Chapter Thirty-Eight: Dream a Little Dream of Me
The morning sun pushed itself through the hotel curtains, unwelcome and unappreciated. Cat groaned like a thirteen-year-old being dragged out of bed by their mother. She'd been having a nice dream…
She was standing in a library. The bookshelf walls around her extended into some kind of misty firmament, with no end in sight. Somewhere in the distance, a hazy, dreamlike piano nocturne could be heard. Cat looked around, trying to find the source of the music. When she turned, there was a figure lounging in a leather armchair, flipping through a tattered paperback volume.
"Reid?"
Her voice was light and childlike. She tried to run to him but her steps didn't seem to take her any closer.
"Reid!" She called again. This time he looked up.
"Cat," he smiled as if he'd been expecting her. Placing down the book, he was in front of her in an instant. He extended his hand, which she took.
"Let's walk together, there's so much I want to show you…"
And then the sun had interrupted.
And now she was lying awake, in a dingy hotel room, with three other people breathing and snoring next to her.
Climbing out of bed carefully, as to avoid waking anyone, she slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The mirror in front of the sink, with edges blackened and cracking, reflected back her tired face. She looked with confusion, there were tears on her cheeks. She hadn't realized she was crying but now was aware of a tight knot in her stomach and the unpleasant sensation that her head was full of helium.
She'd forgotten a towel. Better go get that.
"Heard you were up."
Carlyle's face greeted her when she opened the door. It was too instant for her to hide that she'd been crying. He spoke softly, as the other two were still sleeping.
His eyes scanned her face, taking in the information. He obviously comprehended she was upset, but there wasn't a shade of concern of empathy, only a kind of morbid curiosity. Cat noticed he was holding a towel.
"Thought you might be missing this," he walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and sliding the towel onto one of the racks.
"Thanks," Cat said, almost defensively. Suddenly she felt very unsafe with him. She didn't like how cruel and empty his eyes looked or the way he was staring at her. Instinctively, she drew back to the opposite end of the room.
"Feel free to leave, I don't think you plan on joining me, do you?" She quipped, her words sounding much braver than she felt.
Carlyle smiled and took a few steps toward her; in the small bathroom it only took a few steps to be almost touching her face.
"Would that be so bad? Saves water…"
My god, was he flirting with her?
Women will know that certain kind of indignation that fills your entire soul when a man has the audacity to push himself into your personal space and insinuate you want him when you've never given any indication you do. It's the kind of feeling that makes you want to deliver one of those classic-movie style face slaps.
"Not much of an environmentalist and I like my solitude," she pushed past him and opened the door, gesturing, "bye, now."
Carlyle tiled his head, the color of his face draining to a semi-sickening paleness. A glint in his eyes communicated a new resentment was forming and it dawned on Cat how dangerous that could be. She was scared to death of him and had no idea what he wanted from her. It couldn't be genuinely what he was selling – no, he had planned to manipulate her. Use her for some end. The bastard wanted to use her own tricks on her.
The problem with her and Carlyle was they were able to communicate with the most subtle of looks, and therefore before she could think to hide it, he was reading every thought that crossed her mind, including all those realizations.
His expression changed too, the anger fading into a resigned smile which gave her respect for understanding. It seemed to propose an allyship of equals, now that his plan A had failed. Her response, a raised eyebrow, was a "we'll see about that" and a "now get the hell out and let me shower".
Carlyle exited and Cat hastily closed and locked the door, leaning against it and breathing heavily. The tears returned to her eyes. The feeling of his face so close to hers invoked the physical memory of being that close to Reid. The smell of coffee on his breath and his cologne. Ugh. Now she was being sentimental. Snap out of it and take your shower.
Meanwhile, barely a few yards away, Reid started awake in his chair. The hard back and awkward position left him stiff and uncomfortable. He glanced to the bed, where Dante was still passed out. Dealing with his hangover was not going to be fun.
He got up slowly and poked at the sleeping mass. Dante shot up at the first touch.
"Aye, I'm up I'm up," he chided, dusting off his wrinkled clothes. He didn't seem hungover at all.
"How are you…? You were drunk as –"
"…as a skunk," he winked, "never had a hangover in my life. God's chosen one, I guess. So, the team is one door over, eh? Talk about luck."
"What's the plan?"
"Well, we want to communicate with your girlfriend over there, so let's pay someone in room service to deliver a note."
"She's not… never mind. A note. How will we make sure no one else sees it delivered?"
"Specify that no one else should see it delivered, obviously."
Reid faltered.
"I suppose."
"You suppose. Do you have another plan, boy wonder?"
"No."
"Great, then it's settled. Give me a pen and paper."
Dante sat in front of the window, scribbling a note out on paper. Reid leaned over his shoulder.
We're in the room across the hall.
"Subtle," Reid smirked.
"My dear, subtlety is merely confusing," he folded the note into a crisp rectangle and headed to the door, "let me work my magic."
And once again, Reid was alone. And hungry. He decided the best use of his time was to order breakfast and take a shower.