Chapter 32 Persephone #2
When we finally stop again, Eros pulls our sedan into a lonely roadside motel of sorts. Squat and single storied, the graying building splays out wide, with perhaps four or five rooms in the back and a large front check-in area. It seems noticeably dingier than any place I have been with Hades.
“Is this place even safe?” I ask.
Eros shoots me a hard look. “Depends on what ye mean by safe, doesn’t it? Now, stay here.”
With that, he gets out and hurries into the front of the building. I hold my breath; Eros is using one of the United Kingdom passports that I cobbled together in the last week. I know that my work is good.
And I realize that this little bungalow is the last place on earth that will look too hard at identification.
But that doesn’t stop me from worrying that I have sent Eros on a dangerous mission. When he steps out of the building, bounding back to me in the car and tucking his passport in his pocket, I heave a sigh of relief.
If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He pulls the car around to the back of the little hotel, jumps out, and brandishes two old silver skeleton keys.
Tossing one to me, he points to the room at the very end. “Yer down there.”
Without another word, he turns and wanders off out the back lot. I watch him for a moment before I realize that he has no reason to watch me closely.
If anything, he wants me to run and never look back.
Picking up the small bag of my things that I’ve brought and the black canvas bag stuffed with money, I wander down to the room I’ve been assigned.
I open the door, unsure what to expect. I’m greeted with a small, plain white room, a very simple and rather narrow white bed, and a framed photocopy of some well-designed Arabic calligraphy, black print on faded yellow paper.
I step inside and close the door, putting my bags down on the coarsely starched linens of the bed. Turning, I look out the little window beside the door and wonder where Hades is.
He said he’d join me tonight, I think. But I have no idea of how long he’ll be. Nor really any idea whether I’m even supposed to be here or if Eros might have just decided to keep me separate from Hades for a few days.
I sit down on the bed, looking around. There is a little door that leads into a bathroom with a sink and toilet. Other than that, there is no decoration whatsoever.
After fidgeting for a minute, I dig into the bag of personal items I brought, producing my iPad. Turning it on, I take a deep breath.
A little dialog box pops up.
CONNECT TO 100.65.278 WIFI?
I tilt my head. The hotel must have service, I guess. I thought that Wi-Fi was spotty on this entire continent… but maybe that was just me presuming things.
I click CONNECT.
Nothing happens. When I try to pull up my browser, I get an error message that says I’m not connected to the internet.
Strange.
I pull up a book about turn of the century women artists and leaf through a few pages. The day gradually loses sunlight and turns into the gray of twilight. I’m hungry but I have no idea where Eros is.
So I curl up at the end of the bed and let my eyes drift closed. I’m not asleep precisely, just… resting.
I’m conscious of a sound from outside my room. Maybe tires on the gravel lot. Nothing that would stir me from my doze.
My mind drifts and I shift against the hard bed.
Everything is calm.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
And that’s when the door to my bedroom explodes inward. I bolt upright, rubbing at my face as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Half a dozen figures, decked out in black tactical gear and carrying big, scary automatic rifles hurry into my little room.
I can’t believe my eyes as I take them all in. They move as a unit, their steps practiced. And it’s impossible to tell what race or creed they are because they’ve done such a good job of covering every inch of visible skin.
I shriek as loudly as I can and scurry backward, as if that will somehow help. My heartbeat pounds against my ribs painfully. I’m too shocked to even think of what I should do. Two of the men aim their guns at me; I scream again and duck my head.
“Get her up,” one man says.
My mouth drops open an inch when I realize that he’s definitely speaking with an American accent. It also kicks something wild into drive for me. The second that the man corners me and tries to grab at me, I wrench my entire body back, kicking and punching, making my limbs flail.
I punch at him directly, screaming again. He doesn’t stop or even slow. He just backs me against the wall, pins my arms at my sides, and begins to secure my hands behind me with zip ties. I knee him in the balls and for a second, he staggers backward.
“Don’t resist,” he says, a little twinge in his voice. “It’ll all be over soon.”
I lunge forward, my mouth opening, intending to bite him. He brandishes a black cotton bag, gathering the material in his hands.
I can’t make it easy for him. The other men look on, almost bored, as I writhe and fight with everything I’ve got. My feet still work, and I kick at him, landing a blow to his thigh.
“Fucking bitch,” he mutters.
He manages to pin me down, using the weight of his big body to hold me as he maneuvers the black bag over my head. I scream again and he punches me in the ribs, swift and hard.
All the breath twists from my lungs. I struggle weakly as he lifts me over his shoulder and starts carrying me out of the room.
I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes as I am stuffed in a small, airless space. A trunk of a car, perhaps.
I get up the will to scream again, but it feels utterly useless. The car starts a second later and I am carried away. My mind whirls, wondering who the hell these guys are and what, exactly, they intend to do with me.