A Meal
The demons had come and gone, failing to scare me again. Moving slowly, I lifted myself off the heated stone bed and sat on its edge, my mind still entangled with the past.
Billy Ray . . . After running away that night and leaving my little brother behind, tears streaking his scrunched face, I’d hoped he’d be okay until I got on my feet somehow and could take care of him.
If I would’ve brought him with me, every cop in the state would’ve been out looking for us.
They would’ve thrown me in jail for kidnapping.
My younger brother would have landed in foster care.
Looking back on my life, I had nothing to be ashamed of. No matter what I’d done in those years, one thing was clear to me: I’d done what I had to. I’d survived. And, after a few years of bitter struggle, I’d learned the courage to thrive.
A low grumbling in my stomach reminded me I hadn’t had much to eat since that quick stop at the ARIA Patisserie.
Hunger gnawed at me, reminiscent of those first days on my own when I’d stolen clothing off people’s lines and rummaged through garbage bins to feed myself.
I hated being reminded of that. Hated it deeply.
Feeling a little lost in the large mazelike spa, I eventually found my way to the locker room.
Everything was eerily deserted, the lights off or dimmed to almost nothing, though the soft, soothing sounds of instrumental harmonies still played at low volume from invisible speakers.
I changed into my clothes, abandoning the plush terry bathrobe with a tinge of regret.
Perhaps I’d come back tomorrow, or someday.
“Or never,” I whispered, remembering the terrifying nightmare that had awakened me to the sound of my own screams.
Back in my suite, I spent a few minutes staring at the view offered by the expansive windows.
Refusing to turn on the lights, I stood in the dark and admired the cityscape illuminated by a sea of vibrant billboards, neon and LED lights, and the iconic glow of casinos and hotels stretching into the distance.
With regret, I eventually moved away from the window, hunger being my only incentive to abandon the view.
For a moment, I considered getting dressed for dinner and starting to explore the restaurants sprinkled throughout the resort.
But there was a weariness left in me from my afternoon at the spa—from my incursion into the past more than anything.
It had drained me, scared me a little, and weakened my very core.
Grinding my teeth with disappointment and frustration in myself, I ordered way too much room service from the menu I found stacked neatly on the small desk by the phone.
A couple of hours later, after I finished brushing my teeth, I was ready to work, and everything else was forgotten. As it should be, bygones being bygones and all that. If only they’d stay bygones forever.
Not willing to call room service to clean up just yet, I went into the bedroom, where I fired up my laptop and started doing my research. I had a lot of work to do, and only four days left until the charity gala I was going to attend.
Even if I wasn’t yet invited.
And even if I knew exactly whom I wanted to meet there, but had no idea yet how to get close to him.
Hello, Winston. It will be good to finally know you.
Defense Attorney Blake: What was your opinion of the defendant while she stayed in your hotel?
Jenny Ashbrook: She was a very nice person. I’d never seen her drunk, or high, or doing . . . you know, inappropriate stuff. And believe me, as a Las Vegas hotel receptionist, I see a lot.
Defense Attorney Blake: Did she dress provocatively or hang out with a lot of men?
Jenny Ashbrook: No. She was always elegant and classy, and almost all the time by herself. No one called for her or asked about her, that I knew of. Of course, that changed after that article came out and everyone found out who she was.