly, I strolled further into the lobby. If I looked straight up, I could see the hand painted ceiling, glowing with amber lights. The painting was angels flying in the clouds, wearing wispy cloths around their waists; the usual image. This hotel was just like any other, but apparently they were ten times better, since you had to pay ten times more money. Justin insisted on staying here, no matter how many times I said I was fine.
I sighed and plopped down onto one of the velvet couches, folding my legs to my chest. It was chilly in here; probably counteracting the heat outside. Justin was still arguing with the woman at the desk, offering more and more money at the sound of it. I didn’t see why he was pressing this so much; I would just tell her I would take my large amount of money elsewhere.
Trying to ignore their bickering voices, along with everyone else in the hotel, I looked outside. The sun was down; the streets were dark and almost uninhabited. The very few business men checking in for their business trips and a few random people were the only others around. My eyes were locked on a black car, sitting on the sidewalk as I drifted in and out of some kind of trance. I was beyond tired – I hated traveling like this.
The black car’s door opened and out climbed a man wearing a long trench coat. After closing the door, he leaned against the car and slipped his hands into him pockets, crossing one leg over the other. He stared at me, smirking.
My breath caught when realization settled in.
“Rhylee… Rhylee, can you hear me?” Someone tapped my shoulder. I quickly whipped around and saw Justin. He looked irritated, but satisfied at the same time. “She finally caved; come on, let’s get to our room.”
“No, we can’t, we have to leave, there’s – ” I turned and looked back outside. The man was gone, the car was gone; Robert was gone.
“There’s what?” Justin asked, looking in the direction I stared.
“N-nothing I guess… Maybe I’m just tired.” I nodded at my own answer. “Yeah, tired.”
“Probably, we’ve been driving ever since this morning. Come on, let’s get some food in you and then get a pillow under your pretty little head.” He helped me out of the chair; thankfully he couldn’t see me blushing. We made our way past the check in desk, where Maryann scowled, past the stairs and to the elevator. We stepped inside, alone, and pressed one of the top buttons. My eyes glimpsed out the doors as they closed, looking out the windows again. I was losing my mind; nothing was there. With a sigh of relief, my gaze wandered around the room once more.
YOU ARE READING
Rhylee has been a prisoner of this place for six years. They took her when she was only thirteen, injecting heroin into her veins as soon as they locked her in that pure white cell. Doctors who found the art in making illegal drugs, the money, the g...