19. Aspen
ASPEN
I’m lying in bed, watching the numbers on the screen of my cellphone turn over.
Three a.m.
The witching hour.
I sigh and roll over, tucking my hand beneath my cheek. I’ve come to think of this room as my bedroom now, but being in the hotel is still strange. I’m conscious of the wide expanse of darkness beyond the window, and the endless corridors running like arteries through the hotel.
Being unable to sleep means my brain has decided to take me on a tour of all the bad experiences in my life, of which there have been many.
Mostly, I can’t stop thinking about my dad and those final weeks and months.
He’d been so angry all the time, and it hadn’t been easy to deal with.
I realize now that he’d been frightened, but sometimes it had felt like I hadn’t been able to do anything right.
The chicken parm I cooked him, which had normally been his favorite meal, had been too dry, or the coffee was too creamy.
If he needed help putting on his shoes, I was too rough, or if he called me to help him with something, I’d taken too long.
One time, he accidentally broke a mug I’d hand painted for my mom for a mother’s day gift when I was little, and I lost it completely.
I shouted at him and called him names, and it’s those moments I’m running through my head now, over and over.
I wish I could go back and change how I’d reacted, to tell him it didn’t matter, that it was only a mug, and give him a hug, but I can’t.
He’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do to change my actions.
A tear slips down my cheek and wets my pillow.
The light is on in the corridor outside my room, and I stare at the slat of light beneath the door, suddenly focused on it.
What has caught my attention?
I’m unsure, but my skin prickles with unease.
I push myself up, so I’m propped on one hand.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I shiver.
Has the temperature just dropped in here, or was it always this cold?
I’d swear I can see my breath. I shake myself out of it.
The temperature is dropping—we’re heading into the cold season—and this old hotel isn’t exactly well insulated.
But my gaze is glued to the space beneath the door, and my breath is caught in my chest. My heart thumps against the cage of my ribs, and my pulse hammers in my ears. Someone—or something—is out there; I’m sure of it. I can sense their presence, and it’s as though they’re aware of me, too.
It’s like we’re both waiting for the other person to make the first move.
Suddenly, a shadow sweeps across the length of the gap under the door, moving from one end to the other.
I gasp and grab my bedcovers, clutching them to my chest.
What the fuck was that?
If there had been footsteps, wouldn’t I have heard them?
The possibility of getting any sleep tonight vanishes. Blake still hasn’t given me the key to my room, and the thought that whoever is out there could just walk in here clangs loudly in my head.
I’m not sure what to do. A part of me wants to pull the covers over my head and hide, but the other part of me isn’t a coward. If I don’t get out of bed and open that door to find out who is outside, it’ll be forever playing on my mind. It’s better to know than lie here worrying.
Mind made up, I swing my legs out of bed and plant my bare feet on the cold wooden floor.
My skin is covered in goosebumps, and I wish I was wearing more than the small sleep shorts and camisole matching pajama set.
I know if I hesitate, I’ll change my mind, so I force my feet to move to reach the door.
I take hold of the handle, and it’s cold as ice. I turn it and swing the door open.
No one is there.
I step out into the hallway and check left and right.
It’s a long corridor, and I’m sure I’ve been quick enough to catch anyone who might have been lurking outside.
Unless they’ve slipped into one of the adjoining rooms, of course, which is a possibility, but I’m not about to go checking each of them.
It must be Levi, screwing around with me.
I turn to go back into my room, and my bare foot brushes against something. I leap back, my heart pounding anew. I glance down and find another of the little stick dolls on the floor at my feet.
I hesitate then bend to pick it up. I turn the doll around in my hands, inspecting the front and back. It looks just like the one that had been left on my pillow—the one that is now propped on my nightstand.
Someone left this for me. It’s a gift, I’m sure.
I’m also not convinced it was Levi who left this here.
But if not Levi, then who? I don’t think it’s Blake either, though I know he’s good with his hands.
Lurking outside of my room to leave this for me or leaving things on my pillow doesn’t feel like Blake’s style.
If he wanted to give me a gift, he’d just hand it to me.
I go back into my room and shut the door behind me again, wishing I was able to lock it and resolving to myself that I’ll ask Blake for the key first thing in the morning.
I sit on the edge of my bed and take a gulp from my water glass to calm my nerves. I clutch the stick doll to my chest and swing my legs back into bed again, hugging it into myself. The bed feels warmer now, the blankets softer, and a peace I hadn’t experienced before settles over me.
Within minutes, I’m sound asleep.