Page 7 of Always Be an Us

"The area is known for a rare gem called Rainbow Pearl," Dad explains. "These are pearls found only in the town’s lakes. They give off a rainbow iridescence when held up to the sunlight. The rarest of them is the Pink Pearl."

"That’s why it's called the Pink Hotel?" That's what the guy at the gas station called it when I asked for directions to the Grand Pearl Hotel.

"Yeah," Dad continues. "The Pink Pearl is an extremely rare gem. One is found every hundred years or so, according to lore. At the time, the only known Pink Pearl was in the hotel, in a display. And then one night, it went missing during a ball. I don’t exactly recall the story, but I think it was stolen. They never caught the culprit."

"Was that during the fire?"

"You know about the fire?" Dad asks.

"No, but I could see the charcoal licking the brick from the ground up and assume there was a fire in the building."

"Well, the fire was many years after. The Pink Hotel officially went out of business due to the fire. That was the final nail in the coffin." Dad says.

"Hmmm, a theft and then a fire. Seems to be an unlucky hotel."

"Luck is what you make of it," Dad says. "And I have a good feeling about this venture. Landing does too. If we can revive the hotel and restore it to its former glory, I know we can make a lot of money here."

"Right," I say. I still have my doubts, but I know they won't be enough to convince my dad not to do this. The old man is very stubborn when he has a hunch about something.

At least this purchase was made with his private funds and not company funds, so he'll have to bear the loss alone. I just need to do my job and then get out.

After concluding the conversation with my dad, I continue my exploration of the first floor of the hotel. The furniture has been emptied out, allowing me to move freely. At the end of a hallway, I happen upon what looks to be a closet. The wood is dusty and moth-eaten, but the lock on it appears to be brand new.

Frowning, I pull it open.

The only thing in there is a gardening glove, lying on the floor.

I pick it up, noting that it's damp, with a giant gash and a dry, dark red stain that looks suspiciously like blood.

Before I can muse much longer, the phone rings again, and I answer it without looking at the caller ID.

"Yes."

"Mr. Tudor? It's Sandy."

My daughter's babysitter's voice sounds panicked, so I'm immediately on alert. I straighten, forgetting all about the glove. "What is it, Sandy?"

"It's Amelia, sir. I came out of the bathroom, and she was gone. Your daughter is missing."

Chapter Three

Emma

The smooth glide of the water is like a gentle massage on my skin.

I feel my stress and all my thoughts pulling away with the waves. I cut through smoothly, swimming to the other end of the lake with my eyes closed. And then I roll over on my back and just float, lazily paddling my feet to propel me back to my starting point.

The water carries me easily, lapping at my sides as I stare up at the beautiful sunset. I love sunsets, and staring at the sky in general. It reminds me that I’m not so important in the grand scheme of things, that my problems aren’t that monumental even though it might feel like they are.

And it reminds me how quickly things can change. Light can quickly turn into darkness, but in the same vein, darkness can quickly become light too.

I don’t look back but I know I’m approaching the shore when the water gets shallower and my feet brush the rocky ground. Lifting my head out of the water, I hear the slow shuffle of feet. I assume it’s my Grandpa done with his fishing and come to help me out of the water.

Still floating, I reach out a hand behind me, stopping myself from backing against the lake's edge.

"Done fishing already?" I stretch my legs and spin around to greet him.

She’s not my grandpa! I let out a horrified scream.

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