Chapter 2 - The Room His Father Never Left

Roman was already halfway down the townhouse steps when Mr. Price called after him.

“Roman.”

He stopped.

The old lawyer held out the envelope.

“You’ll need this.”

Roman took it.

Celeste appeared behind us.

Still wearing the dark burgundy gown.

Still crying.

“I’m coming.”

Roman looked at her.

“No.”

“Roman—”

“You knew he was alive for three years.”

“I know.”

“You let me stand over an empty grave marker every January.”

Her face folded.

“There was never a body.”

“That made it worse.”

He turned toward the black sedan waiting at the curb.

Mr. Price looked at me.

“Lily.”

I blinked.

“Yes?”

“Go with them.”

Roman looked back.

“Why?”

“Because she found the card.”

“That doesn’t make her part of this.”

“No.”

Mr. Price’s expression hardened.

“But it may be why Michael wanted her there.”

I stared at him.

“What does that mean?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know yet.”

Ten minutes later, I sat in the front passenger seat.

Roman drove.

Celeste sat behind him.

No one spoke.

The old Arden Hotel stood near the river.

Closed for eleven years.

Roman’s family had owned it before the financial company became more profitable than the hotels.

The brass letters above the entrance were dark.

One window on the eighth floor glowed.

Roman saw it.

“So someone is here.”

Celeste whispered:

“That’s his room.”

Roman’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Twice.”

He laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“Of course you have.”

We entered through a side door.

Celeste knew the code.

Roman noticed.

He said nothing.

The lobby smelled like dust and old wood.

The chandeliers were off.

A single lamp burned behind the abandoned reception desk.

On it sat another ivory name card.

ROMAN ARDEN.

Roman stopped.

I looked at Celeste.

She looked terrified.

“That wasn’t here last time.”

Roman picked up the card.

On the back were four words.

ROOM 814. COME ALONE.

He looked at us.

“No.”

Celeste stepped closer.

“Roman—”

“I said no.”

Then a voice came from the dark staircase.

“You always were terrible at following instructions.”

Roman froze.

An elderly man stepped into the lobby.

Gray hair.

Thin shoulders.

A cane in his left hand.

A scar crossed the side of his face.

Roman stared at him.

No one moved.

The man’s eyes filled.

“Hello, son.”

Roman’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Seventeen years vanished from his face at once.

He looked sixteen again.

Michael Arden took one step forward.

Roman stepped back.

“You’re alive.”

“Yes.”

“You’re alive.”

“I’m sorry.”

Roman hit him.

One punch.

Fast.

Michael fell against the reception desk.

Celeste gasped.

Roman stood over him.

His whole body shook.

“You let me think you were dead.”

Michael wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Yes.”

“You let me bury you.”

“Yes.”

“You watched me marry her?”

Michael looked at Celeste.

“Yes.”

Roman grabbed his coat.

“Why?”

Michael did not resist.

“Because the people who tried to kill me were still close to you.”

Roman went still.

“Who?”

Michael looked past him.

At me.

Then at the empty lobby.

“Not here.”

A sound came from upstairs.

One floorboard.

Then another.

Michael’s face changed.

He reached beneath his coat.

Roman caught his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“Listening.”

The elevator indicator moved.

8.

7.

6.

Michael whispered:

“They found us.”

Celeste looked toward the front doors.

“They couldn’t have.”

Michael stared at her.

“Who knew you were coming?”

“No one.”

Roman looked at her phone.

Then his.

Then mine.

I had no messages.

Mr. Price had stayed at the townhouse.

The elevator reached 1.

The doors opened.

Nobody stood inside.

Only a silver briefcase.

Roman stared.

Michael closed his eyes.

“No.”

Roman stepped forward.

His father grabbed his arm.

“Don’t touch it.”

A phone inside the briefcase began ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Roman answered on speaker without opening the case.

A man’s voice filled the lobby.

“Happy anniversary, Roman.”

Celeste turned white.

Roman looked at her.

“You know that voice.”

She did not answer.

The man laughed softly.

“Ask your wife who paid for your father’s room.”

Roman looked at Celeste.

Her lips trembled.

Then she whispered one name.

“My brother.”

Roman’s eyes hardened.

“Julian?”

The voice on the phone said:

“Now we can finally talk.”

The line went dead.

Michael looked at Roman.

“Your wife wasn’t hiding me from you.”

Roman turned toward him.

“Then what was she doing?”

Michael looked at Celeste.

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“Keeping her brother from finding me.”

And for the first time that night, Roman looked at his wife as if he did not know whether to hate her or believe her.