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Ethan
Werner would probably fire all the staff in the hotel and burn it down if he knew that the woman at the front desk let me into his room just because I’m in the same party as him and claimed that I was supposed to fetch something he forgot.
Even though I know they’re all lined up in front of the press right now, I still walk across the carpet on my toes, like someone might hear me. My instructions were extremely specific—snoop around and take pictures of anything interesting. This feels absurd to the point of being embarrassing, like a kid pretending to be a spy.
His laptop and paperwork aren’t on his desk any more. All I’m able to learn from a first pass of the room is that he likes to drink grapefruit-flavored sparkling water, according to the contents of the garbage.
I tug on the desk drawers—of the four, three are empty and one is locked. I kneel on the floor, fidgeting with the mechanism. I’m sure the key is safely in his pocket, but this desk feels old and loose around the joints, and I’ve worked in construction, as a handyman, and as one of those guys who drives around getting peoples’ keys out of their cars. It only takes me a few minutes to figure out how to lift the drawer off its rails and use a letter opener to slide the locking mechanism out of place. If I’m pretending to be a spy, I’m a pretty badass one.
Staring at the thick row of file folders, I really wish Nicola had told me what to look for. I’m not sure she knows herself. Double-checking the time, I start flicking through page after page of irrelevant financial records.
I almost pass the envelope. It’s blank except for an address in the upper left corner, but I recognize the wordospedale—hospital. Someone has opened it and taped it shut again. Trying not to rip the flaps, I slide out a thick card covered in what looks like medical information. Among the Italian, I find Victor’s name at the top. Trying not to get too excited, I take a photo of it on my phone and put it back.
After I return everything exactly where I found it, more or less, I take the stairs to the ground floor and settle down in the back of the breakfast nook, trying to calm my shaky hands with coffee and a view of the pool. Once I’ve caught my breath, I text the photo to Nicola.This looks important.
Thank you. I’ll get back to you once I’ve had a chance to look into this.
Before I delete our text history, I send her one final message.You guys are scary, you know that?
Never doubt the power of the internet.
As I sip my bitter coffee, I contemplate if forcibly dragging someone to safety whether they want to or not really counts as saving them. Something tells me it doesn’t, but I’m in too deep to back out now.
In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be gone. It won’t matter if I saved Victor or not. If I ever want to know what happens to him, I’ll have to read it in scraps on the internet like everyone else. I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if he’s ok and how I can live without the pieces of me I gave to him.
And maybe the part of me that’s melting down, that’s doing absurd things like yelling at him and pretending to be a spy, has a lot more to do with missing him than with my overactive sense of justice. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to fix one of those two things.
When I glance up, Gray and Werner are passing on their way to the elevator, without Victor. Gray catches my eye, and he gives me alookthat has me scrambling out of my seat.
When I finally reach the top floor, the door to our room is unlocked. “Victor?” The bed, the bathroom, the balcony, all empty. My stomach flips as I check over the railing of the balcony, just in case.
Then I notice the closed closet door. When I try to open the slatted wood accordion panels, they rattle but don’t move. “Victor, it’s me.” I pull harder.
“Fuck off.” He sounds choked up, soft.
I sit down with my legs stretched out and my back against the door. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Did the press conference not go well?”
“Did you watch it?”
I should have watched it, not fucked around breaking open desk drawers. I should have seen he wasn’t ok and waited at the door for him to get back. “No.”
Silence. I nudge the door with my shoulder. “What happened?”
“They…” His voice cracks. “They yelled a lot of questions, and I didn’t know what to say. It was just like 2016, and there were so many people, and you weren’t there.”
I turn sideways against the door, resting my cheek against it, and slide my fingers through the gap at the bottom. “And this is what you do when you’re scared?”
“It’s safe,” he murmurs. “No one can find me.”
“Except me.”
The barest hint of a chuckle. “Except you, you nosy fuck.” Then I feel his fingers tracing mine. “Are you all packed?” he asks finally.
“I guess.” I take a deep breath. “Victor, are you sure we can’t work this out? I don’t think I can live thirty minutes from you and never see you again.”
