Sleeper's Run

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Trishna was relieved when she was informed that the Venezuelan authorities couldn't connect her to the presidential assassination. Even though they wanted her to remain in the country in case she was needed further, the word from Corso was that she had to present herself at their main offices in Miami, and she wasn't about to disobey the request. Corso's CEO wanted to talk to her personally regarding the tragic events. A corporate jet was sent for her and the US Embassy expedited her departure.

Trishna arrived late at night, but a group of reporters was already waiting for her, bombarding her with all kinds of questions and begging her for a comment. Thankfully, there was a corporate limo already waiting for her that whisked her off before she could say a single word to the press.

Corso had put her up at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, a short distance from its headquarters. Ironically, Trishna knew that the hotel was on the same man-made island where Eric used to live.

Exhausted, Trishna jumps into the shower. Tomorrow promises to be quite a rough day for her. Being so close to Eric's home makes her feel awkward. The last time she saw him was at his apartment in Caracas. They were planning their upcoming trip to the island of Margarita, and she noticed that Eric was distant. When Trishna asked him about it, Eric said it had to do with work, but she knew something deeper was preoccupying his thoughts. That night, he made love to her as if it were the last time they'd see each other. Trishna knew that his anxiety had to do with their relationship. She wanted to ask him, but she let it go. There would be plenty of time for that tomorrow, Trishna had thought. But tomorrow never came.

The last day she saw Eric, Trishna picked up dinner after work. She hated eating out alone and she was too tired to cook. Eric would spend the evening at a technical symposium, so she headed home and waited for him while finishing her book and catching up on recorded episodes of Mad Men. It was during a bathroom break that she realized that Eric was an hour late. Trishna checked her phone; there were no missed calls or messages and Eric wasn't picking up. That's not like him, she thought. Eric was a big boy, but Caracas' crime could get the best of anyone.

Trishna tried not to worry. She turned the TV to a local channel to keep her company while she took a shower. The news came up when she was drying her hair. She couldn't believe it, but there it was—Eric's picture as big as the screen. Trisha felt a cold stab in her chest. There were too many feelings storming inside her: fear, anger, betrayal; Trishna wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

That seems like ages ago, she thinks as she steps out of the shower and dries herself off, experiencing déjà vu. No news on TV this time, just the room's phone ringing. She debates if she should pick up. At this hour, it can only be another reporter. But then again, she can always hang up.

"Hello?"

"Trish, it's me."

Eric's voice sends shivers down her body. "Eric, oh my God! Where are you? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. I won't talk for too long, so listen very carefully. Meet me tomorrow at ten at the University Center at the University of Miami. Don't tell anyone about me or this phone call, do you understand?"

"But why? I mean, the FBI..."

"You're in danger. I need you to trust me on this."

Trishna tries to organize her ideas.

"Trish?"

"Yes, I'll meet you tomorrow. Eric, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you when I see you..." Eric wants to say that heloves her, but he chokes and hangs up.