Room 1016: The Scarlet Hotel by Trisha Linde

Author:Trisha Linde
Language: eng
Format: epub

13

Decker

This is better, I told myself. This is good, great even. I’m happy.

I leaned back against the cushions, closing my eyes and basking in the sunlight shining through the window, and I repeated it out loud. “I’m happy.” If only I weren’t crying, it might’ve been believable.

I was safe here sprawled out in front of the window because I was on the second floor and all the other houses around us were the same height. There were no looming rooftops where a sniper could pick me off. I still wasn’t allowed to leave the house, obviously, but this was a step up from the last place. I had a bedroom to myself, with a queen-sized mattress, my own bathroom, and we didn’t even need a roach motel.

“Hey, Decker! I’m making a sandwich, you want one?” Peter called up the stairs. He was nice, and he meant well, but the thought of a sandwich just made my stomach twist. I grimaced and rubbed a hand over my churning gut. Even with the lower level of stress these days, my indigestion only seemed to be getting worse.

“No, thanks,” I called back, proud that my voice was steady. I quickly dried my cheeks in case he decided to come upstairs to check on me. I was getting better at this crying-in-private thing. The agents already had enough on their plates; they didn’t also need to worry about my mental health. They should focus on the important things, like the schedules of our neighbors or suspicious vehicles driving up and down the street.

This new safe house was nestled into a quaint little neighborhood. It came fully furnished, with floral-print sofas, a china cabinet full of glass figurines of unicorns, and even family portraits on the walls. I wasn’t sure whose family it was, but it obviously wasn’t mine. Amy and Peter were posing as a couple, coming and going to “work” and to do grocery shopping, gardening in the backyard, and getting acquainted with the neighbors and establishing an extended gossip network. It turned out that the 83-year-old lady down the street had intel on everyone—she could’ve been an agent in another life. She couldn’t seem to keep a secret, though, so it worked in our favor. She was essentially an extra set of eyes for us.

I heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly picked up my book and pretended to be reading so they wouldn’t know I’d been moping.

I flicked my eyes up from the page when Amy poked her head in the open bedroom door. “Hey, Peter mentioned you didn’t want a sandwich?” She had a plate in one hand, said sandwich thereon, and a banana in the other hand. The mere smell of it, even from this distance and through the peel, was enough to make me grimace. Amy missed nothing. “Not hungry?”

My stomach did another flip-flop, sending a bit of acid up my throat, and I swallowed and forced it back down. “No, not right now,” I said. That was an understatement.

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