Chapter Four, The woman In Black
1066 Words
Chapter Four:
***The Woman in Black***
The cold bit through my dress but I barely felt it.
I ran until my lungs screamed. Until my broken heels twisted and I had to kick them off. Until the streetlights blurred into one long smear and I did not know where I was anymore.
No phone. No purse. Just me and this red dress and a heart that would not stop breaking.
I stopped at some corner and bent over, gasping. The pavement was freezing under my bare feet.
Two years.
The thought hit me, and I started laughing. High and sharp and wrong. Two years of begging him to touch me while he was touching her.
"AHHHHHH!"
The scream tore out of me. Raw and ugly. A couple across the street looked over and quickly looked away.
Good. Let them look.
I started walking again. Just away. Away from that house. Away from a husband who was never really mine.
My feet were bleeding. I did not care.
I should have seen it. The business trips. The late nights. The way he stopped kissing me goodbye.
"Amy," he used to call me. When did it become Amber? Formal. Distant.
Two years ago.
Of course.
I stepped off the curb without looking.
Horn blast. Headlights. Too close.
Tires screeched. The car stopped maybe a foot from me.
I just stood there.
Part of me wondered what would have happened if the driver had been slower.
The back door opened.
A woman stepped out. Maybe fifty. Dressed entirely in black, the expensive kind. Diamond studs caught the streetlight.
She looked at me. Really looked.
"Are you hurt?"
I shook my head. Then nodded. I did not know how to answer.
"Where do you live?"
The word live broke something in me.
"I do not," I heard myself say. "I do not live anywhere."
She held out her hand. "Come with me."
I should have said no.
But I had nothing left.
I took her hand.
The car was leather and dark wood. Quiet after the noise in my head.
We drove in silence. She handed me a tissue. I pressed it to my face. It came away black.
"Thank you."
She nodded.
Ten minutes later, we pulled up to a building. Glass and steel. The kind of place where Timothy took important clients.
The kind of place I had never been good enough for.
Inside, staff straightened when they saw her. She walked to a private elevator. Palm on a reader. Doors opened.
We went up.
The elevator opened to a private club. Dark wood. Leather. Low lighting.
She guided me to a sofa and disappeared.
When she came back, she handed me a crystal glass.
"Drink."
"What is it?"
"Scotch. Very effective."
I drank. It burned but warmed everything that had gone cold.
She poured another. We sat in silence.
I drank the second glass. Then a third.
The room softened. The pain dulled.
"Why are you helping me?"
She was quiet for a moment. "Because someone helped me once. And I learned that sometimes the smallest kindness can save a life."
Her phone buzzed.
She stood. "I am sorry, but I need to handle something." She pulled out a card and bills. Pressed them into my hand. "That is my direct line. If you need anything, you call me."
"I cannot"
"You can. There is a hotel upstairs. Tell the desk you need a room."
"I do not have money"
"It is handled. Just rest."
Her phone buzzed again.
"Promise me you will be safe tonight."
"I promise."
"Good." She squeezed my shoulder. "Call me tomorrow."
Then she was gone.
I stared at the card.
Jacqueline Chen
President and CEO, Chen Holdings
I finished my drink. Poured another.
Everything was already gone.
I stood. The room tilted, but I steadied myself.
Sleep. I just needed sleep.
I found an elevator. Pressed buttons until I was in a lobby, cream and gold and expensive quiet.
The desk attendant looked up.
The lobby doors swept open.
A woman walked in. Commanded the space.
Red Louboutins. Black dress sprayed on. Hair extensions. Makeup perfect, dramatic eyes, sharp cheekbones, blood red lips.
Designer bags. Gold jewelry. Nails like weapons.
And the perfume. Heavy. Choking. Announced from across the lobby.
She walked straight to the desk.
I moved forward too. Unsteady.
"I need a room," I said quietly. "Jacqueline Chen said to come here."
"I have a reservation," the other woman said louder. "Chen Holdings."
The same company.
The receptionist’s eyes darted between us. "Of course. Just one moment."
She pulled out two key cards. Set them on the desk.
"Your room is 666," she said to me. "And yours is 999."
I reached for the envelope.
The other woman shifted. Her bag knocked the desk.
Our shoulders collided.
Envelopes scattered.
"Watch it!" She whipped around. "Jesus Christ."
She looked me up and down. Lip curled.
"Sorry."
"Whatever." She turned away, dismissing me.
The receptionist gathered the envelopes. Handed one to each of us.
The other woman snatched hers and walked away. Heels clicking. Perfume lingering.
"Is there anything else?"
"No. Thank you."
I turned toward the elevators.
"Ma’am?"
A man appeared. Tall. Black suit. Dark glasses indoors. Security.
He looked at his phone. Then at me.
"This way, please. I will escort you to your room."
"I can find"
"Standard service, please."
Too tired to argue.
I followed.
Behind me, a woman’s voice. "Ma’am? I will show you to your room."
An elegant woman approached the other guest.
We went to different elevators.
Silent ride up. The bodyguard stood like a statue.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
Nine?
I blinked. My room was 666. Sixth floor.
Was it not?
I looked at the envelope. Numbers blurred.
Maybe I had misheard.
Down the hallway. Thick carpet. Gold lighting.
He stopped at a door.
"Your room, ma’am."
I stared. But the receptionist said 666.
Had she not?
"Thank you."
He walked away.
I stood alone. Staring at 999.
Pulled out the key card. Wave it.
Nothing. Red light.
Again. Still red.
"Please."
Again. Nothing.
Of course.
I leaned against the door. Cool. Solid.
Without thinking, I knocked.
Once. Twice.
Click.
The lock.
The door swung inward.
I had been leaning on it. Suddenly nothing held me up, and I was falling
Into someone.
Arms caught me.
I looked up.
And forgot how to breathe.
- Writer
