Chapter 9
Leaning against the wall, I untie the straps wrapped around my calves. Slipping my feet from the chunky heels and placing them on the floor has a groan slipping out between my lips. I hate wearing fancy shoes, but the sensation after removing them is euphoric.
Glancing back down the hall, I wait to see if Sam will poke around the corner. He doesn’t, and I realize he probably knows a shortcut to his room. He’s undoubtedly going to beat me there, an—
“I don’t hear running, Rosie!” he calls out.
Shit. Stifling a giggle, I scoop up the shoes and take off, bare feet thundering down the bright carpeted hall.
Coming up in front of the elevator, I smash the down arrow button. It lights up green, and I wait anxiously.
What happens if he catches me? I don’t know, and the unknown ratchets up my arousal. I should have asked more questions.
The whirring of the coming elevator fills the silence, and I release a heavy breath. Slightly bouncing on the balls of my feet, I ready myself to jump in and press the Door Close button before Sam can sneak up on me.
The sound stops abruptly, the light above the elevator stopping on the floor below this one. Its yellow glow flickers erratically, then goes out completely. Trepidation sneaks up my spine as I press the down button again. It doesn’t light up green.
In fact, it doesn’t light up at all.
What the fuck?
Down the hall, the telltale ding of another arriving elevator calls out. Fate intervenes at the most perfect moment, making sure I don’t miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime dicking.
Abandoning the useless elevator, I jog toward the waiting one, while making a mental note to notify Sam of the malfunction. As I approach it, the light once again flickers, then dies.
Sam.
The motherfucker.
He has to be doing this. Using his pull with his coworkers to manipulate the situation. I cast my sight up and down the hall, looking for a security camera.
High up, tucked in the corner, a small lens reflects the light. I knew it. He has this whole chase completely rigged. I’m a rat in his elaborately constructed maze, being led to the finish line.
Next to the elevator is a door. It’s nondescript, but the way the lights flash off and on between the cracks is a sign if I’ve ever seen one.
I’m supposed to go this way.
Twisting the cold metal knob, I push it open. The lights stop flickering immediately, and I cautiously follow the metal stairwell down to the next level.
Opening the heavy door, I poke my head out slowly. The numbers across the hall start in the six hundreds. This isn’t the floor I need. Quietly, I shut the door as I re-enter the stairwell.
On bare, aching feet, I descend two more flights. The light lapping of the waves the only sound to be heard. Coming up on the door for the 400 level, I swing it open. The lights flash chaotically. Off then on, off then on. This is the wrong floor, again.
In front of me, high on the wall, sits the camera lens.
I hold up my pointer finger, mouthing the words “One second.” The bright lights stop strobing, Sam giving me the ‘okay’ to carry on.
I wait a moment for my vision to clear the floating, blinking lights, then quickly and quietly, I pad down the hall.
Door 437 appears, and I drop Chelsea’s shoes on the carpet in front of it.
Knocking lightly, I alert anyone awake inside, then take off back toward the stairwell.
The sharp corners of the heels knocked into my thighs with every step down the stairs, becoming a hindrance to carry.
I won’t need them if I’m face down in Sam’s bed anyway.
There’s no flickering lights as I swing the metal stairwell door open this time, and I wonder if Sam has made his way to the room I’m headed for.
Without the loud clacking together of the heels, my final descent is silent.
Anticipation burns through me as I approach the metal door.
Is he there? Waiting for me on the other side with that smirk pulling at his lips?
Or is he already in his room, waiting with bated breath for me to approach the door just so he can ask me what took so long?
The door creaks as I slowly pull it open and step out. It presses into my back as I splay my fingers against the chilled steel, attempting to close it as silently as possible. Holding my breath, I wait. There isn’t a sound to be heard except the ocean mixed with the mechanical humming of the ship.
There’s a black sign hanging from the ceiling above, gently swaying in time with the rise and fall of the vessel on the waves. Gold-written directions stating the screening room is down the hall ahead, and that rooms 310 to 399 are behind me.
Odd. Considering the other floors start at the beginning.
I make my way in that direction, following the labyrinth of hallways searching for room 306. Maybe the sign is old or a misprint.
By my third time around, my eyes are aching from the zig-zagging carpet design. I realize the room doesn’t exist at all, and this has been some sick fucking joke.
I march over to room 310, looking down the hallway at the way the numbers ascend. Even numbers on the right and odd on the left.
Spinning around, I observe the dark heavy doors before me.
Five on the left, and five on the right.
They’re unnumbered, missing the brass plaques the other doors have.
But the impression of them is still there, each wooden door sporting two matching screw holes from the number plates.
So, there were originally 300 rooms… but not anymore.
Sam’s lucky I’m smart, because this is too much effort for a fucking dick appointment.
Moving down the hall, I walk by what would be room 308 if the pattern continued. Stopping to stand before the door I believe to be 306. I heave in a breath, quelling my annoyance at Sam for this ridiculous charade.
I raise my hand to knock.
The air shifts unnaturally around me, charging with something unknown, and I pause.
Suddenly, an arm bands around me, trapping mine at my sides. I’m yanked backwards, hauled into the darkness of the room behind me.
307.