Page 9 of Hidden in Memories
She usually sleeps like a log, which is a welcome ability during intense periods. She rarely has a disturbed night, whatever is going on.
She shuffles up into a half-sitting position.
Even though there is silence all around her, she has a strong feeling that all is not as it should be.
She is not alone. There is someone else in the suite.
A shudder of fear runs through her body, starting at her ribs and coursing down through her belly. She stares at the walls, but sees nothing. She has goosebumps all over her skin.
Pull yourself together,she thinks.There can’t be anyone here.
The door is locked, and she pressed the security button before she went to bed.
Or did she?
She reaches out to switch on the bedside lamp, but the thought of being bathed in light and discovering the presence of an intruder makesher draw back her hand. The darkness feels safer. As if this is nothing more than a nightmare from which she will wake at any second.
This isn’t real. Tomorrow she will laugh at the memory.
Charlotte listens intently for another minute, then takes a deep breath to calm herself. There is no point in getting agitated—she needs to sleep. She can’t appear in front of the press with red-rimmed eyes.
She is about to slide down under the duvet when she hears it again.
A sound, barely audible, but it definitely came from the living room.
As if a foot had been placed down on the rust-colored rug.
Thereissomeone here.
Has that bad-tempered receptionist entered her room? Is he planning on punishing her because she didn’t accept his apology?
She begins to panic.
She pulls the sheet tight to her body. She always sleeps in only her panties, but right now she wishes she had something, anything, with which to cover herself. Her nakedness makes her feel even more vulnerable, but her robe is on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Where’s her phone?
Her throat constricts when she remembers that it is charging in the living room, along with her laptop, which she left on the sofa when she finished dealing with her emails.
An acrid smell reaches her nostrils, and she realizes that she has broken out in a cold sweat. She tries to breathe silently, even though her heart is pounding.
She hears the sound again, a heavy footstep, then another. The intruder is heading for her bedroom.
Then the door flies open, and before she has time to react, she is completely dazzled by the glare of a flashlight. The figure behind the light is a shapeless shadow, impossible to identify.
She is paralyzed with fear. She knows she ought to scream, yell at the uninvited guest, tell him to get out, but she is incapable of making asound. Instead she lies there as if she has turned to stone as the shadow comes closer.
She can’t move, she can’t shout for help.
She wants to whisperPlease don’t hurt me,but all that comes out is a groan.
For a few seconds the figure stands motionless in front of her. Even though she can’t really see anything, she is aware of an aggressive rage, so strong that she can almost touch it.
Now she can smell alcohol.
She stares at the flashlight as if she were under hypnosis, tries to focus on its beam in order to keep some kind of composure.
Suddenly the paralysis is gone. She flings her hand to the side and knocks over the bedside lamp. It lands on the floor with a thud, and mortal fear makes her scream.
