Chapter 3 - ROOM 814
Naomi refused to change out of her red gown.
Lila refused to release her hand.
Evelyn led them through a private corridor while Arthur followed with two guards.
The eighth floor was silent.
Room 814 stood at the end of the hall.
A service cart blocked part of the doorway.
One untouched cup of coffee sat on it.
Steam still rose from the cup.
“Someone may be inside,” Evelyn warned.
“Then they can answer me.”
The master key flashed green.
The door opened three inches.
Something heavy stopped it.
A guard pushed harder.
A leather suitcase slid across the carpet.
The room beyond was empty.
Curtains moved before an open window.
Naomi entered.
“Ethan?”
No answer came.
On the bed lay a man’s white shirt, a dark coat and polished shoes.
They were Ethan’s size.
Beside them rested a silver watch with a cracked face.
Naomi recognized it.
She had given it to Ethan on their tenth anniversary.
Police had returned a melted watch after the crash.
She lifted the silver one.
The engraving remained intact.
For every hour we were given.
“This is his.”
Arthur leaned against the wall.
“That is impossible.”
“You said his body was identified.”
“It was.”
“Did you see it?”
Arthur did not answer.
Naomi turned toward him.
“Did you see Ethan’s body?”
“Warren handled the identification.”
The words struck harder than a confession.
Evelyn opened the suitcase.
There were no clothes inside.
Only photographs.
Naomi leaving Lila’s school.
Arthur entering Caldwell Tower.
Warren meeting family attorney Gideon Price behind a private club.
The newest photograph showed Naomi entering the hotel that afternoon.
It had been taken less than six hours earlier.
Lila pointed to the bottom of the suitcase.
“There’s another one.”
A single photograph lay face down.
Naomi turned it over.
A thin man sat beside the window of Room 814.
Gray touched his hair.
A wedding ring remained on his hand.
Naomi knew the shape of those fingers.
Ethan held that day’s Chicago newspaper.
The date was visible.
Today.
“Is that Daddy?” Lila asked.
Before Naomi could answer, the hotel phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Naomi picked it up.
A man breathed on the other end.
She had replayed Ethan’s final voicemail for three years.
She knew that breathing.
May you like
Then his damaged voice whispered one word.
“Naomi.”
