Chapter 7:
Finding Grim
~Risa~
They walk the square of the Louvre with its glass pyramid, bustling with tourists. Risa sips le citron pressé, a French lemonade, but all it tastes like is wet sand in her mouth. She still hasn't mentioned what she found in the hotel room- whether her reasoning be shock or a desire to not completely ruin their vacation.
Connor had been curiously eyeing Risa since she returned with her purse, as she knew he would. He can detect her mood changes like a drop in temperature, and as he watches her, she begins to feel a bubbling desperation come to the surface. Risa wishes there was a comforting way to explain that a man who implanted a tracker on her sleeve broke into their hotel room- but somehow thinking of one proves extremely difficult. Finally, a barely half-dranken lemonade ends up in the trash with an unceremonious toss.
It's after sunset and the Eiffel Tower light show, which Risa loved despite the increasingly sick feeling in her stomach, that Connor finally approaches her, wrapping his arm across her waist. It's familiar enough that it relaxes her- at least a little bit.
"What's up?" he says, an attempt at nonchalance. But Connor's worried enough that she can hear it in his voice.
"Um, I-" Risa clears her throat, suppressing again what needs to be said. "I don't feel so great."
He gets close to her face. "Risa, if it's about this morning, my parents are taking Lucas's phone for a month-"
"It's not about this morning!" she says, more loudly than she meant to. Connor steps back, surprised, and Risa sighs before she can stop herself. "Connor, I-"
There's a flash of light, and thunder rolls across Trocadéro square. Within the moment, heavy rain pours down on Paris.
Civilians and tourists run for the nearest possible cover, and in a few minutes, the Lassiters and Risa make it back to the hotel, soaked and dripping.
Risa looks to an antique clock over the reception desk. 11:30 P.M.
She knows that telling Connor what she found in the hotel room this morning is becoming crucial now. The phrase heure sorcière had been irking her the whole day, because it didn't quite require fluency in French to understand.
The witching hour. That is when Thaddeus, or "T", had told Risa he would meet her again. And she's running out of time to figure out where.
"Connor," she says, turning to him anxiously. "We need to talk- now."
He regards her with caution, but detects the urgency. "Okay. Lead the way."
Risa looks around the lobby until she spots the bathrooms, indicated by a polished gold sign. There's the men's and the women's restrooms, but she reaches for the handle of a family restroom that is simply one room rather than stalls. As Connor steps inside, Risa looks back at the lobby for his family, but they're lost in a sea of people trying to escape the rain.
With the click of the bathroom lock, she turns to him. "Alright, this is crazy, but listen to me." She tries to steady her breathing. "The guy who cornered me in the airplane and stuck a tracker on my shirt broke into our hotel room. I found out when I went back this morning."
Connor stares, incredulous. "Oh my god, seriously?" He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Why did you wait so long to tell me?"
"I don't know- just, your family spent so much money on this freaking vacation and I had no idea how to explain without ruining everything," Risa says, bothered by how stupid her claim sounds now that it's coming out of her mouth.
Connor gives her a pained expression. "You can't do that, Risa! It doesn't matter if things get ruined- if this guy knows where we are, we could very well be dead!"
Even though she wants to argue back, perhaps with the fact that she was just trying to be considerate, Risa looks down, deciding that the moment is too serious for a petty argument.
"Alright, it was stupid- I know. But I'm telling you now, and you need to know the details. He didn't break or steal anything, but he left a note. It said he would see me again, 'heure sorcière.'"
"The witching hour," Connor inquires.
"Exactly. And he left a postscript- 'The bird roosts within the tree, but high above the nest.' It seems like a clue or a riddle, but I can't decide what it means."
"Is the 'bird' him, or you?" Connor asks her.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it sounds like it's a riddle to his location- like you're, or we're, supposed to find him."
Risa ponders for a moment. It makes sense, if she thinks about it that way. Running through the phrase again, this time with Connor's suggestion, she pulls out an understanding. "If the bird is him, he 'roosts' within the same tree, or building, I suppose, as the nest."
"And the nest must be a home of some kind, then?"
She snaps her fingers. "Our hotel room! Of course- he's in our hotel, if that's the case, but high above our room."
Connor's brow furrows, deep in thought, just as she is. The question still hangs in the air. But where, exactly?
"We're on floor seven, but there's at least like twenty-five floors! How could we ever possibly find the guy?" Connor says, beginning to pace about the small bathroom.
"It has to be a lot simpler than that, because he wants us to find him," she contests. "I'll bet, he's on the roof of our hotel."
