“Every day’s a gift, Audrey. Don’t waste it,” he said.
I’ve wasted all the minutes since my mother’s death, wishing for an escape. And now all I want is an escape back to that life. We can’t stay at the Ruby; I realize that. But I won’t leave without my family. Without Daniel.
I open my eyes, stunned at first, still in pain. But as the hurt fades, the scene becomes clearer. The red and gray colors of the Ruby, the thick carpet underneath me where I’m lying against the door of room 1336. I don’t hear the music anymore.
At first I’m not sure I can move or if my body is paralyzed. I test my leg, choking out relief when it obeys my command. I grab on to the doorframe and pull myself to my feet, stumbling to the side with one broken shoe before I regain my balance. I swallow hard and look around. All of the pain is gone, but the memory of it haunts me. Haunting. My eyes widen and I spin around, seeing that the Ruby’s walls indeed seem to be breathing. Are breathing. But it’s all changing.
As I watch, the colors of the thirteenth floor are getting dimmer, the carpet draining of color. It’s subtle at first, but now I notice everything. I think about my body on the side of the road. About the help that will arrive. Time is slower here. I couldn’t have survived on the side of the road for two days. But how long was I there? How much longer will I be here?
I look back at the door of 1336. If I got Daniel up here, could he return with me? Could he still wake up? I sputter out a cry, picturing him alone on the side of the road. Cold. Dead.
And my father, still in his seat belt trapped inside the car. I put my hands over my face, the despair surrounding me, choking me. My father, however unintentionally, caused the accident. Is that what Daniel remembered today? Is that why he told me not to trust Dad? Our father brought us to the Ruby . . . is he trying to keep us here?
I drop my arms, newly determined. I’m shaky, but I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. To retreat into the same self-pity that caused this family trip in the first place. I start toward the elevator, set to storm downstairs, but then I catch sight of my reflection in the hallway mirror. I’m still in Catherine’s clothes—broken heel and all. They won’t let me into the party like this, and definitely not without my invitation. If I cause a scene, I might get locked away, and I can’t take that chance.
I hurry to my room, and when I open my door, I’m stunned by what I find. My lights have been dimmed, candles lit on the dresser. It smells of vanilla and home—the same scent from that first day in the basement. On my bed is a big white box, a bloodred bow tied neatly across the top. I let the door slam behind me, and take a tentative step inside. What the hell is this?
With a trembling hand, I pull the ribbon and untie the bow. Fear threatens to derail me, but I push it down. Crush my fear for right now. I have to keep going and let this play out.
I slip the lid off the box and fold back the tissue paper to reveal the most beautiful red dress I’ve ever seen. The fabric shimmers, even in low light. The sweetheart neckline, the flowing twists of material. Strappy heels at the bottom of the box.
Next to the package is a simple black envelope. I imagine it’s my invitation to the party. Kenneth said he’d send it to my room, but I guess it came with the proper attire. My dad told me that the Ruby had provided his suit as well. And probably Daniel’s. I’m slow to pick up the envelope, handling it carefully.
My name is written neatly across the front in white pen. Elegant. Old fashioned. I slip my finger under the lip and open the letter. There is no personal writing, just a printed invitation.
Black Tie Event
You are cordially invited to the Hotel ?Ruby First Anniversary Party in the ballroom, tonight at 9 p.m. Invitation is required.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, and drop the envelope back onto the bed. I pick up the dress and hold it against my body, looking in the mirror to gauge if it’ll fit. It seems to, which doesn’t surprise me. I wonder if anyone’s worn this dress before. If they were once on the side of the road like I am.
It occurs to me that I’m a ghost. I’m the ghost of someone who’s not even dead. What does that mean for everyone else? For my family, or Elias? What are they?
Somewhere in the hall there is the hint of music, beckoning me back. But I shake my head, staying focused on my purpose. “Not without my brother,” I say. I look around the room, feeling the presence of the Ruby.