Close to Destiny (A Magical Love Story)

Chapter 2

January 2

I couldn't ignore it. An incessant tapping at the door that even the thickest feather pillow couldn't camouflage. My toes sank into the carpet as I waded through the unfamiliar darkness. The glimmer of the room-service button on the phone guided me. I unlocked the door and swung it open in a fury.

And then I sprang back. Was I dreaming? Had I finally gone crazy? I blinked twice, but that didn't change the landscape.

A naked woman was still standing there right in front of me. Her large hazel eyes were luminous and curious, and she didn't seem at all bothered by the situation. But I was bothered. More like completely annoyed. Especially since I had come to this place to get my life back together. I didn't have time to be woken up by naked women at 3 a.m., and I told her so. Her response sent a shiver up my spine.

"You're not ready? I don't agree. Think things over, Katherine."

"How do you know my name?"

My shaky words were too late. She had already disappeared around the corner. That's what brought me to my journal at such a late hour. Who could sleep after an encounter like that?

I could have searched through the halls that snaked in maze-like form through the circular structure of this hotel. But they would have been empty, as they were even in the middle of the day. Here, I felt like I was completely alone.

It was hard enough for me to even stay in this dim hotel that loomed high with its post-modern design on a slim, quiet cobblestone street. I wouldn't have been able to a month ago. No, I was too fragile then. Even now, I hated the silence and isolation. But it wasn't as if I had much of a choice. The Grand East Hotel wanted to exhibit my work in two different phases over the next few months. Those strange charcoal drawings I had done when my only human contact was Dr. Bell. The expression of my internal suffering on paper would apparently please the wealthy business travelers, who might pay well into the hundreds to bring a bit of the sadness home.

I didn't swallow the bullshit about this being part of the healing process. Refusing to dwell on the past was the best strategy. I was convinced of it, even if Dr. Bell said I should use the experience to look inward. I shuddered at the thought. This was about moving forward. A vacation from my twice-weekly visits with him would do me good.

Paul didn't want me to come here. He'd turned his back on me when I was at my lowest, and the worst part was he didn't realize it. He thought I had control. "We don't have to live this way!" Those words repeated themselves painfully in my mind. He didn't have time to listen or understand. Then he would say "I love you," and I would tell him the same, although I wasn't sure about anything any more. A vacation from Paul would do me good too.

Tomorrow—well, actually in a few hours—I would meet with Gwen Garnier, the art consultant organizing this whole project. Dr. Bell introduced me to her back in New York only a few weeks ago, but I felt as if I had known her a lot longer. I liked her frank way of speaking. She was the first one to openly criticize Dr. Bell in front of me. She said his technique was too scholarly: He was dealing with human beings, but sometimes he treated them more like textbooks with arms and legs. So I decided to put my faith in Gwen when she asked me to participate in the art exhibit. I had to think of this as an opportunity.

A fluttering burst of laughter made me drop my journal. My heart pounded as I ran to the door. Could it be that woman again? I slipped into the hallway. Empty. Not a sign of life. The grayish light lent an eerie glow to the stark white walls. I returned to my room. Who was that visitor after all? How did she know my name, and what was she trying to tell me?

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