Page 55 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

Angeline and Tavo moved through the courtyard that led to the pool, then passed under the stone tunnel that connected the main property to the rooms, their footfalls echoing. She ran her hands along the wall, relishing the cool rock, its solidity and resilience. The property had stood here for hundreds of years, an old estate that the owners had bought in disrepair, then spent years restoring as a hotel just in time for the pandemic to hit. It made Angeline wonder what dream she’d had for her life. Was this it? Working for Mav? She’d always wanted to do things for others, to fix all the broken things, like Mav said. And she was doing that, most of the time. Wasn’t she?

They were approaching Alex’s door when Gustavo put up a hand to stop her.

“The door is open,” he said.

She saw that it stood ajar. Something roared in the back of her head, but she ignored it, marching past Gustavo and coming to stand in the doorjamb.

“Alex,” she said in a loud whisper. “Alex.”

When there was no answer, she started pushing on the door, entering the dark space.

“Alex, you’d better be dressed. I’m coming in. We have to talk.”

But the room was empty when Angeline flipped on the desk light. His suitcase lay open on the rack, everything neat and perfectly folded just like Alex,the most tidy and organized person she’d ever met.

The bed was made, and his charger was still plugged into the wall.

She turned to Gustavo, who was staring at the bathroom door, which was shut.

“Alex,” she said, knocking hard.

Gustavo squinted at something and walked over to the patio doors. Outside was a private lounge area with a hot tub. He stopped at the glass, put his finger to it and drew it back quickly.

“What?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. She tried the bathroom door and found it unlocked, pushed it open, and flipped on the light.

Empty. Pristine white tile floor, veined quartz counter, enormous glass-enclosed shower. Towels fresh, every surface dry.

“Angeline.”

She didn’t like the tone of Gustavo’s voice. She left the bathroom to join him and saw what he saw, a wide spray of viscous black-red liquid on the glass.

“It’s blood,” he said, holding up a finger smeared with bright red.

Her throat went dry. “Don’t be stupid,” she managed.

“It’sblood,” he said again, louder. “Angeline.”

On the desk were Alex’s laptop and phone. She picked up the phone and saw hundreds of unopened notifications: text, phone, email. She’d never in all her years of knowing him seen Alex without his phone in his hand. She’d rarely sent him a text or email that wasn’t answered immediately, like he was just waiting to hear from her. Most of the messages were from his wife, Lucia, some from Gustavo.

“Do you have an area rug in your room?” asked Gustavo. The tone of his voice caused her to look up from Alex’s phone. He was staring at the floor.

She followed his eyes.

There was more red splatter on the floor that ended abruptly in a straight line. As if it had continued onto an area rug that had once lain between the bed and the desk. One that had been removed, leaving the straight-edged absence of the stain.

Angeline nodded, something roaring in her ears.

The room was spinning, and she felt like she was breathing through a straw. She knew Alex’s passcode, tapped it into his phone, scrolled through the endless messages, finding his chain with Lucia. She started reading. As she read, she felt the bottom dropping away from her world.

“I’m calling the police,” said Gustavo, moving for his phone.

She put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” she said, voice barely a whisper, heart thudding. “Just…don’t.”

18

STRANGER THAN FICTION