Camryn unlocked the door to her hotel room and trudged in, her feet full of lead and her head even heavier. Collapsing on the bed, she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. What a day it had been, from one interview to the next, the entire time the emotionless masks of her interrogators keeping her in suspense. Even now, she was unsure. Not clue had been given as to her fate. She sighed. She'd have to wait for the letter. It amazed her that the key to her happiness lay in one single piece of paper, folded and sealed to protect an even more precious treasure. One that would determine the course of her life forever. It was funny how the little things were the ones that were most important.
Sitting up in bed, she dropped her feet to the floor and began to peel off her pantyhose. She stood up, dropping her skirt and unbuttoning her blouse, then headed towards the bathroom to draw a bath. After a long and hectic day, a soak sounded divine. She turned on the water and let it run, then examined the hotel's soaps and gels. She settled on strawberry, it was her favorite scent. Pouring in a generous amount, she slipped on the robe and wandered back into the room. She opened the curtain that she had drawn shut the night before, to allow the fading light of the sun to filter in. The yellows and blues faded to pink and purple, and she wandered out onto the balcony, mesmerized by the unearthly sight before her eyes. As she stood there entranced, the sun slowly slipped beneath the horizon, giving way to dusk. Drawn out of her reverie, she glanced around thoughtfully. Her gaze settled on the empty balcony next to her, the scene of last night's display of... what? Male bonding? Not quite. Her thoughts drifted over the conversation they had had. Something about a concert? They must be singers. Pity she hadn't gotten a good look at them, they must be famous to be staying in such luxury.
She headed back inside to enjoy her bath, not noticing the figure slip out onto his balcony to gaze up at the darkening twilight.
When she emerged from the bath, skin flush with wet warmth and damp tendrils of hair coiling about her neck, she felt worlds better. Purified. Cleansed. She slipped out of the robe and into a pair of light cotton pants and tank top. Seating herself before the mirror, she began to briskly rub her head. After she had gotten most of the moisture out, she ran her comb through a couple times. Lost in thought, she was jolted back to reality by a sharp crack. She looked around, bewildered. It sounded as though it had come from the other room, with the walls being so thin and all. She hesitated, unsure of what to do. There was a silence, then, softly, she heard words. Turning her head, she realized they were coming from outside. She stood up and made her way to the glass door, cautiously stepping out onto the balcony.
He stood with his back to her, her lost angel, staring out at something, his body stiff and unmoving. He turned then, stepping towards the rail and placing his hands on the metal, his fingers tightly curling into fists, his elbows locked. He looked as though he were holding on for dear life, as if letting go would mean a dizzying descent into something dangerously unknown, but dark and exciting. His head bowed, she could barely make out through the dim light that his lips were moving, as though in silent prayer. When he finally lifted his head, the light caught the shimmer of his eyes, as he slowly turned to look at her.
She felt a bolt of pain shoot through her, as though she had been struck by lightening, her eyes widening in shock. Her world tilted dangerously, as ground became sky, and ocean spread all around her. Shutting her eyes tightly, she reached out blindly, her hands closing on the cool glass of the edge of the table. Finding her anchor, she let reality vacillate a while longer, until she felt the world slip back into place. She hesitated to re-open her eyes, fearing what she might see, some paradigm shift of night and day, earth and sky. She took a deep breath. Her eyes finally fluttered open, to rest her gaze once again on the blond stranger.
"Hello," he said. Apollo had spoken. She stared at him, not responding.
"Um, hello?" he tried again, moving closer to her. In involuntary response, she moved closer as well, until only the distance between their balconies separated them. He cocked his head and watched her contemplatively, giving her time to amass words.
"Were you singing?" she asked.
"Could you hear me?"
"Last night, you were playing a song, and then you began to sing it."
"I do that."
"It's a beautiful song."
"It is."
She felt a sense of detachment, as though she was there in body, but her soul was communing on a much higher plane. Even when she noticed the broken glass, and the blood dripping from his arm, she said only, "you should clean that."
"I should."
He turned to go, sparing her one last glance before disappearing into his room, the whisper of the door gliding shut echoing in the night. And once again, she was jolted back to reality.
But as she made her exit, the door whispered again, and this time her innocent ingenue stepped out, followed by a tall, dark-haired man. She halted in the doorway, invisible to their eyes.
"Did you see that? He hurt himself. And look, there's broken glass everywhere. What's wrong with him?" Anxiety heightened his voice.
"Looks like he broke a mirror. Guess it's seven years bad luck." A slight drawl in his voice, Camryn noted.
"You don't sound very concerned." That accusing tone from last night had returned. The young are so easily indignant, betrayal around every corner.
"I'm not, not until I'm given something to be concerned about."
"Well, I am. Haven't you noticed he laughs less now? The jokes are almost non-existent. It's as though someone were sapping his energy, his life. How much more can he take?"
"Who are we talking about again?" The blond turned in surprise, his eyes wide. The dark-haired man watched him coolly.
"We're all a little stressed. It's almost over, though. We can go home soon."
"A relief." Bitterness? Sarcasm? Camryn wasn't too sure.
"Things change. People change. It's the only constant in life."
"I'm tired."
"Go to bed, then."
"Not like that."
"Well, I am. I'm turning in."
"Fine, I'll stay and watch him."
"He doesn't need a baby-sitter."
"Good night." A faint sigh. Or perhaps it was the wind.
"Good night. Go to bed soon." He turned to go, leaving his blond friend alone under the dark night sky. The wind picked up again, dancing through his hair, skewing long blond strands. With the instinctive ease of experience, he ran his hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ears and out of his youthful face. She slipped into her room, leaving the glass door open.
Lying down on her bed, she switched the TV on and flipped through the channels. Nothing held her interest. She turned the volume down to a low murmur, then began to flip through the magazines and brochures at her bedside table. There was a soft knock at her door. She got up to open it. It was the young man with the long blond hair. He stood at her door with an uncertain look on his face, as if he faced some difficult task ahead of him.
"Can I help you?"
"Um, yeah. I was just wondering, um, can you hear what's going on next door?" She looked at him thoughtfully.
"And who are you to be asking? If I have a problem with anything, I can let the front desk know." She didn't mean to sound defensive, it just slipped out. Why did she feel like she'd done something wrong? He looked at her in irritation.
"Listen, I'm not asking about you, I'm asking about him. He's my best friend. We usually get adjoining rooms, but yours comes in the way. So I'm asking you, nicely, have you heard or noticed anything out of the ordinary?"
"And how would I know what's ordinary?" What was it about him that made her act so? It was as if he were probing into some deep recess of her mind that she rarely ventured into. But yet, they weren't talking about her. He stared at her, exasperated. He turned and walked away. She watched him, not shutting the door, not saying anything. He walked into the adjoining room, his friend's, and shut the door hard. She sighed and leaned against the doorframe. Why did answering his questions make her feel like she would be revealing some secret part of herself?
"You were the one eavesdropping on our conversation last night." Not a question, a statement. She whirled around. Standing in the hall was her dark angel, and another brunet. How many of these fairy folk were there?
"I wasn't... you knew I was there?"
"We could see you. Hear you. Smell you. Strawberries?" She looked at him. He looked back, watching her from heavily lashed eyes. She turned to look at his friend. He too had soft brown eyes, framed with thick lashes. They both returned her stare, wordless. What was this? Had she stepped into some alternative universe? It was all just too surreal. She turned to head back into her room. Without another word, they moved past her to knock on the door. Apparently room 1978 was the place to be. She sighed. None of this was her business. She didn't even know these people. She lay back on the bed again and closed her eyes. She must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing she knew, she was being awoken by a crash on her balcony. She sat up in alarm, and looked in the direction of the noise. Dimly, she could see the silhouette of a figure crouched low, tangled in a chair. He stood up and disengaged himself then headed in through the open door, barefoot. Camryn gasped.
"How... did you jump?" She asked in shock.
"It's not too far," he replied.
"But... we're on the 19th floor. There's nothing... Are you on something?" He laughed.
"Life can get so predictable sometimes. And did you know, I'm afraid of heights." He laughed again. Hollow and humorless. He walked over and sat on the edge of her bed, observing her. She said nothing. It was his call.
"Have you ever felt like you were in a play but you've entered in the middle of act 2, scene 4 or something? Nothing makes any sense because you missed the first act, but there's nothing left to do but finish it out and hope it's not Hamlet."
"Or Romeo and Juliet."
"Or Antigone. But the point is, you're holding out that it's not a tragedy." She lay back again on her bed, turning to lie on her side, her head resting in her arms. He followed suit, lying on his back to stare up at the ceiling.
"But yet, you do everything in your power to ensure it is."
"Maybe you can't help it."
"You can always help it."
"'I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul?'" he quoted, wryly.
"And why not?" He made a noise of frustration.
"Things aren't so easy."
"Not if you choose to make them so difficult."
"Life isn't a tea party."
"Well, thank God, I can think of nothing worse than having to wear a frilly frock all day, sipping a blandly lukewarm beverage out of a dainty porcelain cup, pinky raised, while discussing the weather and horse races."
"Your pillows are more comfortable."
"The grass is always greener, don't they say? I found them rather lumpy myself."
"But they're big and thick. Mine are too flat."
"Where are you friends? It looked like a party was going on in there."
"I kicked them out. They were getting annoying. Well, Nick's still in there. He came in to watch over me. And fell asleep in about ten minutes. He snores."
"It's the thought that counts."
"I wonder."
"He was worried about you."
"He's young."
"And you? Oh, please, share with me the wisdom of your many years."
"Don't mock me, I've seen a lot."
"Uh, huh." She yawned and lay back, folding her arms under her head.
"Am I boring you?"
"I ceased feeling anything 24 hours ago." He turned to face her then, lifting himself slightly to look down at her. He was only inches away; she could even feel his breath fanning her face.
"I think I stopped 24 years ago." She looked back into his face, reading the depth of emotion in his eyes.
"I think you feel too much," she replied. He moved away, leaning back into the pillows again. The two of them lay there for a while, not saying anything. Eventually drifting off to sleep.
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