Vacant Heart

Chapter Five

"Wait. So, you mean to tell me that you are going to be staying with this man? Days? Overnight?"

"Believe me, I tried to leave, Sam," I mumble into the phone, eyes locked nervously on the way the wind is beating against the glass paneled window.

"Why? This is perfect. Close proximities, cabin fever...you'll have him talking in no time."

"It's not that easy, Sam."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not sure I want to know what is hidden inside him."

"Okay, I get it. The MURDERER sign would freak out anyone, but come on, Jo. You've handled worse than this. Remember the death row guy?"

"Vividly."

"You'll be fine. You're just in a sticky situation. Make the best of it. Take photos. Get dirt."

"Nicely put," I grumble disapprovingly, flopping my back onto the mattress, which creaks deafeningly. I close my eyes, and chuckle to myself. "I'm sure you're right. I'll be fine here. A few days will pass quickly, probably."

"It just sucks you won't be back for Christmas."

"I know. My mother..."

"I'll pick her up. She can come celebrate with us at my house."

"You're an angel."

"Jonathan, stop it," Samantha snaps, her voice lowering with distance from the phone. "I said stop."

Her ten year olds cackle echoes through the speaker.

"I'll let you go. I need to ring out these clothes anyway," I say, positive she's not listening anymore. The contents of my bag are scattered on the bed, and even the most thorough search in every crevasse and every pocket, my charger proves to be missing, or rather miles away in a dark hotel room.

I'll have to ask Hughes whether or not he has the same phone as me, and hope. If not, overnight, I will be short of a cell phone, a link to the outside world. Refusing to dwell on the fact, I remove my clothing, hanging them on the massive bed post for drying. The fireplace in the room isn't aflame, and the heat is no match for the blizzard outside, which makes it nearly impossible to stand in undergarments.

I pull the quilt off the bed and wrap it around my body, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

The guest room he brought me to is largely outdated, but holds just as much history as the other halls and rooms do. Lacking any usual modernity such as televisions or radio, there are over four bookcases, brimming with novels. Stacked upon each other, the bindings range from ancient dusty browns to vivid colors. By the window there is a reading nook carved into the wall. The wallpaper is dark and decorated in elegant swirling designs. I find myself wondering how long this wallpaper has remained untouched.

To help with the chill, the stone ground is covered in Persian rugs of all hues and designs. The fireplace holds two crossed logs inside that have collected dust. The light above the dresser flickers while outside roars and I grow more anxious by the minute.

Only a few minutes later, a soft rap sounds through the door. I'm on my feet, snatching my icy clothes off the post in a hurry. "Just a second!"

Aidan's voice is muffled by the thickness of the wood. "I brought you some clothes. And some matches for the candles. I think we may lose power soon."

The wet clothes are frozen in my hands, and I consider how dangerous it would be to crack open the door like this and take the clothes that way. "You don't have a generator?"