Chapter 8 - Blue Light and Watch
I had washed the glass twice in the service pantry before I realized I was stalling.
The water in that little sink ran too hot and then too cold, and the soap left a film I kept rinsing off. OBJECT_2 was just a clear short glass, heavy on the bottom, the kind they stocked by the dozen in the kitchen. Mine had a faint smudge near the rim from where I'd held it with both hands. I rubbed it clean with the edge of my apron and dried it until it squeaked.
My note from the supervisor was still folded in my pocket. Written up for delay. I could feel the paper every time I moved.
Finishing the east hallway had taken me past midnight into that thin part of the morning when the house went quiet. The blue light from the tall windows had faded to gray. I told myself I would drop the glass at the bedroom door and keep walking. I didn't have to knock.
But the message on my work phone said otherwise. Room 2 study. Bring glass. — R.
It wasn't Marta's shorthand. It was short and exact.
The study sat off the main bedroom through a sliding wood panel I hadn't noticed that night. A soft lamp burned low on the desk. The same dark marble wall ran through here, and the window showed the parking lot starting to lighten. Mr. Russo was there in the same unbuttoned dark gray shirt, sleeves pushed up now, his watch catching the lamp. He wasn't in bed. He was sitting straight in a desk chair with a closed laptop in front of him.
He looked up when I stopped in the doorway.
I stepped in barefoot still — I'd left my work shoes by the cart so I wouldn't make noise — and set the glass down on the corner of his desk, careful not to let it clink.
"I washed it," I said.
He glanced at it, then at my hands. "You didn't have to do that."
"It was from your room. I didn't want to leave it dirty."
That sounded stupid once I said it. My face went warm. I tucked my hands behind my back. The black trim on my gray uniform sleeves felt damp from the sink.
He leaned back. For a second he didn't speak. I could hear the low hum of the house system and a car passing far off on the county road.
"You finished your floor?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Supervisor signed me out for the delay."
He nodded once, like he'd expected that. He lifted his left wrist and checked his watch, not quick, but deliberate. The metal band clicked faintly against the desk edge.
"Chloe," he said. "It's almost daylight. That changes the rules."
I stared at him. "What rules?"
"In the night, I could keep that door shut. I could make sure nobody walked in while you were sick." His voice stayed low. "In daylight, people see. Staff talk. If you're in this part of the house after shift, they'll make it into something else."
My throat tightened. That was exactly what the day crew would do. Marta had already warned me.
"Then why did you call me here?" I asked.
"To close it," he said. "You return the glass. I tell you to go home and sleep. No more back and forth in hallways."
I looked at the glass sitting empty between us. It threw a small square of lamplight onto the wood. I thought about waking up on those white sheets, his voice telling me to sit, the weight of the water in my hands. I thought about the write-up in my pocket.
I made myself say it plain.
"Did anything happen last night?" My voice shook on the last word. "Besides — me being sick. Did anything happen?"
The room went very still. He didn't look away. He didn't lean forward either. His hands stayed flat on the arms of the chair, the dragon tattoo hidden now under his shirt except for a dark edge at his collar.
"No," he said. "Nothing happened. You were vomiting and dizzy on the bathroom floor. I got you water. You fell asleep before I could move you without hurting you. That's all."
One sentence at a time, even. Like he was giving me something I could write down.
I wanted to believe him because his face didn't change. I didn't believe him yet because I still couldn't remember falling asleep.
"You left me in your bed," I said.
"Yes," he said. "I stayed in the chair. I should have called the house manager sooner. I didn't want half the staff in here staring at you."
I breathed out. The lamp buzzed faintly.
"Why should I trust that?" I asked.
"You shouldn't," he said. "Not yet. Get checked."
That stopped me. "What?"
"You're still flushed. You're swaying where you stand." He glanced at his watch again. "No gossip. No covering extra shifts to pay this off. Go to urgent care when it opens. Rest. Bring me the clinic note and we'll talk after. That's the deal."
I frowned. "You want a clinic note?"
"I want you steady on your feet before you decide what I did or didn't do," he said. "You're running on no sleep and fear. That will turn everything ugly."
It was the most honest thing he'd said to me. It also sounded like an order, and I was tired of orders.
"I can't afford urgent care," I said before I could stop myself. "Not after the hours they cut."
He opened the desk drawer, then stopped with his hand inside, like he thought better of it. He shut it again.
"Then I'll cover the visit through the house account," he said. "As a work incident. Dizziness on shift. No details about the bedroom."
I shook my head. "People will ask why."
"Let them ask me," he said.
We looked at each other. The gray light from the window was getting stronger, washing out the warm lamp. I could see the tired lines around his eyes now, the stubble darker in the morning shadow. He looked like a man who hadn't slept either.
"After the clinic," I said slowly. "You'll meet me? You'll answer?"
"Yes," he said. "Daylight. Not in the bedroom. Here."
I picked at a loose thread on my pants. My feet ached from the cold floor. Part of me wanted to keep pushing until he gave me the whole night minute by minute. Part of me knew I would fall down if I didn't sit soon.
"Okay," I said. "After the clinic."
He stood then and picked up the empty glass himself and set it on a tray by the door, out of the way. A clear dismissal.
"Go out the service hall," he said. "Not the main stairs."
I nodded and started for the door. At the threshold I stopped.
"Mr. Russo," I said.
He waited.
"Thank you for the water," I said. I hated how small my voice sounded.
May you like
He gave a short nod, eyes on his watch again, then on my face. "Get some sleep, Chloe."
I walked out with the hallway stretching empty and gray in front of me, the write-up still in my pocket and his promise hanging behind me, not enough to trust, but enough to keep me moving toward morning.
