Into the Vault_A psychological thriller about a young woman locked in a life that she does not recognize.

by Marie Ellie

  “Oh, man, I need one of those.” Obvious that's where the thing came from, he always told me that I'm very clueless. It's true, there are only two phone numbers that I know by heart, mine and the number of the locksmith, I've already called it 3 times so far this year, and we’re still not in fall yet. I wish my car had one of these keys, maybe it's time to change it.

  While I'm thinking about what car would be nice to buy, William gets on Highway 27 past the entrance to our house. It's a busy road, so it's good that the driveway to our house is so long. That way we don’t hear the noise from the cars driving by here.

  “Where are we going?” I asked him a little intrigued.

  “To New York City.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, you don’t like the idea?”

  “Yeah, I love it but doesn’t it seem a little bit late to you. It’s almost 6:00 at night and we have a three-hour journey.”

  “Don’t worry, I reserved a room in the New York EDITION.”

  “A room? But I didn’t bring anything!”

  “Yes, you did. It’s in the trunk. I got it ready before you arrived. Don’t worry, if we’re missing anything we can buy it.”

  Where did this man come from? I know that I married someone with money, with a very good job, although I don’t know what he does, we’ve never had any financial problems and we live in a privileged place in the Hamptons. The money that I earn as a tennis instructor is enough for all my expenses and my cravings, and he’s never asked me to take care of any household expense. I'm clear on all that, but this is new, this kindness, these details, this incredibly loving man, that sexy look, this is new, and I must admit that I like it.

  Anyways, I got comfortable, and I enjoyed the trip to New York City. A somewhat boring music station plays on the radio, and I try to figure out how to change it. William realizes that I'm not really going to be able to do it and he offers me help. He changes the station and asks me if the one he chose is cool. I nod. It’s playing classical music, which I really don’t like very much. I prefer music I can dance to, sing along with and move to but I know that he enjoys it. I think it relaxes him and since he's been so perfect lately, I can pretend that I also enjoy listening to the music he likes. Also, it’s a break from the beating that I took today in my tennis lessons. I had five students, all beginners. I spend an hour with each one, once or twice a week and truth be told beginners require more energy in each exercise. That’s how I ended up exhausted today, so I'm going to take advantage of the trip to relax and recharge my batteries.

  CHAPTER II

  A PERFECT DINNER

  The journey seemed a little bit eternal to me. I almost felt that somebody had moved the city of New York. About three hours passed from when we left the Hamptons to when we finally arrived. The New York EDITION Hotel is in the Clock Tower, in the middle of Manhattan. As soon as we arrived, William handed the truck over to the valet boy; I wondered how he was going to do for the key because I remembered that he had told me that the bracelet was the key to the truck, I have to ask him later. They took out our suitcases and were very nice especially with William as if he had come several times before, which wouldn’t surprise me because William always has work in the city.

  William took me by the hand and led me to the check-in desk.

  “Good evening mister…”

  And before the check-in clerk could finish, William interrupted him and said:

  “Room in the name of McLaren, William McLaren.”

  “One moment…” he looked in the system and continued, “Room for William and Grace McLaren, floor 37 with a view of the Empire State.”

  “Perfect,” William spoke in a short and brisk tone as if he wanted to finish with the check-in and avoid conversations with the clerk.

  They called a bellboy to take our bags. We went up to the 37th floor without making stops in the elevator, as if we were the only ones in the Hotel. I don’t know if the guy who runs the elevator has some trick to get from the Lobby to the floor he wants without making stops. If I ever have the opportunity to ask him, I'll do it, just out of curiosity.

  We arrived at the room. William gave a tip of I don’t know how much to the bellboy and closed the door. He put the suitcases in the closet and said:

  “We’ll go down in 15 minutes to eat dinner,” I nodded and went to the window to see the extraordinary view that the room had.

  The truth is that since I entered the hotel, everything had been wonderful. It has a very fresh smell, the room is decorated exquisitely, the windows are huge, and the view of the city leaves you breathless. The lights, the buildings, the whole city seems magical from here.

  I head to the bathroom before it's time to go down for dinner, it’s incredible, everything is perfect. The towels are perfectly folded and arranged one on top of the other. There’s a smell as fresh as if everything were new as if no one had been there before us, that is the feeling that all hotels should cause. When I leave the bathroom, William is sitting at a desk on the other side of the room. The chair has a very elegant high back, and the desk’s wood is very light-colored, they complement each other very well, and William looks handsome as hell sitting there, although he is worried about something. When he looks up and sees me he asks me:

  “Do you like the room?”

  “It’s stunning,” I answer him while stroking the arm of a modern white chair that is in the space just outside the bathroom.

  “Very good, I chose it especially for this moment.”

  “Have you been here before?” I asked without any bad intentions, I just remembered how kind the valet boy had been.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Not really for any reason, in particular, it just seemed like the hotel staff knew you from before.” William shook his head disapproving my comment.

  “I had a pair of meetings in the area, and we always eat in The Clocktower.”

  “Where?”

  “The Clocktower, that’s what the Hotel’s restaurant is called. It’s on the second floor, and we have a table reserved for tonight, so I don’t want you to focus on anything more than us and how well the night’s going, okay?”

  “Agreed.” William took me by the waist, brought me into his body and while I was moving a lock of hair behind my ear whispered to me, “you are beautiful in that red dress, very appetizing.”

  My skin immediately responded to his comment and touch without needing to say a single word. He knew what his closeness had caused and enjoyed it, so much so that he took me by the waist and we left the room to The Clocktower, right next to each other. Our closeness was absolute, our bodies were closer together than they’d been in who knows how long. We began walking to the elevator, William pressed the button to bring it up, and he stood there, silently staring at me, I felt the fire in his eyes, he was burning me and I don’t know why we were going to eat instead of staying in the room but he had already reserved it and I was a little hungry. At last, the elevator arrives, and before the boy could ask which floor we are going to, William says:

  “The Clocktower Restaurant.”

  “Yes sir,” responded the boy.

  Again it was a direct trip from the 37th floor to the 2nd without stops. This has to be some kind of trick, or there really is no one else in the Hotel. When the elevator doors open, I see the traffic jam of people, so I throw out the second option. It has a trick of some sort; the boy operates the elevator perfectly. That should please a lot of the guests; the most annoying thing is getting on an elevator and making stops on every floor. It’s truly agonizing.

  A waiter came up to us almost immediately, he seemed like he was about to greet William, but William quickly interrupted him saying:

  “Table for two under the name of William McLaren.” The waiter looked at the list.

  “Over here sir,” making a gesture for us to follow him.

  We get to the table and take our seats. William surprised me again by pulling out the chair he had chosen for me to sit down in
. I accept his kind gesture and the subsequent protocol of sitting down and getting up a little so that he can adjust the chair. The waiter hands us some menus and leaves, but not before asking William if we wanted something to drink while they took the order. I, of course, don’t pay attention to their conversation about wines and champagne. William’s always the one who chooses what we drink. Not because I don’t know, but because he knows a lot more than I do. William grew up in California, his dad had a vineyard, and he grew up with wine connoisseurs. That’s the reason I always let him choose.

  This place is very cozy, the light is dim, very low, which gives privacy to the guests. There are various dining rooms, and each one has different colored upholstery, ours has green upholstery, and from where I’m sitting I have a view of New York City through a large glass window. The floor is wooden; I don’t know what type of wood but it’s very beautiful and elegant. At the top of the walls, there are a lot of portraits of people, some events or places. I can’t really tell who is in the photographs from where I am, but it looks very nice. While I observe all of the details of the place, William has already ordered wine and the entire dinner.

  “Do you like it?” William asks me with a somewhat penetrating look. He looks worried wanting to know if I really like the place. I do not want to disappoint him, so I answer almost immediately.

  “Yes, of course, I like it! It is a very cozy and elegant place.”

  “That's right; I hope you like the food too. I ordered your favorite food.”

  While he finished the sentence, the waiter comes up to us with the bottle of wine. He shows it to William who nods his head. While the waiter opens the bottle and they do the ancient ritual of serving a tasting before giving final approval of the wine, I begin wondering about my favorite food and how William could know it. He is almost never home, plus my favorite food is one my mother cooked for me whenever I looked a little down. She is the only one who knows what it is, my dear mother. It’s been five years since I saw her and we have don’t have any way to communicate even by telephone. She just sends me Christmas cards. I have five postcards, one for each year that we have spent apart. I never understood why they did not accept William and why they almost banished me when I got married. Maybe it was my father, that's the way Congressmen are, they think they have all the power in the world and that they can govern even their children's lives.

  William accepts the wine, then tells me the name but I do not really understand much about wines, the only thing I have to remember is that it is white and from France. I taste it, and it really is delicious. I'm surprised that I like it because I usually do not like wines unless they are sweet and soft. Maybe I'm not that knowledgeable, and that is why I can not recognize a good wine based on its flavor. Perhaps I should take a wine course soon if this reconciliation works out, we are going to drink a lot of wines from now on, so it would not be such a bad idea. I'm going to have to make some time away from my tennis students. I have no idea why my classes are the only ones that never get cancelled. I have a busy schedule. It’s always full, and if a spare moment opens up, someone immediately rushes in to fill it. I must be very lucky to have nine students per day paying a hundred dollars each; it's good money. Even more, if I work six days a week.

  “You're very quiet, did something happen to you?” William asks me. Obviously, I'm so used to being alone that I am not talking to him even now.

  “Not at all. I'm fine; it's just that everything is so perfect that I've been admiring the place.”

  “Here comes the food.”

  The waiter comes with a lobster tail with potatoes au gratin for me and a sirloin steak with green vegetables for him. Everything looks delicious.

  “Enjoy it, Grace,” he tells me while grabbing the cutlery and preparing to cut his steak.

  “Thanks,” I answer and start deciphering how to eat all that lobster tail without looking like I had gone years without eating.

  We start eating, in silence, like we normally do at home. We eat in a formal dining room, one at each end of the table with 14 seats. A table that has never had more than two of them filled, William and me. And that's when he's at home because most of the time I'm alone. It has been like this for the last five years, silence, a large space between the two of us, with no intimacy, with no speaking. That's why I asked for a divorce a few weeks ago, and since that moment, things have been changing.

  He has not stopped trying to be closer to me; flowers started showing up, he leaves me notes saying “I love you” in my coffee cup. He even prepared this trip to try to fix things. I'm sure he loves me and is not willing to lose me. Maybe asking for a divorce was what he needed to realize that I was not happy even if I had all the money and all the comforts I always wanted. The only thing I need is for him to make me his wife, to touch me for the first time since we got married, I've been waiting for five years for him to have his way with me. I came to think that he did not like him enough, but now I know he does, that he loves me. Maybe his work makes him very tense, his traveling tires him, maybe he has a medical problem, but he loves me. He has shown me doing everything in his power to make me forget about divorce.

  The dessert arrived, divine! An apple pie with vanilla butter to share between us. It was weird, but we shared a plate for the first time in our relationship. The moment was magical, not only were we sharing a dessert; we were eating from the same dish, trust, love, unity. I was so close I could feel his breathing, and I could only see the moment when we finished the cake to go up to the room and enjoy the real dessert, the one I had waited for so long.

  Finally, the last spoonful, I enjoy it with all the malice that an apple pie with vanilla ice cream can provoke in me. It's time to leave, William takes me by the hand, the elevator is open as if the guy who runs it was waiting for us. We went up and again do not stop until the 37th floor. We walk towards the room, and I feel that I am ready for everything. The smell of this man, the perfect date, the perfect room, all this ritual that he has prepared to win me back has worked. My whole body is on fire, the walk to the room’s door has been longer than usual, I just want to feel him, touch him, undress him, I want him to love me completely, and I want to love him, to discover every inch of his body and show him mine. We get to the door, he swipes the card to open it while throwing me a look as penetrating as my own. When we hear the click indicating that the door is open, William pushes the door open, and I enter first. I take three steps and then turn back just in time to see him place the “Do not disturb” sign on, he looks at me when he finishes doing it, smiles and makes an overwhelmingly sexy gesture while closing the door.

  CHAPTER III

  A STRANGE KIDNAPPING

  Awake, my body feels tired, heavy, I am conscious, but I still can not open my eyes. I know that it is at least the early morning because there is an absolute brightness, I can feel it even if I have my eyes closed. Something is happening to me; I can not move very well. It's like I'm paralyzed but not completely, it's as if I am under the effects of anesthesia. It doesn’t make sense. Where am I? What happened last night? Where is William? Why can I not open my eyes? I hear someone talking in the distance. It is a man. It is the voice of a man, but I can not tell who it is. How long have I been in this condition? The last thing I remember is seeing William close the door and approach me. I do not remember anything else. I do not remember or am I not making an effort to remember? Come on Grace! What happened last night?

  We went up after dinner, William got out the room key and opened the door, I went in and turned to look at him as he closed it. He put the “Do not disturb” sign on and locked the door. He walked towards me, grabbed me by the waist, told me I was beautiful, he began to kiss my neck and carried me in his arms to the bed. I remember seeing him take off his shirt and put it on a piece of furniture in the small living room there. Then he took two glasses, poured some more wine and make me took a sip. I remember seeing him walking away to put the cup in its place and...

  As much as I try to
remember, I can not get any mental image following that sip of wine. I do not know if I drank too much and I lost consciousness. Would I be in the hospital for alcohol poisoning? I do not know what happened, I do not know where I am, and I do not know who is speaking from over there, nor what they are saying. This is frustrating; I can not move or speak. I am too tired to keep trying to remember and asking myself more questions. I better stop fighting with my body and just let myself be carried away by the fatigue. I hope I’m not dying, because if so, I'm giving up and I'll die soon. I hope it's just an alcohol intoxication and that I’ll wake up in a few hours. But what if I do not wake up?

  A few days ago I read that in one jurisdiction, I do not remember where a man ate shellfish and got sick almost immediately in the same restaurant. They took him to the hospital and after several days there discovered that the food poisoning was caused by a bacteria found in the shrimp’s intestines. It seems that they did not clean the shrimp before serving them and because of the bacteria, the man became a quadriplegic. I ate lobster last night, not shrimp. I don’t think it's a good time to remember that case; is it possible that the lobster made me into a quadriplegic? It can’t be, I would have opened my eyes at least, I would have vomited or something. This has to be something else. If it is the same bacteria I have several problems and the worst thing is that I won’t be able to complain to anyone. In the case of the man, the courts ruled that nobody was to blame, that mother nature was at fault for putting the bacteria in the animal. I’m sorry, I'm not a judge, but if I go to a place to eat shrimp, the least I expect is that they clean them well. The truth is that the laws are poorly executed, and the judges do the first thing that occurs to them; maybe I should send a postcard to my father to make a law about it.

  The voice again, this time I hear it closer. I do not know if it's William but if it's not him, who is it? He is talking to someone; he must be on the phone because I don’t hear anyone else. I need to concentrate on understanding what they are talking about.