She wanted to call out for help. But she was afraid.
Elsie knew she could make her voice heard. She had powerful volume; a voice that was made to call the hogs, as her mother always said.
But as she stared at the outline of the door that adjoined the next room, Room 217, she knew that the people closest to her might be Tony and his assistant, Dede. If she roused them, they’d shut her up. And she’d be in an even worse position.
Wait, she thought. At some point, footsteps would sound outside. They might belong to other lodgers at the hotel; or an employee; or even law enforcement, if Desiree made it to the gas station or Taco Bell. She could remain silent until she heard noises outside. Then she would shout like hell.
She could hear her pulse in her ears, pounding like a cattle stampede. The fear dissipated the remaining clouds in her brain and sharpened her senses as she lay panting on the bed, praying for assistance to arrive.
Tension wound her nerves so tight that she almost shrieked when a black shape tickled her cuffed hand. She swallowed the cry, choking it back as she watched the creature scamper across the sheet.
Cockroach.
She hated cockroaches.
Elsie used her foot to kick it off the bed. She failed to deal the vermin a fatal blow; from the flashing pool of light that shone beneath the crooked window curtain, she saw a shadow running beneath the plywood desk.
The bedsheet was jumbled at her feet. She pulled the sheet to her neck with her free hand, shivering in the frigid room. Her bedspread was missing; she couldn’t remember why.
As she waited, lying in the cold bed, she tried to piece together the prior evening. She remembered parking her car outside the motel, leaving a message for her mother. She was certain she told her mother to call Ashlock if she hadn’t returned by midnight; and from the dark night outside the room, she knew that midnight had surely come and gone.
So, where the hell was he?
Tony had drugged her; that incident burned in her recollection. She grimaced as she remembered his hand around her throat, his tongue in her mouth.
But after that: nothing. She didn’t even recall removing her clothes; but they were missing. She wore nothing but her bra and panties.
Remembering Desiree’s revelation, Elsie thought: Thank god, she still wore her panties. When she’d conceived this risky plan, Elsie never really believed she’d be caught in the trap. The notion that she might be in danger of gang rape was not a consequence she’d entertained.
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes; when she blinked, they ran down the side of her face and pooled into her ears. She had been right—right about everything. But no one had listened to her.
This was the price she paid for being right.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and the thought pounded again: where was Ashlock?
Then she heard it. A muffled noise at first, coming from a distance. The sound of car doors slamming shut. Men’s voices sounded in the night—but whose?
She raised up on one elbow, clutching the sheet, waiting for the moment it would be revealed. Like the old tale, where the door in the arena would open to either the lady or the tiger.
Eyes straining in the dim light, she held her breath as she listened. In the lot below, gravel crunched underneath shoes. It was the sound of multiple feet: but whose?
Come on, Ashlock, she prayed.
Then she heard a laugh. A drunken bellow of a laugh. Her empty stomach did a flop.
Police officers wouldn’t be laughing.
The shoes marched up the steps, coming her way. She tensed on the bed, her muscles taut as a fiddle string. If it wasn’t Tony, she could still shout for help. If it wasn’t Tony.
When the voices—hushed now—drew close to her motel room, she drew a mighty breath, ready to cry out.
Then the door opened. The door to the room next to Elsie. Room 217.
When she heard it slam shut, she lay back on the mattress, twisting the sheet over her chest with sweating hands. Inside the adjoining room, the voices were no longer muted. She heard Tony’s voice, ordering Dede to wake up and make a round of drinks.
And more laughter sounded; though what the joke was, she couldn’t say. Dede was talking, and her voice carried an injured bleat. So maybe the joke was on her.
Elsie twisted her head, inspecting Desiree’s bed. The bedspread was tumbled atop the bloodstained fitted sheet. Its elastic corners were pulled away from the mattress.
The noise level lowered next door; there was a discussion that held the tenor of negotiation. It had the rhythm of men striking a bargain.
When the knob turned on the adjoining door, the hardware creaked. Elsie slitted her eyes, looking through her lashes, though that side of the room remained in darkness. The door opened and the sudden burst of light shining in from Room 217 blinded her. She steeled herself to keep her face still.
Tony’s figure was silhouetted in the light of the adjoining room. He said, “I’m going to rouse these sleeping beauties. We’ll keep our little princess in 218, so her and Denny can have some privacy. I’ll bring out the plus-size model in here for y’all. Her and Dede can put on a big old party for you.”
He shut the door behind him, then flipped on the table lamp.
Through her lashes, she saw Tony’s face as it registered: Desiree was gone. His eyes bulged, his mouth twisted into a fierce snarl, baring his teeth. The tendons of his neck rose under the tattooed snake on his neck.
He swung an arm and flung the red cup he held. When it hit the wall over Desiree’s bed, Elsie flinched.
He must have seen her reaction. Leaping into the space between the beds, he grabbed Elsie by her hair, jerking her head up off the mattress. Her eyes flew open.
Tony’s face was inches away from hers. “Where’d she go?”