Chapter 10 - Ordered to Stand by the Lamp
The gun didn't move. That was the first thing I registered after the red lights kept blinking inside the headboard.
Guard One had his arm extended, steady, pointed past my shoulder toward Mr. Moradi's bed. Guard Two had his notebook out again. The warm air from the bedside lamp felt too hot against my neck, and the cut in the cream fabric hung open like a mouth. I could hear myself breathing too fast and I tried to slow it down.
Mr. Moradi hadn't stood up. He sat on the edge of the mattress in that black robe with the white piping, his tattooed hands braced on his knees. His eyes were fixed on the black boxes, then on me. He looked more exhausted than angry now, the dark circles under his eyes deeper in the lamplight.
"You said," he said, his voice low and rough. "If I'm wrong, fire me."
I nodded before he finished. My hand was still cramping around the little silver tool.
"Yes, sir," I said.
He repeated it slower, like he was testing how it sounded in his own mouth. "If you're wrong, I fire you."
It wasn't a question. It was him handing my own words back to me to see if I'd flinch.
I didn't look at the gun. I looked at him. "I'm not wrong about what I saw. The padding's yellow where it should be white. There's wiring. There's lights. I didn't put that there."
Guard Two glanced up. "Ma'am needs to stay still for the log."
Mr. Moradi lifted two fingers without taking his eyes off me. A small signal. Guard Two clicked his pen.
I stood by the bedside table with my hands visible, the tool laid flat on the polished wood next to the lamp. I hated leaving a mark on that table. Old habit. I set the tool down careful anyway.
Guard Two started writing and speaking under his breath as he wrote. "Female staff, mid-forties, dark hair in bun, pearl earring left ear visible. Black dress, white collar, white cuffs, white lace-trimmed apron."
Hearing it listed like that made my face heat up. He wasn't describing me. He was making a record of me.
"Right earring not visible due to angle," he added. "Tool secured on bedside table."
"I'm right here," I said quietly. "You can ask me to turn."
"Don't move," Guard One said. He didn't shout. That made it worse.
Mr. Moradi rubbed his beard with one hand. The tattoos on his knuckles shifted. He stared at the open headboard for a long time. The sconces on the marble wall threw soft light across the gold mirror behind him, and I could see all of us reflected in it — me too straight, the guards too still, him sunk down on the bed.
"You want to keep your job," he said finally.
My throat went dry. "Yes, sir. I need this job."
"Then why cut my bed open?" His voice cracked a little on the last word. He wasn't yelling about property. He sounded like a man who hadn't slept and was scared to admit it.
I swallowed. "Because you haven't been sleeping in it. I make it every morning and it's cold. Same fold. Same dent in the pillow from where nobody laid down. I thought —" I stopped myself. I didn't want to sound like I was accusing anyone. "I thought if I could show you what was wrong with it, you'd believe me."
Silence stretched. The lamp hummed faint.
I forced my hands to stay at my sides. "Let me stay and document everything. I'll write down every time I cleaned, every time the bed was untouched. Times, dates. You can check it against your cameras. I won't touch anything else unless you tell me."
Guard One shifted his weight. "Sir, we can't have staff writing reports. That's our lane."
Mr. Moradi ignored him. He studied me. "You'd put your name on that?"
"Yes," I said. "I'll sign it."
He leaned forward a fraction. For a second I thought he was going to stand, but he stayed seated, elbows on knees. That seemed deliberate, like he wouldn't give up the bed area to anyone.
"You remain here," he said. He pointed with his chin toward the narrow space between the bedside table and the wall. "By the table. Under watch. You don't leave this room. You don't clean. You don't touch that headboard again unless I say."
My knees almost gave out with relief and fear at the same time. It wasn't forgiveness. It was a leash.
"Yes, sir," I said. "I'll stay right here."
Guard Two finished his note with a hard underline. "Logged. Witness cleaner retained in room for observation."
Guard One didn't lower the gun. He adjusted his stance so he could see both me and the doorway in the gold mirror's reflection. Smart. Tired, but smart.
I stepped back the half-step Mr. Moradi had indicated until my apron brushed the edge of the bedside table. The lamp's warmth settled on my shoulder. My pearl earring felt suddenly heavy, like the thing they'd remember me by if this went bad.
May you like
Mr. Moradi sat back against the mattress, not against the headboard. He wouldn't lean back. I noticed that and filed it away. His eyes went to the blinking red lights again, then to me standing where he'd put me.
"Stay on the clock," he said. "We wait."
