THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

21. Peccavisti

Down in the lobby, the security guard summoned Dahlia to the front desk in order to deliver some very upsetting news.

"Come here, girl," he called in a gruff voice. Already, his warm brown eyes had darkened with distrust, and his stance, once open and welcoming, had become closed and guarded. He treated her the same way so many had before, back when she was just another Gutter rat—with great suspicion.

"I'm gonna give you one more chance," said the guard. "Where did you really come from?"

"But I already told you. I live here, in the penthouse suite on the thirteenth floor. You think I'm lying? I've been here for weeks. Surely, they have me on record or something."

The clerk at the front desk, who had been typing away on the computer, finally poked his head out from behind the monitor. "I'm sorry, miss," he politely said, "but I'm afraid you're mistaken. We have no record of you ever checking in."

Dahlia's jaw dropped. "But that's not possible. Heidi checked me in herself. There must be something wrong with your computers — a glitch or something."

"There's nothing wrong with the computers, miss."

"Well, check it again!" Dahlia shrieked, unable to hide the panic in her voice. "I live in the penthouse suite on the thirteenth floor! I've been there dozens of times! Please, just check the computer again, please!"

The clerk laid his hands on the keyboard, but his fingers were still. "Miss, you don't understand," he went on, his brown eyes full of pity. "You cannot possibly live in the penthouse suite on the thirteenth floor because there is no penthouse suite on the thirteenth floor."

His words hit her like a punch in the gut. Dahlia had to grip the counter with both hands just to keep herself upright. "There is no suite on the thirteenth floor?" Saying the words aloud made her stomach churn. "This doesn't make any sense. None of this makes any sense!"

"Actually, it makes perfect sense," said the security guard, and then he roughly seized her by the wrist and yanked her toward him. "You were trying to pull a fast one on us, huh?"

Dahlia shook her head. "No! No, I wasn't! Please, you have to believe me! I live here – I really do! I'm not making this up!"

"Save your story for the police. I've heard enough."

Frantically, Dahlia searched around for a means of escape, but she found none. Men in black suits, armed with handcuffs and stun guns, were fast approaching from the other side of the lobby. They would take her, she knew, and then would send her away.

"No, I won't go back there!" Dahlia cried as she struggled against the guard's vise-like grip. "You can't send me back there! You can't!"

"Should've thought of that sooner!" With a sharp tug, the guard started dragging her toward the exit, and Dahlia fought him every step of the way.

"No!" she screamed. "Please, no!"

Dahlia could see her own demise in those fine glass doors. Once she passed through them, they would close for good, forever denying her reentrance. She would be forced to go back to the Gutter, back to the dirt and the cold, back to the fear and the hunger. Everything she'd worked so hard for, it was slipping right through her fingers.

... and then she heard his voice. It was as if God himself had intervened and allowed her to spend one more night in his heavenly palace. But when Dahlia turned around, she saw the devil in the man's eyes.

"There you are," Cillian said as he approached the group of them. Dressed in a sleek black suit, the pale-faced gentleman walked with the bravado of a billionaire and spoke with a posh British accent. "You've kept me waiting for ages, love."