Chapter 2: The Red Light Witness
The double doors hadn't finished shaking from when Marcus came through them. They shook again.
A man in a dark suit with a headset came first, then two paramedics with a stretcher, then a woman in a black dress carrying a white towel. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, too bright. My cheek was against the cold checkered tile and I could see the black grout lines up close, and the shards of glass catching the sconce light a few inches from my hand.
Someone said, "Everybody stop, please stop," and it wasn't Marcus. It was the man with the headset. He got between Marcus and Vanessa with both hands up.
Vanessa was still on the floor. She'd pulled her magenta skirt down over her knees and had her left hand pressed to her face. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying. She looked past the manager, past me, up at Marcus like she expected him to help her up.
Marcus didn't move. He was breathing hard through his nose. His bow tie had come loose.
One of the paramedics knelt beside me. She was young, her hair in a ponytail, gloves already on. "Ma'am, can you hear me? I'm going to touch your arm, okay?"
I nodded. The movement made my temple throb. The other paramedic was trying to see my face. I smelled antiseptic and the faint metallic smell of blood.
"Does your neck hurt? Can you wiggle your fingers for me?" the first paramedic asked. She touched my wrist gently, then my forearm where the glass had cut me. I felt a sharp sting and flinched.
"I can," I whispered. My voice sounded far away. "My arm."
The ballroom manager crouched near Vanessa but didn't touch her. "Ms. Grant, we need to get you up. Can you stand?"
Vanessa didn't answer right away. She kept her hand on her cheek. Then she said, very quietly, "He hit me."
The manager glanced at Marcus, then back at her. He didn't say anything to that. He motioned to the woman with the towel, who draped it over Vanessa's shoulders. Together they helped her to her feet. She swayed a little. The light-colored shoe was still on the floor near my elbow, on its side.
They got the stretcher down next to me. The paramedics worked quickly, sliding a board under me. Every time they moved me the glass shifted and scraped against the marble. Someone picked up the shoe and set it on a side table. I heard it, didn't see it.
"On three," the paramedic said. "One, two, three."
They lifted. The ceiling came into view. For a second all I saw was the white crown molding and the rows of wall sconces. Then my eyes caught it. The white dome in the center of the ceiling, the security camera I'd only noticed when Marcus had looked up at the end.
Its little red light was blinking. Steady. On, off. On, off.
Vanessa was standing now, being held up by the manager. She wasn't looking at me. She wasn't looking at Marcus. She was staring straight up at that camera. Her mouth was a tight line. Her hand was still on her cheek, but her eyes were fixed, calculating.
I turned my head. Marcus was talking to a hotel security guard who'd come in behind the paramedics — older, gray hair, a navy blazer with a patch. The guard held a small radio and was speaking low.
"Sir, you're Mr. Rourke? Board member?" he asked.
Marcus nodded. He ran a hand through his hair. "Marcus Rourke. That's my wife."
The guard looked at me on the stretcher, then up at the camera, then back at Marcus. "We need to lock that feed down. That dome is on a 72-hour loop. If someone pulls the power or overwrites it, we lose it."
Marcus stared at him. "What do you mean, lose it?"
"I mean anyone with admin access can delete tonight," the guard said. His voice was flat, not unkind. "And Ms. Grant is admin. So are you. I need one of you to come with me to the security office right now and put it on hold before anyone touches it. Formal hold."
Vanessa heard that. Her head snapped down from the camera. "I'm fine," she said quickly to the manager. "I don't need a suite. I want to go to the office too."
"You'll be more comfortable in the dressing suite, Ms. Grant," the manager said. His tone was firm, practiced. "Paramedics will check you there. The guard needs Mr. Rourke."
They started wheeling me toward the double doors. The stretcher wheels rattled over the checkered tiles. The night air came in cold from outside. I could see the circular drive and the flashing lights of the ambulance waiting under the awning.
Marcus came to the side of the stretcher and took my hand. His palm was sweaty. He leaned down so close I could see the stubble on his jaw.
"Elena, I'm going to stay with you," he said, then stopped himself and looked back at the guard. The guard shook his head.
"Go with her to the ER," the guard told him. "But first, two minutes in the office to sign the preservation. Or I can't guarantee it in the morning. Your call."
Marcus squeezed my fingers. He looked at Vanessa, who was being guided the other way down the hall toward the private dressing suites, the towel still around her shoulders. She didn't look back.
May you like
"I'll meet you at the ambulance," he said to me. "Thirty seconds. I promise. Don't let them move you without me."
The paramedics pushed me through the doors. The cold hit my face. Behind me I heard the guard say, "This way, Mr. Rourke. Quick," and the sound of Marcus's dress shoes turning and going the other way, away from me, toward the hallway where the red light was still blinking.
