by Tia Lewis
"I will. Where are you going to search?"
"Honestly, I have no idea. But if I have to raise all the rocks in California to find her, I will."
"Thank you," I heard Patrice say as I left the house.
I had no idea where I was supposed to check, but I rushed out all the same. I knew the police were out of the picture. We couldn't file a formal report until it has been 48 hours. If nothing happened to her.
The first place I went was the café. I ran in like a mad man and didn't care about the stares that followed me in. But she was nowhere in sight. I asked the guy at the register if he had seen her today after we came here, and he says he hadn't. The same set of eyes followed me as I run out of the café again and like before I couldn't be bothered. The ice cream parlor is the next place I went to check, and she was not in there either. At this point, I had completely run out of ideas of where else to check. We hadn't gotten to that level of familiarity yet. I whipped out my phone and called Patrice.
"Please tell me you've found her," she said, and I could feel her fear and love.
"Sadly I haven't. Do you know anywhere she likes to hang out? Or run to when she is distressed?"
"She hardly ever runs off when she's depressed. She mostly wants to stay in the house all day. But there are times when she just goes to the pool three blocks away and swims away from her depression. You could check her there."
"Thanks."
I didn't have to be bothered with checking the pool to be sure she wasn't there.
There was not a single person in sight. At this point, I had lost all hope of where to find her. My anguish continued to increase. Where in the world could she be? If only I could find a way to track her. A computer geek is what I needed. Opal!
My phone was in my hand as I was about to call her when I remembered I stood her up just last night. Would she be willing to help? I decided to damn the consequences and call her on the same. She answered at the second ring.
"Yes? To what do we owe this call?"
"I'm really sorry for standing you up last night. I didn't mean to. It wasn't my intention."
"Yet you have managed to do it twice. That says a lot."
"It's a lot more complicated than you think. I actually need a favor, is why I'm calling. I need to find someone, and it's quite important I find her soon. You were the only person I could think of."
"Seriously? You stand me up twice and the only time you do call, you decide is for a favor?"
"I wouldn't call to ask if it wasn't important. She lost her father today and had to find out from a third party. She's run off."
"Oh my God. I'll see what I can do. Text me her phone number."
23
Alexa
This horrible dream has refused to end. I still couldn't snap out of it. I wished so hard that it was all some kind of ruse, maybe like those dreams I had been getting. The dreams. They had been a sort of warning to me all along, and I had chosen not to listen. I had let my anger and pride take control of my reasoning. And now my father was dead.
I picked up the shot of tequila and tossed it down my throat. This had to be the sixth shot I' had taken, but none of the previous ones or this one was doing anything to ease the hurt I felt inside. The bartender was looking at me with suspicion, and I had a feeling that the next time I asked him for a drink, he wouldn't give me one.
Where was I supposed to start picking up the pieces of my life from? Everything I had done in the past four years had amounted to nothing. My grudge of four years had yielded nothing, and I still hadn't stopped hurting. So what was the point of it all?
The fact that my father died without us hatching out our differences hurt more than anything. And if that gold digging bitch was exactly as I think she was, I couldn't even go home. She'd yell bloody murder over the issue and could even go all the length to claim I was not who I say I was. I might not even be able to go for father's funeral.
I signaled toward the bartender to come over. He hesitated for a while but then finally approached me. I asked for a vodka this time, and he eyed me like something was wrong with me. I asked him again.
"I don't think you should have anymore."
"I don't think it's any of your business. I'm not driving so what's the fuss? I've had just five tequila shots. One more drink won't kill me. So get me my drink now."
"You've not had five. You've had 8. You're not driving?"
"I'm not driving, sir. Now get me my drink. I've been through too much already today for you to add your bullshit."
"Fine," he said and headed off to get my drink. He more or less slammed the glass on the table before responding, "This is the last one you're getting. You finish with this, you leave. Do you understand me?"
"Fuck off."
"I'm glad we understand each other," he said and turned away to attend to other customers.
I took my time to finish this glass partly because I knew the bartender meant every word of his threat, and also because I had actually reached my limit. Any more liquor and I would probably have to walk home on my head. I paid what was on my tab, and I felt very light headed as I gently got off the bar stool, trying as much as possible not to stagger. Epic Fail. I almost tripped over myself as I tried to get up.
I tried to hold my head high as I walked out of the bar. I should just go home and get some sleep. Maybe when I woke up, it would all be a bad dream. I barely made it out the door without falling over myself. Maybe a little walk would do me good before I returned home.
As I left Castro Street and started to stroll in the opposite direction of my home, I felt a sense of helplessness walking along. Now I truly had no hope of paying my tuition. I couldn't possibly go back home now, even if I wanted to. My pride had been the major reason I decided not to go back to my father. After so long, I couldn't stand the idea of going back to him with my tail between my legs. I kicked at an empty can of beer on the floor in frustration. I was stupid. Really stupid. I should've gone home when I had the opportunity. Hell, I should never have left home.
The liquor hadn't done what I needed it to do for me. What I needed more than anything else was meaningless sex with anyone I could find. Dylan was probably all the way in New York, sympathizing with Paula. I hadn't been looking properly, and I had ended up in a territory I was not too familiar with. As I turned back to trace my way back to Castro and then back home, a car drove beside. The car passed me by but then reversed back to me.
"Hey, beautiful. You lost?" he asked.
"Not really."
"Want a ride? Or maybe you want to hang with me a bit?" he asked.
I was about to tell him off, but I realized he could probably give me exactly what I needed. And seeing as I would be going back into the profession, I needed to get some practice. I needed to get back in the game. I needed to get my mind off of this.
"Can you afford it?"
"Oh, that's how it is? Come on in then, we're in for a ride."
Without another word, I turned around to the other side of the car and slid into the passenger seat. The man driving was clad in a black tee and from what I could see, a pair of shorts. Maybe it was just me, but he didn't look like he was from around here. It probably had something to do with his Latino accent, but then again, he could have been living here forever and not lost the accent yet. I didn't say anything to him as I fastened my seatbelt and waited for him to drive off.
"I have a room at the Florentine. Good enough?"
"I have no problem with that," I answered a little too sharply. I was not in the mood for conversation now.
"Great. I'm Enrique, by the way."
"Alexa."
The ride to Hotel Florentine was short, and it dawned on me that I was not so far from the bar I just left. The liquor just made it seem like I had been walking forever when it was just some minutes. We headed to his room, and as I sat on the bed, he made some calls with the hotel phone.
"What's that?" I drunkenly asked, trying my hardest not to slur my words.
/> "Drinks. I'm having them bring some up."
"I don't want any. Let's just do this, and I leave," I said and started to tug my top over my head. I was still dressed the same way I was when Dylan dropped me off earlier today; a sleeveless top and a pair of jeans. Enrique walked to the bathroom to do whatever it was he was doing in there. As I started to unzip my jeans, there was a knock on the door. I pulled my top back on and went to get the door.
"Is…Is Mr. Enrique here?" the guy bearing the drinks asked.
"Yeah. Bathroom. I'll get these for him," I said and extended my arm out toward him to collect the bottles. He reluctantly handed them to me but still hovered by the door as I started to turn back into the room. "What? You want a tip or something? Enrique will sort you out some other time."
"Mr. Enrique asked for something else, and I'd like to give it to him myself."
"You could just give it to me. We're together."
"But…"
"Cut the bullshit and just give me the darned thing!" I snapped at him.
He looked at me with a fierce look as if to say that it was my funeral, he rolled his eyes and handed me a transparent bag with a whitish powder in it. He turned around almost immediately and left me by the door wondering what the fuck I was holding.
Cocaine?
"What's that?" Enrique asked, startling me.
"I didn't know you were out. The guy from the bar brought you the drinks and something else. Is this coke?" I asked, raising the bag up. All my drunkenness had long disappeared now. I hated people who did drugs. I hated clients who did drugs. The last ones cost me one year of my life.
"Yeah, it is," he said and snatched the bag out of my hand.
"No….no. that shit won't work," I said and head back to the bed to pick up my purse and shoes.
"Why're you picking up your things? We haven't even started."
"I'm leaving is why. I don't like drugs or people that use them," I said and started toward the door. Enrique, because he is closer to the door, got there before me. He slammed it shut, turned the lock, and took out the key.
"I'm leaving, Enrique. Open the door."
"You're not leaving here, dear. You only just got here," he said with a devilish grin. His eyes were looking wide and unusually excited. I didn't see this glint in his eyes earlier on when I entered his car. There was only one possibility; he had gone to the bathroom to take coke. I stared at him intently, and sure enough, there was the telltale white residue on the tip of his nose. How didn't I notice any of this before? Tears were on the verge of falling from my eyes. Why always me? How did I always manage to get myself into this kind of a conundrum?
"Please, Enrique. I beg of you. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone anything."
"What is there to tell, Alexa?" he said as he approached me. "You're a hooker, and I'm paying you for sex. That's all anyone will want to hear. And last time I checked, prostitution was….what's that word again…" he said and placed his index finger on his lips in mock concentration. He snapped his fingers almost immediately with an even scarier grin. "…illegal. That's the word."
"Pl…please…don't do this to me. I just lost my father. Don't do this to me."
"I've heard worse sob stories, honey...'Oh I have cancer'…'my son is sick, so I'm in the streets.' All sob stories," he said and continued to advance closer.
I continued to back away until I felt the back of my leg against the bedpost. I collapsed into the bed as he leaped for me. Hot tears rushed out of my eyes. This was that night all over again.
24
Dylan
"She's somewhere on Castro Street. I'll text you the address," Opal said to me after thirty minutes that seemed like ages. My phone buzzed with the text alert and I immediately opened it. Something was wrong with this text. I called Opal immediately.
"This's a hotel's address."
"Yeah, I know. I sent it to you."
"So she just went to a hotel to cry?"
"That I can't answer. You'd have to find her and find out exactly why she is at the hotel. This is best I can do."
"Thanks, Opal. You're a really nice person."
"I know. Now go find her before you have to reach out to me to find her again."
"Right. Thanks," I said and ended the call.
Finding the hotel was not as much of a problem as looking for the exact room where she was at would be. Hotel Florentine was a hotel with about 50 rooms. I couldn't possibly go knocking from door to door because I needed to find someone. She couldn't possibly have booked the room in her name or could she? She could but what if she wasn't here on her own? The thought drove me nuts, but it was a possibility I had to consider.
I hailed a cab and continued to pressure the cab driver to go as fast as he could.
The driver sensed my urgency and drove at just the speed limit, so he didn't get pulled over by the cops. We pulled over in front of the hotel; I hurriedly paid the cab guy a little too much because I couldn't wait for the balance and I run into the hotel lobby. A small, shrewd-looking woman was sitting at the large desk, clad in the hotel uniform and staring at the computer in front of her. She didn't look like she was going to be of much help as she looked like a strict follower of principle. But she looked like a mother hen.
"Hi," I said when I got to her desk.
"Good evening sir. Welcome to Hotel Florentine."
"I need a huge favor. It might be quite opposed to what you believe in, but it's the only way. I really, really need your help on this."
A distressed look crossed her face as she wondered what I was talking about.
"How may I be of help, sir?"
"My friend. I've been looking for her all day. She just suffered a loss, and it has really got her acting up. She ran out of the house, and I haven't seen her since then. Her GPS says she was last seen here. I just need you to find out what room she is in."
"I'm sorry, sir. That's against our policies," she said with an apologetic look.
"I know, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. My friend, Alexa, is in here somewhere and she might hurt herself. The likelihood that she'd do that after what just happened is very high, and I need to get to her before she does anything stupid. Only you can help."
"I'm sorry, sir. I wish I could, but it is against our privacy policies," she insisted. "Maybe you can call the police to help you find her."
Her calmness in this desperate situation was riling me, and I finally decided to do to her what we do in our line when all subtle means weren't working; threaten her.
"Listen to me, ma'am. I am a journalist. I swear on everything I hold dear, if anything happens to that girl, I'll drag you and your hotel down with my pen. It's not a threat. It's a promise. If just as much as a strand of hair leaves her body, I'll bring you down with every last strength I have."
She blinked at me, and I think she considered what that kind of bad publicity would do for the hotel and her job. Her bosses would surely blame her if they found out she could have averted.
"What's her name?" she finally asked.
"Alexa Grant."
The woman typed away at her keyboard. "Her name isn't in our records."
My heart fell in my chest. "Please check again."
"I have. There is no Alexa Grant in here."
"Okay. Check for Alexa Patterson."
"I thought she was your friend?" she asked with a scowl. "How come you don't know what name she bears?"
"You realize if people run away, they tend to hide their identity, yes?"
"Fine," she said. A couple of seconds later, she looked up. "Nothing."
I groaned loudly. Where in the world was she? I called Opal back. "You sure she's here? Track her phone again."
"She is, Dylan. I haven't stopped checking with the hopes of alerting you if she moves."
"Thanks," I said to Opal and ended the call. "She's still here." I scrolled to my gallery and showed the woman one of the pictures of Alexa we took earlier that day. "Have you seen this lady?"
/> "Yeah…I remember her. She came in with one of our guests. She looked drunk," she added disapprovingly.
"That's the exact reason I need to find her before she does something stupid. What room is he lodged in?" I asked, and again I saw her guards go up. "For fuck's sake, it's either she gets hurt, or your guest gets hurt. Either way, someone gets hurt. Now get your keys and fucking follow me."
"045," she says as she grabs her key. I run ahead of her toward the direction of the room.
As we drew nearer to the room tagged 45, I heard thudding against the wall, and a sinking feeling hit me. I hope to God it was not from 45. But it was. As we get to the door, we heard someone banging from inside and then all of a sudden, the banging stopped.
"Open the fucking door!" I barked as I banged on the door. "Alexa!" There was no answer from inside. "Open the fucking door!"
"Go the fuck away," a voice at the other end of the door said, and I knew immediately that my fears had been confirmed.
"Give me the keys!" I ordered the woman whose name I don't even know.
"Is that a wise thing to do? The man might be violent. Let's call the cops."
"And wait as he kills her for them to come? Hand them over," I said and snatched them out of her hands. "Now you can call the cops."
I slipped the key into the slot and turned the key in the lock. The door gave way, and I pushed into the room. Alexa was lying on the floor, her top torn, looking like she has been pawed at by a tiger. The man was standing over her, glaring at me and asking what the fuck I wanted. Blood rushed to my head, and I lost my mind. There was an unopened bottle of red wine not too far from me. I grabbed the bottle and ran toward him wielding the bottle.
My mind was blank as I smashed the bottle over his head and he staggered back. I didn't give him a moment's rest. I rushed toward him, red wine seeping into the carpeting and pushed him toward the wall. Without thinking, I continued to pump him with punches, and for the first time in my life, I felt so angry that I didn't want to stop punching him. I only stopped when I heard the receptionist shrieking. I walked away from the man as he slid to the floor and walked over to Alexa. She was weak and helpless as I lifted her in my arms. She opened her eyes slowly.