Those Lovely Children Of Lys

Chapter Two ~Cold, White Room~

I woke up in a cold, white room. The air conditioner was at 13 degrees. If I weren't used to sleet and rain and general cold, I would have frozen by now. My head was pounding, like someone was steadily beating a rubber mallet on it. I blinked several times, trying to get the black spots out my vision. 

Once I could see clear, I gathered all my hair at the back and tied it with the rubber band I always kept around my wrist. Slowly, looking around, I realized someone had got some of my stuff from our house. My headphones and phone were on the coffee table, a few clothes were packed in my old duffel bag, and someone had brought my schoolbag along. Gee thanks, how considerate of you to realize I might want to do Algebra after finding out my mother is dead. 

I bit my nail, an old habit, when the word mother passed through my mind. It felt like a rusty knife slicing my heart. I should never have let her go, I thought, guilt gnawing at me. 

The hotel room looked sparse, clean, and generally one of the better ones. All three walls were white, except the glass one, which overlooked a swimming pool. The floors were wooden and surprisingly warm under my feet as I got up from the bed and went to the washroom. Again, not bad at all. Someone had kept a shiny new white toothbrush in a glass, along with some toothpaste. I brushed my teeth, and stared at the mirror. 

My face was pale, my eyes were puffy, my clothes were yesterday's and smelt stale, and my long dark hair was scraped up in an ugly cross-section of a bun and a ponytail. I did not look my best, but I hardly cared. I wanted to escape this (unfairly) comfortable, cold, white room. It felt antiseptic, alien. Not where I belonged. 

I wore  the sneakers I'd worn before coming (somebody had removed my shoes as well), and I tried to open the room. Someone had locked it from outside. 

The. 

Hell. 

I could sue for that, the arseholes. Why was I locked in? This was getting strange, scary and a little bit creepy. I threw off the sneakers, pulled out the smelly socks, and stumbled to the bed once again. I picked up the phone, and found the Room Service number scrawled on an empty notepad next to the telephone. 

"Room Service!" A cheery female voice announced. I resisted the urge to snap at her, but I heavily frowned. "I do not know which room this is," I said slowly, "But I was brought here with a thin guy with two cops, I know I sound confusing but--" "Heavens! You're the Conran girl, aren't you? Your mother...you poor lass. That'll be 431, Cloud Wing." I sighed in reassurance. 

"Thank you, thanks a lot. Why is my room locked from the outside?" She lowered her voice, and said, "Lass, I'm not supposed to tell you. But I feel sorry for a dear girl like you, so I shall. We'll keep it to ourselves, yeah?" "Yes, yes, of course," I must have sounded as desperate as I felt, because she immediately jabbered off that the authorities, for security reasons, thought it best to keep my locked in my room. They though I'd be upset, and might try something drastic. Running away, for example. 

"Thank you so much," I told her. "You're welcome, sweetie, but didn't you read the note?" "What note?" I asked. "On the second page of the notepad. They've left it for you." 

I should have done that first. Obviously. Feeling stupid, I mumbled, "Right, thanks," and put the phone down. I picked up the notepad, and on the second page, found note scrawled in blue Biro. 

Will meet you at lunch in your room. Please change and order something for breakfast. Calm down, you're safe.