All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) (13 page)

It’s not like he loves me, like he’ll be heartbroken about it. Not for very long, anyway.

Audrey will be there to pick up the pieces. I’m sure of it.

I shake my head to get the image from my mind. Just because I know it will happen, it doesn’t mean I have to visualize it. The dehydration from the profuse sweating during the last thirty minutes in here coupled with the shaking movement of my head has left me dizzy.

Bracing myself against the wall behind me, I decide that I need to get out of here. I’m more than a little surprised that someone hasn’t come and gotten me yet. The spa employee that I’d seen earlier told me it would be just a couple of minutes. A half hour is most definitely
more
than a couple of minutes!

I’m not waiting any longer. If I do, I’ll likely collapse soon from exhaustion as the moist heat is taking all of my strength from me.

Holding my towel secure, as I wasn’t brave enough to venture in here naked like some do, I walk carefully to the small door. I feel myself wobble as I stand.

“Whoa,” I didn’t realize how dizzy I was getting.

Holding to the wall, I use it to help steady me along the short walk through the empty sauna. Taking hold of the decorative handle, I push against it, anxious to feel the cool dry air on my skin.

It doesn’t move, doesn’t budge.

I try again to no avail.

Throwing my shoulder against the door, I use all of my might to push it open, but nothing is gained except a bruising arm and rising panic.

My fist is balled and pounding against the door. I step up on my tip-toes to spy out through the small, square window centered at the top, wiping the condensation to see through it.

Nothing.

I remember from when I made the walk back here that I’m well beyond any of the treatment rooms. Even so, I scream and yell with every bit of energy I can find for whoever could happen to be walking by.

Still nothing,

Moment after moment is spent kicking at the door, ramming my body against it, begging for help.

I’m getting nowhere. Instead, I search for some safety button, some type of control panel to turn off the steam. Maybe even an emergency button.

Nothing.

Everything I do, everything I try, I get nothing.

Panic has taken hold. My once dry hair is now drenched, my body losing every bit of water it has to spare and then some. I know I don’t have the tears to spare but they come anyway, rolling down my cheeks.

This can’t be happening!

I’m going to die here. Alone.

My body grows weak, my mind struggles to retain a thought. I can’t waste any more energy trying futile things to get out. I have to conserve every bit of it to survive.

With my back against the wall nearest the door, I give up, letting my legs collapse to fall under me, sliding my back down the slick wood until I land on the floor.

This is it. How long can a person hold on like this anyway?

I’ll never design again, never feel the rush of creativity that flows from my fingertips as I bring a creation to life. I’ll never see my parents again, never get to wish them a happy anniversary, never get to see them look at me with pride when I finally would finally find a way to make something of myself.

I’ll never see Lori again, never get to roll my eyes at how silly she can be. I’ll never hold Whiskers in my arms, have him purr as I scratch behind his ears.

More time passes as I sob thinking about all the things I’ll miss.

I’ve saved the one thing that I know will leave me feeling the most conflicted for last.

I’ll never see Colt again. I’ll never get to tell him what I’ve been holding from him, never get to tell him that I love him, even though I know he won’t say it back.

I’m becoming delusional, my mind racing back to our night in Moscow, the night we got drunk out of our minds and did some crazy shit up in the balcony of the night club. I don’t remember much other than feeling invincible that night.

Daydreams somehow mix with the reality of my memories like hallucinations as I picture Colt say the words I know he never will. He tells me he loves me. I know it’s not real, but it feels real to me.

I feel myself slipping, fading, and I replay that image over and over in my mind until I can think no more, until I’ve found peace.

CHAPTER TWELVE

COLT

A person does not simply just disappear.

Shauna and Tracy had returned from their spa appointments, looking for Daphne just a few minutes ago.

My interview was wrapping up and the reporters still there when I found out Daphne had left the spa early, canceling her last appointment to come back here to the room.

The problem is… she never got here.

Marcus and his team were on it immediately, coordinating with hotel security. The very first thing checked was the security camera footage from the exits. Daphne hasn’t left the hotel, that’s for sure, not through any of the main exits anyway.

Next, I overheard a mention of checking the camera footage of the hallway leading to the spa.

Fuck that!
I’m not waiting on more answers.

“I’m going to look for myself,” I shout out to no one in particular as the crowded living room of my suite has transformed into the headquarters for the search.

It hasn’t been long, maybe twenty minutes since the girls had gotten here, when we’d discovered Daphne had gone missing, and all attempts for a full sweep of the hotel are being planned, but I’m not sitting by until that happens.

This isn’t like her. She isn’t careless, she isn’t reckless like this. She’s in a foreign country where she knows no one, doesn’t know the language. She wouldn’t just take off.

Something’s wrong, I can feel it. I knew it the second I saw the look of surprise on Shauna’s face when I told her Daphne wasn’t here.

“We’re coming with you.” Albert and Teddy stand to follow.

“Me too,” Marcus tears his eyes from the monitor before him, combing security footage with the chief of hotel security by his side.

“No!” I tell him. “We need to split up. You keep searching the footage. I’ll search the spa.”

He moves to argue. “This isn’t open for discussion. I’ve got people with me. I’ll be fine. You’re worth more here than with me, right now.”

Shut down, Marcus nods and returns to surveying the security cameras.

“Let’s go.” I lead the charge down the hall into the main elevator, pressing the button for the spa in the basement of the hotel.

Several of the team from the magazine that I’d been interviewing with are with us, but at this point, I don’t care. The more people to help spread out and search, the more ground we’ll be able to cover.

Andrea had stopped to check in on the interview moments before we’d discovered Daphne’s absence. She’s making good use of all her contacts spread throughout the city and all of the paparazzi and media are now on the lookout for Daphne. If she’s spotted, we’ll find out about it.

The elevator stops at the hotel lobby, with the doors opening to accept new riders.

“Sorry. We’re full.” I hastily dismiss the waiting hotel guests and hit the button to close the doors.

I can feel every second ticking by from the expensive timepiece on my wrist like a heavy bell tolling in my body. My fist balls and clenches itself repeatedly, waiting for the slow as hell elevator to finish its drop, and the doors to open.

Our footsteps race down the hall once those doors finally
do
open, skidding around the corner to the spa entrance.

“Daphne. Daphne Baker,” I call out breathlessly to the woman behind the desk as the rest of the search party finally catches up behind me.

She looks startled. I don’t have time for startled right now. I snap my fingers in front of her awestruck eyes. Lord, help this girl. If she even attempts to ask for an autograph right now, I’m gonna lose my shit.

“Um… I—I think she was feeling sick. She went back to her room.” She repeats the information Shauna and Tracy had already given us.

I grit my teeth to keep from screaming. “Yeah, she never got there. Who spoke to her, who did she tell that she was sick?”

“Excuse me, sir.” An older woman in a very tight hairdo walks up behind the receptionist. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m the person she told she wasn’t feeling well.”

Whipping out my phone, I pull up the most recent photo I have of her, taken last night at dinner while she was being silly and talking to the lobster on her plate. “Is this her? Is this the person who told you she was feeling ill?”

The prim woman squints her eyes to inspect and scrutinize the photo. “It could be. Her hair was in a towel and she was walking past me in a hurry. She told me her name was Daphne Baker and that she was canceling her appointment.”

“What was she wearing?” I’m brainstorming.

She looks confused. “Um—jeans, maybe. Blue top. Running shoes.”

I’m caught off guard at the description. “She wasn’t wearing running shoes. She was wearing flip-flops so she could get her toes done. And she wasn’t wearing jeans either.”

I’d taken the time to admire and check out Daphne’s ass in the flowy skirt she was wearing as she was leaving this morning.

“That wasn’t her. Where was the last place she was seen? Before she spoke to you?” Several people are now gathered around, listening as I nearly lose my temper.

The woman looks stunned. “She—she was in the sauna waiting for the treatment room for her body wrap to become available.”

The sauna! I finally have a set place to look. “Where is it?”

Her arm extends quickly, finger pointed down a long hallway. “At the end, make a right. But it’s out of service. A technician was here earlier to do routine maintenance and she marked it out of order.”

A tight ball of nerves begins to squeeze inside my chest, clutching my heart. I run faster than I ever have before in the direction the woman has pointed, back towards the rear of the spa, to where the sauna is.

True enough, there is an orange cone perched in front of the door to the steam room. I kick it out of the way and peer through the square pane of glass in the door. I don’t see anything other than a thick fog of steam and tiny beads of condensation building on the inside of the window.

The sauna is still on with the heat collecting in the room to create the steam. What out-of-service sauna is left running?

It’s yet another thing that doesn’t feel right about this.

Time freezes, caught in some quiet form of limbo between seconds. as my mind races. I know what’s on the other side of that door, I feel it in my gut. She’s in there, trapped, abandoned in this death trap, I just know it.

I practically sever the latched handle from the door, which is nearly torn free from the frame as I pull it open. Billowy fog escapes into the open room around the group that is now gathered at the entrance to the room. I don’t wait for the vapors to disperse, instead I charge into it, into the unknown, fearing of what I will find.

“Daphne!” I call out into the heavy steam.

Nothing.

I use my arms to swat at the white clouds, to try and see past them. The toe of my shoe hits something soft, something on the ground that blocks my path. My heart sinks, and although I can’t see that it’s her, I know with every fiber of my being that it is.

Blindly, I reach down to scoop her up, taking her limp body in my arms and out in the hallway where I set her down.

Her eyes are closed, her color both pale and flushed at the same time. How is that even possible?

I call to her over and over as I wipe her sopping hair aside to check her pulse. She doesn’t respond.

“Call 9-1-1! Now!” I yell to whomever will complete the task first. “Daphne, don’t you leave me! You hear me? Don’t you dare!”

Her skin is hot, clammy, yet when I take her hand to check her pulse, I notice that her fingertips are like icicles. Her pulse is faint and shallow, barely registering.

Leaning forward, I press my ear to her mouth, to her nose, listening for sounds of her breathing. Uneven, wispy, struggling wheezes escape her small fragile body. Her once plump and luscious lips are now shriveled and blue.

She’s now freed from the coffin-like sauna, but shows no sign of improvement. In fact, she seems to be fading, slipping further and further away from me. There’s no sense of time, no way for me to know how long it’s been. There are simply two measures of existence right now.

The first, having her here, alive, breathing and living in my arms. The second… I can’t bring myself to think of, can’t bring myself to accept. It’s when—she’s not.

“Daphne?” I hear my voice, but it doesn’t sound like me. I have flashbacks to how I must have sounded as a small child. For however still her body was a mere moment ago, it’s now somehow found a way to exceed it, lying lifeless in my arms.

She’s here, her body at least, but at the same time—she’s not.

Oh, my God!

I use my fingers to pry open her eyelid, looking for some spark, some bit of the special something she’s always had in them. Her blank stare doesn’t move.

“No!” I cry out, clutching her to me. “No, no, no, no, no! Don’t you do this! Don’t you leave me!”

“Help!” I call out, begging. “Help!”

The room is full to capacity now, with almost every person frozen, weeping, or in shock.

Her body is cold, so cold. I hold her closer to give her my warmth, rocking back and forth.

This can’t be happening! I’ve had her such a short time. It’s not long enough, will
never
be long enough, even if it’s another fifty years. She can’t leave me now, not like this, not ever.

“Please, baby. Please wake up.” I whisper to her. “You’re not done here, Daph. You’ve got so many more things to do with your life, so many more places to see. I can’t do those things without you, I can’t do
anything
without you. Please, baby. Come back to me. I need you. I love you.”

“Move aside! Please! Step aside!”

The sea of spectators parts, allowing the uniformed Emergency Responders to pass. There are two of them, with their medical bags open and equipment ready as soon as they reach her.

“How long has she been unresponsive?” The closest one to me asks as he checks the same vital signs I have. “Sir!”

I snap from the hypnotic daze I didn’t realize I was in. “I—I don’t know. I just found her. She’s been missing about forty minutes.

He listens to me while working on his patient, placing his stethoscope over her chest. “She’s in distress,” he calls to his partner, who’s searching Daphne’s inner arm before inserting a needle attached to a tube.

A glass vile is taken from one of the leather medical bags, used to fill a syringe marked with tiny lines that measure the contents. Once filled, it is then moved quickly to the port of the tube dangling from Daphne’s limp arm.

“Help me lift her,” the lead EMT directs me as his partner administers the medication.

A third responder appears behind us, the crowd moving to accommodate not only him, but the gurney he pushes in close.

“Careful. Careful now.” Daphne’s delicate body is placed on the plastic mattress pad of the rolling cart. A cotton blanket is used to cover her, replacing the wet towel she had on and the clear bag of liquids being dripped into her arm is held high above by one of the technicians.

“Let’s move!” He calls, the four of us race along side the stretcher, through the corridor to the back exit of the building where the ambulance is waiting with its back door open.

Expertly, she’s placed inside, immediately hooked up to machines that beep as they come to life.

The heavy doors are shut behind us, closing the small workspace where these two men try frantically to administer care to Daphne. I stay out of their way kneeling at the foot of the gurney, resting my hand on her foot, needing to make some kind of contact with her, needing her to feel me, to know that I’m here, that I haven’t left her. That I’ll
never
leave her.

~*~

I watch her as she sleeps, staring at her hospital blanket covered chest to make sure that it rises and falls, afraid that it will suddenly stop. I know the doctors have told me that she’s stable, just severely dehydrated, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that set in the moment I found her.

I almost lost her. She was almost
taken
from me. The helplessness that I felt in that moment was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. For once in my life, I had no control over the situation. It was more frightening than anything I could imagine, and has left a mark on me, one I fear will never leave.

I’d spent the last two hours pacing the hospital hallways, bargaining with God, promising anything and everything if he would just spare her.

They’ve induced some kind of sleep on her, the medications controlling her while doing their best to heal the damage inflicted from her ordeal.

The machines beep and maintain their readings, which I’m told by the nursing staff are returning to normal. Her color looks better. Her lips have lost the icy blue tinge that they had, and are their normal soft pink again.

I came so close-
so
close, to losing her.

The curtains are drawn and the room is quiet other than the machines monitoring her. Nurses come in every few minutes to check something or other, but beside that, it’s just her and I.