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My worst fear at this moment is that the meeting with Owen didn’t go well, and I got drunk afterward to soothe my hurt ego. Perhaps I went home with someone at a bar, which would explain this strange location. But I prefer to drink at home alone, so that would be out of character.
I approach the metal door cautiously, studying the rough texture of the jade-green paint on its surface. On the wall next to the door, there’s a single lightswitch. I lift a hand to flip it on. Over the bed, the small light fixture mounted to the ceiling comes on, though one of the two bulbs inside of it is burned out so the fixture illuminates the space only somewhat better than the lamp.
I turn back to the door and grab the knob, twisting it quickly, my throat tense at the possibility of what I might find on the outside, but…nothing happens.
I twist again.
Nothing.
No.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
The door is stuck.Locked.
Iam locked inside.
Panic washes over me like a tidal wave. A sharp, gravitational pull of terror.Why am I locked inside this room?I tug on the handle harder, pressing my foot to the doorframe for leverage.
“Hello?” I shout, banging my fist onto the door rapidly. I spin around, looking for another way out, for a way to pry this door open, but there is nothing.
Just as I feel as if my lungs may collapse, the door swings open, a gust of wind sweeping over me, and Owen appears.
He’s changed his clothes—now dressed in jeans and a plain black shirt—and he grins at me as if everything is fine. Because I still don’t understand what’s going on, I feel an apology clawing at the back of my throat. How silly must I look?
“Owen,” I say his name on a breath. “I’m so sorry. I’m… The door was stuck.” I glance around. “Is everything okay? What’s going on? Where am I?”
He steps forward, blocking the doorway. “Mari, thank goodness you’re awake. I was so worried. You don’t remember anything that happened?”
Heat hits my cheeks. What must he think of me? That I’m some drunk who can’t make it through a meeting without making a fool of myself? “I… Some parts are fuzzy. I must’ve had a bad reaction to one of the drinks…” The last word of my sentence comes out slowly as I begin to realize what’s happening. Whatmaybe happening, because I have no proof just yet. Owen wouldn’t have drugged me, would he? Internally, I do an assessment of my body. I don’t feel sore or hurt in any way, just tired and sort of out of it.
“You passed out in the kitchen,” he says gently, embarrassed for me. “I tried to wake you up, but you were still so groggy. I brought you down here to rest.”
“I don’t understand…” I put a hand to my head. “I’ve never done anything like that before.” It’s a lie, but my passing out is always directly related to my drinking, and a single drink—even a strong one—is nothing to me. Something else must’ve happened. Maybe my nerves got the best of me, but even that feels unlikely. I just don’t want my suspicion to be true.
“It was very strange. You had me worried. Luckily, I got to you before you hit the floor. Are you…feeling alright now?” His eyes are sort of bugged out, like he’s expecting me to keel over again at any moment.
“Yes,” I say, still feeling uneasy. “Much better, thank you. I’m so sorry about all of this. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am.” I move toward the door, but he sidesteps, stopping me.
“No need to be embarrassed.”
“Right.” My eyes flick to the small space between him and the open doorway. If I try to get to it, I’ll run into him. “Well, I should really be going. Maybe we can plan to do this again when your wife is back home. I’ll be sure to eat something beforehand.” I giggle nervously. “I’m sure it was just a combination of nerves and low blood sugar.”
“There’s no rush to run off.” He pushes the door closed, his eyes flicking over me. “Why don’t you sit down for a second, and let’s make sure you’re okay. You shouldn’t be driving if you’re feeling unwell.” His hands come to my upper arms, and he nudges me backward.
It’s such a strange thing. On the one hand, I’m freaking out and terrified about what’s happening, but on the other, nothing is actually happening, and I don’t want to cause a scene or more embarrassment to myself by not complying. So, I find myself edging backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I ease myself down until I’m sitting, almost in a trance. “I’m fine, really. What time is it? It must be getting late.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he walks around me and runs a hand over a bowl on the nightstand that I hadn’t noticed. “Did you notice I got your favorites?” I look over just in time to see him pick up a single purple hard candy. “Grape LifeSavers. I know how much you love them.” There must be one hundred of them in the bowl. More than I could eat in several days. Several weeks, maybe.
“That’s really kind of you.” I swallow, standing again, but he darts forward, blocking my exit.
“You should sit, Mari. It’s really not safe for you to be standing right now. You don’t look so good.”
I remain standing. “No. I’m okay. Really. I appreciate your concern, but I should be getting back now. My friend will be worried about me. I’m supposed to be meeting her to sign some papers that are time-sensitive. If I don’t show up, she’ll start to worry. She’s a bit overprotective. I’d hate for her to call the police and report me missing or something.” I try to laugh.
