Chapter 26
Anthony speeds through the tight and twisting maze of the parking garage, the tires of the SUV screeching at every turn. I feel the back of my head and notice there is a tender bump there from falling on the concrete.
"How do you know Maureen won't know which hotel we're at?" I ask.
"She won't, trust me. I've dined at the Bergdorf with her before, so I should have known she had her spies there."
"How do you know she doesn't have them at the hotel, and how did she know we were at the restaurant in the first place?" I say, trying to hold onto my seat as best as I can. The SUV slides on the slick concrete and I feel dizzy and nauseated.
"I don't know anything for sure, Sonia. Any other hotel is just as safe or unsafe, in my opinion. Even if we went into the woods and slept, we still wouldn't be safe." Winding through the parking garage, Anthony finds his phone, opens the window, and flings it out. "Give me your phone."
"Not if you're going to—"
He grabs it off my lap and flings it out the window too. "There could be tracking devices in them and that might be how Maureen found out where we were."
"Oh." She could even have been listening to all our phone conversations and that's how she knew where we were. "Do you realize what just happened back there? The Darkálfar shot you in the chest, and I watched you die!" The image of his dead body is burned into my mind.
"What are you talking about?" Anthony says.
Maybe he doesn't remember what happened back there because he died. "The Lightálfars warped the time back after the hostess shot you in the chest!" I start to cry. I hate crying in front of Anthony because it makes me feel weak.
"I died?" His face goes white.
"Yes, Anthony, you died!" Tears flood my eyes now and I let out a sob.
"I can't believe my own mother tried to have me killed!" Anthony's voice trembles with rage. "Obviously she knows I lied to her and now she's furious, but what's worse is she knows we're here. We need to come up with another plan. Shoot, shoot, shoot!" He slams his fist into the steering wheel. "I don't know how to get to Wraithsong Island."
"The Lightálfars might know, Anthony." I sniffle. My hands shake uncontrollably, so I brace my chest in an attempt to calm down.
"Okay, that's true." He settles down a little. Finally at the ground level, he turns right onto the street. "The Darkálfar could follow us to the hotel, so I am not going to head there right away."
My legs are achy, and my back is tight. I really don't want to sit in the car anymore after our lengthy road trip, but I know we need to take extra precautions in order to be safe.
Once at a stoplight, Anthony looks over at me. "Everything will be fine." He takes my hand in his, holding it for a long time.
I want to believe him, I really do.
* * *
Two hours later, with no sightings of the Darkálfar following us, we pull in front of the hotel.
"Welcome to Porter Hotel Central Park," the doorman says. He's wearing a dark gray suit, matching hat, and gold buttons at the collar, attire I'd usually see on a doorman in the movies. "Is there anything I can do for you right now?" He closes the car door with his white glove-covered hands.
"No thanks." I'm so exhausted physically and emotionally that I can barely manage to get my words to sound like English.
The doorman grabs our bags from the trunk. "Follow me, please." He orders a young-looking valet to park our SUV. We enter into the large foyer through the gold-framed glass doors and the concierge smiles warmly when we approach the marble counter.
"Good evening. What is your last name, sir?" the concierge asks.
"Jensen," Anthony says.
"Mr. Jensen, welcome to Porter Hotel Central Park." She types a few things into her computer. "I show two—two bedrooms with park views reserved for you. Is that correct?" Her smile is calm and sweet.
"Yes," Anthony says.
I wander off toward the sitting area. The tan marble floor is so glossy that I see my reflection in it. Brown leather couches sit on either end of diamond-shaped wooden tables. Rows of fluted wood pillars line the walls and crystal chandeliers hang from the ceilings.
"Ready?" Anthony asks. He offers his arm to me in a very gentlemanly manner.
I manage a miniature smile and gladly take his arm. It helps calm my frazzled nerves. "Yes. Have the others arrived yet?"
"No, but I called them and they'll be here in an hour or so," he says. We enter the elevator.
My stomach flutters when the elevator ascends upward and again when it stops. The hallways are much roomier than at other hotels I have stayed at with my mom. If I wasn't so traumatized, I might have enjoyed staying here.
"Ah, here we are," the doorman says, stopping at our entrance. "So are you two honeymooning?"
"No," I say and feel my cheeks flush hot. "We're just on a graduation trip. We'll be meeting up with some other friends as well."
"That sounds like fun. I remember when I was your age, oh that must have been forty years ago, but I took a trip to France with my old pa'. I'll never forget how long it took to climb the stairs to get to the top of the Eiffel Tower! My legs were sore for weeks after, I tell ya. Nice view, though. If you ever get a chance, France is the place to visit." He opens the door.
"I'm sure it is," I say, stepping into the room. The room looks like an apartment for a king or queen with floor to ceiling windows. I can see most of New York and possibly even all of Central Park. I follow the doorman around.
"Here is the master bedroom with a full bath." The ivory duvet and amethyst pillows scream for me to come and lay in them. "Here's the attached bath." Granite countertops with two vanities stand to my left when I enter, and a huge whirlpool tub is situated at the end by the window. I can't wait to soak in a bath.
The doorman continues over to the other side of the living area. "Here is the other room with a queen-sized bed, and it also has a full bath. Here is the living room as you can see, and the dining area."
I nod.
He walks over to the foyer again.
Anthony flips on the flat screen to a soccer game and sinks into the bronzed leather couch. He seems to be in a completely different universe.
"Anything else I can get for you while I'm here?" The doorman says with a smile.
"No, that will be all, thank you." I just want to unwind and go to bed. I feel like I've been blown up by an atomic bomb, and I am trying to hold all the particles in my body together.
Anthony comes into the hallway with a hundred-dollar bill. "Here, thanks for your help, sir."
"Thank you," the doorman says. "I'll be here all night, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to call."
After the doorman leaves, I immediately start unpacking, stacking my clothes into the espresso colored eight-drawer dresser in the master bedroom. "I'm going to take a bath," I say. "I need to unwind from everything."
"Okay," Anthony says, not in his usual energetic voice.
He sounds like he needs some encouragement, so I sit down next to him on the couch.
"Are you all right?" I touch him on the shoulder.
"Yeah, fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," he says without looking at me. When I don't get up, he looks at me. "What's up?"
I breathe. I don't want to force him to open up, but it might help him if we talk about what just happened. "Well, your mom did just try to kill you, and I can't imagine what that must feel like."
"I'd rather not talk about it right now. I just need to relax for a bit." He smiles at me, but his smile is strained and his eyes are still worried.
"Okay, but just know that if you need to talk, I'm here," I say. I am so grateful that he is here with me, and that he has so willingly risked his life so I could get my mom back. I can't imagine what he must be going through, how he could possibly process and make sense of what his own mom tried to do—and actually did. I rest my hand on top of his for a moment, offering the measly support I can. When he doesn't respond, I leave to go take a bath.