Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Don’t be so sure you know the first thing ‘bout his mom.” Brock gazes at Kyle. “And for that matter, don’t be so sure you know who this Elias guy really is. Maybe some secrets should stay secrets.” His face tightens. “Maybe there’s a real reason he didn’t tell you who he is.”
Kyle thinks about his very first impression of Elias. Sitting on the other side of the glass in a police station. Busted lip. Black eye. Spots of blood on the collar of his white shirt.
“Shower time for me,” announces Brock. “Nothin’ sobers me up like a cold-ass blast under a waterfall showerhead. Hey, order us some grub,” he adds after sliding off the stool and sauntering across the room. “I’m still not opposed to Pizza Hut if you wanna give a fuck-you to this place. Otherwise, use that phone over there, order anything, it’s on me, I don’t care what the hell it is, I’ll eat Dracula’s dick I’m so hungry.”
He heads off, leaving Kyle in the kitchen, head bowed, full of agitation and stinging doubts.
Apparently Brock’s memory is too short to recall Kyle’s dislike for ‘normal stuff’, even if nothing on the room service menu of a place like this can deign to be described with such a banal adjective as ‘normal’.
Kyle doesn’t order anything. He’s not going to heed the half-assed warnings from his drunk ex-best friend, either. Brock doesn’t know Elias. Brock has no right to have an opinion.
Elias needs Kyle’s help. That’s Kyle’s one and only purpose for coming here at all. And nothing can get in the way of that.
Not even himself.
As soon as Kyle hears the noise of water running, he heads straight back to the door and sees himself out of the suite. The elevator dings, Kyle steps on, says hello to the mild-mannered bellman, then rides down to the lobby again.
It’s there that he starts combing every hallway, corner, and lounge of the building. The restaurants are closed at this hour, and the twenty-four-hour “bloody burger” joint holds no one of interest, so he makes his way to the other side of the building with no hint of guidance but his own gut. He has to cross the wide, daunting lobby, where he catches eyes with the people at the front desk, just the same four from before, chatting away, out of character. When one of them spots him, they all draw silent, faces turning to him.
Kyle is discomforted by the attention—and a rather sudden realization. Could he be recognized from the viral video? Why does that possibility only just now occur to him?
He ducks away and makes a sharp turn, plunging into the moody, dimly-lit casino nearby. The energy he feels changes at once, growing colder and bitter, reflecting the emotions in the room. There are a lot of people at the machines, populating the card tables, throwing dice, calling out bets, more than Kyle had estimated. His heart races as he hurries along. “I don’t belong here,” he mumbles to himself, losing his nerve. “What am I doing? How’d I expect to find him? Have I lost my mind?”
He doesn’t have a plan. This complex is impossibly large. Even the casino itself seems to go on and on, one giant room expanding into another, then another. It isn’t long before he feels completely turned around, unsure where even the lobby is.
Brock is probably finished with his shower by now, crashed on the sofa, or ordering everything on the room service menu. Maybe Kyle should have waited and convinced Brock to come with him. Something about Brock’s attitude and rude dismissal of this place and its vibe helped Kyle stay grounded somehow.
He passes a narrow section with mirrors that line the walls. With a glance, he’s greeted by his reflection. Desperation and stress paint his pale, sweaty face. He doesn’t look like the kind of money or clientele this place is used to, sticking out like an unbitten thumb. Every step he takes, the more he feels doubt. Every set of eyes he meets seems to have spotted him first, watching, and the amount of eyes is legion.
Was this a mistake? Coming here at all?
Should he have listened to what Elias wrote in the letter?
Machines all around him ring with their digital melodies and fanfares, making it difficult to reach out with his senses. He feels incapacitated and blind as he makes his way around the room, uncertain what he’s even trying to sense, to see, to hear. He never appreciated how often he relies on his senses until now when they’re rendered dull and useless by the noise.
What is he even listening for? Looking for? Elias, sitting at one of the machines? Elias, walking around like a supervisor? Maybe the answer wouldn’t be out here, waiting in the open to be discovered. Kyle needs to find a way into the innards of the Scarlet Sands, somewhere out of sight.