This chapter is dedicated to @iamunchanged for all her love on this book. Thank you 😚
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I woke up to the blare of car horns and honks of lorries passing by some distance away from the hotel.
The first thing my groggy brain registered was the fact that I was in a room, on the bed of a room, to be precise. One which I did not remember walking into. Or falling asleep in.
Against the pounding in my head and faint ringing in my ears, I sat up and looked around.
Something felt off. Different.
For one, my shoes weren't on my feet anymore, instead they were a few feet away from the bed, lying askew. And not just that, the back button of my jumpsuit was undone. And my hair, which I remember holding up with a pin, in preparation for the party, was untied, hanging loosely around my face.
When did all these happen? When did I do all these?
And why couldn't I remember anything from the moment I got Chelsea to the party until now?
I looked at the clock opposite me, high up on the wall.
It read 7:10.
Suddenly, a wave of realization hit me.
I was in a hotel room. I shouldn't be in a hotel room. I should be in the room of the lodge Chelsea and I shared.
I mean, I was supposed to drive us—Chelsea and I—back to the lodge after the party, which was scheduled to end at eleven.
So why was I in the bed of a hotel room?
Swinging my legs off the bed, I got down.
Something was definitely not right.
And where the hell was Chelsea?
She wouldn't have just left me in the hotel and went off with Brian. If she was even going to leave with Brian, she would've informed me.
I got my phone out of my purse, which was sitting on the nightstand, and checked it for missed calls from Chelsea.
None.
I kicked on my shoes immediately, went into the adjoining bathroom, splashed water on my face and dried it, then hurried out of the room.
As soon as I stepped outside, I paused to take in my surroundings.
I was still on the third floor, and a few feet from me was the lounge where the party had taken place.
It was daytime now, so I didn't need the lights on to see into lounge properly.
The lounge was empty and orderly, considering a party had taken place in there, so I guessed it had already been attended to by room service.
But where was Chelsea?
No missed calls, no earlier information that she'd be leaving, nothing.
Just then, it clicked in my memory to call her.
"Why hadn't I thought of that since?" I wondered aloud as I fished for my phone in my purse once again.
Once I'd gotten it out, I tried Chelsea's number.
It rang, but she didn't pick.
Okay, that was weird. Chelsea never ignored my calls.
I tried again and then again, but got the same result.
I diverted to trying Brian's number.
He answered on the second ring.
"God, it's seven in the morning, Sabrina." His voice came to me, groggy and slightly muffled. "Plus it's a Sunday."
"Sorry," I said quickly, eager to get to the point. "Is Chelsea with you?"
"No," he replied. I heard a soft thud on the other end of the line.
"Isn't she with you?" he asked.
"She's not with you?" I breathed, replying his question with a question, "where is she, Brian? Where did she go?"
"Why are you asking me this, Sabrina? I left the party a bit early because I had some stuff to attend to, didn't Chelsea tell you this? I mean, I thought she would because I told her I was leaving. And when I did, she said it was okay since she already had a ride, which was you. So, I'm asking again, isn't she with you?"
Trying to fight off the panic that rose inside me with every word Brian spoke, I shut my eyes and took in deep breaths.
"Sabrina, isn't Chelsea with you?" Brian asked for the third time.
"No," I whispered.
There was a short pause before he spoke up.
"What do you mean no. You mean, she's not with you or you don't know where she is?" The tension in his voice was notable.
"I don't know, okay?" I said a tad too loudly. "I'm still at the hotel and I don't know how. I can't . . . I can't remember anything from after the time I got Chelsea to the party. It feels like some part of my memory has been . . . cut out and thrown away, and don't ask me what that means because I have absolutely no idea how that's even possible, and I can't, for the life of me, find Chelsea!"
"Hey, hey, Sabrina calm down, okay? Just take in deep breaths and calm down," Brian said, his tone very well alarmed but soft. "I'm on my way."
"Hurry up."
I cut the line and practically flew into the elevator which Chelsea and I had stepped out from some hours ago.
Being in the elevator made me realize just how impatient I could be.
I couldn't stop pacing and at the ding of the elevator stopping at the first floor, I was more than relieved.
As soon as the doors slid open, I stepped out and rushed straight to the receptionist.
She was writing something down in a note book when I got to her.
"Hey," I called to get her attention.
She looked up at once and frowned on seeing my disheveled state.
"You remember me, right?" was the first thing I said as soon as I'd gotten her attention.
"Yes," she nodded. "You came in here yesterday, in the evening, with a girl."
"Good!" My voice sounded like I was high on Percs, when actually, I was just high on adrenaline.
"That girl, did you see her leave the hotel? Last night or even this morning?" I queried the receptionist.
"I'm sorry, I do only morning, afternoon and evening shifts. Once it's ten o'clock, I leave," she told me, the look on her face a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
"Oh God." I held a hand to my forehead. "Okay, uh, who does the night shifts? Is he here? Or she? Whichever, can I just get in touch?"
She stared at me warily for a few seconds before finally nodding.
She had just gotten out a phone book below her tiled desk and began flipping through pages when a lady dressed in a prim, white T-shirt and black knee length skirt ran up to us, her face the the exact definition of panic.
It was almost as if the word was made for her.
"Mary, what is it?" the receptionist frowned, just as the lady got to us.
From her dressing, I got an idea she was probably one of the room services.
"There's a . . . as I was . . ."
"Please, Mary, I'm busy, can you calm down and get straight to the point?" the receptionist told the lady as politely as she could.
"Okay, okay," she nodded frantically then began. "As I went into one of the rooms I had to clean, I saw a girl, fair skinned. She . . . she was just sitting on the bed and . . . staring. I tried to talk to her, but she wasn't responding. I checked her pulse. Heartbeat. She's alive, but she's not moving, or speaking, just sitting on the bed and looking straight ahead."
My breath hitched in my throat at Mary's words.
"What, like catatonic?" the receptionist asked.
"I don't know, ah, me I didn't do anything o. I just say make I clean room (I just went to clean up the room)," Mary said.
"What was she wearing?" I managed to get out.
"White. The hands are off the shoulder . . ."
At that moment, her words faded and the wide reception suddenly felt so small and my legs so wobbly, it seemed like I was about to melt into a puddle of water.
I gripped the top of the receptionist desk to stop myself from falling.
"Take me there," I breathed.
"Wh . . ."
"I said take me there!" I screamed startling both Mary and myself.
Mary looked from me to the receptionist.
"I can't leave my seat, but I can tell the security to go with you. Security!" the receptionist called out and the two men standing at the entrance of the hotel turned and walked up to us.
"Festus, please, I need you to follow these women. There seems to be a problem and I can't leave," the receptionist told the younger security man.
The older man went back to his post while Festus and I followed Mary.
Despite dreading what I'd see, I walked faster than them all.
Eventually, we got to a room and Mary stopped outside and so did Festus.
"She's in there," she pointed, her face a literal embodiment of fear and worry.
I pushed past her and stepped into the room.
There was Chelsea, sitting on the bed, or rather, propped up, like a doll would be, staring straight at me, her arms limp beside her and her hair a messy halo around her face.
The top of her milky white dress was ripped exposing her cleavage and beside her lower lip was a purple . . . bruise.
"Oh my God." I held a hand to my mouth, tears welling up in my eyes.
Slowly, I walked up to her.
She looked so small and vulnerable, I couldn't bear to think of what had happened to her. I couldn't let my mind go there.
I sat down beside her and placed a hand on her forearm.
It was cold.
"Chelsea," I whispered.
She remained as still as a statue, eyes straight ahead, staring but distant.
If she'd seen me or even Mary and Festus standing at the door, she made no sign.
"Chelsea." I tried again.
I got the same result.
A hot tear spilled down my cheek.
"Chelsea, please."
For once, she didn't blink. Or move or do anything at all.
It was as if she'd just . . . gone all zombie. Alive, but seemingly dead.
"What's going on here?"
I snapped my teary gaze away from her face and looked at the door.
Behind the security man and the room service lady stood Brian.
On seeing Chelsea, his mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide.
To say that he looked shocked would be a big understatement.
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Poor Chelsea. Why'd the bad things gotta happen to the good ones? I know it's not always the case, but still . . .
Anyhoo, don't forget to drop your comments, vote and share ;)
Alright bye,
Thea🙏🙎