Dead Air by Michelle Schusterman (best books under 200 pages txt) 📕

anger, it was a few seconds before I noticed the 6 button was lit up instead of the 3. Frowning, I jabbed at the 3 button, but it stayed dark. The elevator arrived on the sixth floor, and the doors slid open.

“Come on,” I muttered, pressing CLOSE DOORS repeatedly. Finally, they slid shut. I tried the 3 button, then the 2. Nothing. The elevator didn’t move. Just as I was starting to get freaked out, the 6 button lit up on its own.

Ding.

The doors slid open again.

Okay, then. Looked like I was taking the stairs back down to Oscar’s floor.

I walked fast, feeling unsettled. Up ahead, a maid grumbled as she rummaged through her cart of cleaning supplies. A moment later, the round-faced receptionist walked out of the room next to the stairs entrance—Margot, I remembered. She said something in Dutch to the maid, who immediately launched into a long, angry rant. When Margot saw me approaching, she waved for the maid to stop talking.

“Hello,” Margot said, switching to thickly accented English. “Did your father tell you I’d be checking in on you tonight?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be in our rooms by ten.” I glanced at the maid, and my eyes widened. “Oh my God, what happened?” Her hands and wrists were stained a dark reddish-brown, along with about a dozen rags piled on top of her cart.

“It’s only hair dye,” Margot explained quickly. “The woman staying in this room decided to leave us with quite a mess to clean up.” She said something in Dutch to the maid, who nodded curtly, grabbed a few bottles, and headed back in the room. Then Margot smiled at me. “Lidia requested that I order you and Oscar a pizza for dinner. Just call the front desk when you’re ready, okay?”

“Okay, thanks.”

Margot headed to the elevators. The maid had propped the door open, and I glanced inside the room on my way to the stairs entrance. Then I did a double take and, checking to make sure Margot wasn’t looking, stepped inside.

The room was a wreck. Inside the bathroom, the maid knelt with her back to me, scrubbing the tub and muttering what I assumed was every possible curse word in Dutch. The white tiled floor, the sink, the mirror—everything was spattered in what looked horribly like blood (although I spotted the box of hair dye on the counter).

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The bedding was slashed. Pillows ripped open, tufts of cottony stuff torn out and flung all over the room. The comforter and the sheets were shredded to pieces, as were the curtains. Even the wallpaper had a few gouges. I shuddered. It looked as if someone had gone berserk, grabbed a knife, and tried to tear the room apart.

I’d taken only a few steps back when I spotted the binoculars on the desk.

A feeling of dread crept up my spine and for a few seconds, I wasn’t sure why. Then I noticed the pair of oversize sunglasses, and I remembered.

The woman at the waterfront in Rotterdam. The woman at the Internet café here in Brussels. I’d bumped into her both times. She’d followed us here—she was even staying in the same hotel. And judging by the state of her room, she was pretty ticked off.

But something else was nagging me. I squeezed my eyes closed, picturing her pale, sharp face. Young but kind of gaunt, shadowed eyes, dark hair . . . that nasal voice . . .

I thought of the box of hair dye and suddenly, everything slammed into place.

Sprinting down three flights of stairs, I raced down the hall and burst into Oscar’s room, breathing heavily. He looked up from his laptop, startled.

“What’s wrong?”

“Pull up photos from the first season.”

“Huh?”

Without bothering to explain, I grabbed the laptop and typed in the URL for the official P2P site. I clicked PHOTOS, then SEASON ONE, and scrolled down till I saw her—young, blond, lots of makeup. She’d lost a little weight since then and her face had hollowed out, but there was no question.

“It’s her,” I said softly.

Oscar looked thoroughly confused. “Emily? What about her?”

I took a deep breath.

“She’s here.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE ROAD TO THIRTEEN KISSES

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A Message for “Anonymous”

Doctor Pain [new member]

Anonymous

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Maytrix [admin]

Enough is enough. If anyone knows how I can get in touch with the Brussels police, let me know. This creep has gone too far.

I physically couldn’t stay still. Jiggling my leg, I leaned against the receptionist’s desk, clenched and unclenched my hand, drummed my fingers on the counter. Margot frowned deeply, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear. I watched her hang up, then immediately dial again. With every second that passed, the knot in my stomach doubled. Finally, she sighed and set down the receiver.

“No response from Jack or Lidia,” she told us. “But I will keep trying.”

I turned to Oscar. “We have to go to the prison.”

“How?” he said immediately. “Lidia said it’s a half-hour drive—that’d be a pretty expensive taxi ride. How much money do you have?”

“Not enough, probably.” I thought fast. We’d already asked Margot about the woman who’d wrecked her room. Margot refused to give us her name, but as Oscar pointed out, Emily was probably smart enough to use a fake name, anyway. And while her hotel-room rampage was probably enough to convince police she was unbalanced, we had no way to prove she was going to Daems. Or that Roland was involved in any way.

But he was. Emily was dangerous. And if Roland was in love with her, well, maybe that made him dangerous, too. All I could think about was getting to my dad before one of them could hurt him.

“Can you add it to our room charge?” Oscar asked, and I glanced up. Margot gave him a quizzical look.

“Sorry?”

“Can you call a taxi and pay for it, and add it to our bill?”

“Please?” I added, jumping in before Margot could protest. “They won’t mind—this is an emergency.”

Margot’s eyes narrowed. “Your father was very clear