Close to Destiny (A Magical Love Story)

Chapter 7

Early morning

I couldn't stop thinking of Will. I could still feel his soft brown hair brushing through my fingers, his mouth against mine, the intensity of his gaze. All of these images and sensations were strangely familiar. I didn't understand it. The only thing I knew was I had to see him again. But how? In the back of my mind, I felt a slight twinge of guilt. Paul was back in New York waiting for me, and I still hadn't returned his messages. I promised myself I would call him that evening. In any case, I wasn't necessarily planning on getting involved with Will. I simply wanted to comprehend everything that had been happening.

The doorbell rang. Room service. Tea, toast, yogurt and strawberries.

"I didn't order this," I said.

"Oh, I know," the girl replied, her blond ponytail bobbing as she nodded. "It's from a friend."

"Who?"

She looked down at a note in her hand. "Hmm... It says here: From someone who wants you to stay well. That's it."

I knitted my brow. Probably Gwen, afraid I was going to relapse.

After the girl left, I chewed on a piece of dry toast and sipped a cup of Ceylon. Every meal was an effort for me. One strawberry. Two teaspoons of yogurt. I used to count the calories. I knew exactly how many were in everything from a potato chip to a pop tart. This time, I resisted the temptation. Instead, I kept thinking of Will. I had the right to want to know more about him. Paul screwed around plenty and at the worst of times. Just the thought sickened me. My quest was an innocent one. I decided to make my way back to the site of last night's party. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and hurried out the door before I had time to change my mind.

As usual, the halls were empty and dim. Slowly, I retraced the steps we had taken in the opposite direction only hours earlier. It was as if the hallways were part of a maze, turning left, right. Then there was a door to enter another wing. Finally, I neared my destination. I saw the ladder. In my sneakers, I scampered up. At the top, a board blocked the entrance. I grasped it, but the panel wouldn't budge. I didn't remember that part.

My heart was racing. I had to see what was behind that panel. I pushed the board with all of my strength and sailed into the room in one sudden burst. There was sawdust everywhere. I coughed and rubbed my eyes. Workbenches, tubs of paint, stepladders and every tool one could imagine littered the room. The place was under renovation. I felt as if my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I didn't get it. I was numb. I crossed the floor and stood at the bay window where Will had kissed me. Tears filled my eyes. Was all of this—every part of it—a dream? A feeling of loss overwhelmed me.

Footsteps echoed from a long hallway that I had never noticed, and I froze as two figures emerged. They were workmen, carrying more tubs of paint and laughing raucously.

"You lost, young lady?" one of them asked as he adjusted his cap with a chubby hand.

"More and more with every minute," I said, almost to myself. "What is this place anyway? Does anyone use it?"

The men laughed as they set down their supplies.

"You kiddin'? As it is, you better make yourself scarce... It's dangerous to be hanging around a work site, you know."

"But I've... heard people up here at night. That's why I wanted to check it out."

"The only things running 'round here at night are mice," the younger and slimmer painter said. "After all, the only way you can get up here is by a ladder and a couple of wooden trap doors—you must know that. And you have to be in the hotel first. Now, I don't know why anyone staying at this posh joint would want to spend the night up here."

I had to get out. I ran across the room, squeezed through the crawl space and stumbled down the ladder. The painters must have been shaking their heads in confusion, but I wouldn't turn back. It was over. I had proof that everything had been part of my stupid imagination.

As I scribbled the whole experience into my journal, teardrops tumbled onto the pages, turning black ink into liquid smudges.

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