35
During
this time, Bealz found that the suites were warded. He could not
venture beyond the vestibule doors. He was essentially a prisoner,
despite being well kept and constantly and fastidiously attended to.
He heard
and watched the breaking reports play out in the background of his
news feeds about the building collapse not far from here, but
ultimately, it was meaningless to him. He has miseries of his own.
Bealz had
been left to pace the floor, with little more to do than to eat and
worry for his mother.
At this
point in time, he had decided to dismiss his disappointment of a
father.
Bealz
hardened himself to the fact that his dad was just another letdown in
an endlessly difficult existence. Just another ex-con baby daddy,
gone again just as quickly as he had arrived.
Bealz
couldn't help but feel sorry for himself because of it, though he
tried hard not to show it. He instead looked to toughen himself, to
steel himself against an illusory emotional pain that seemed to reach
inside and squeeze his heart and lungs.
He didn't
know how to express this, of course. Particularly to the strange men
and women, some of whom Bealz wasn't quite sure were actually really
men or women, who came and went and brought his meals and clothes and
cleaned his rooms.
Their
attentions were discomforting and they bore the brunt of his fearful
displacement because of it.
Alone
with his thoughts, Bealz was startled by a knock on the door.
In all
the time he'd been here, pacing about, doing nothing much, he'd not
heard one knock. When the housekeeping staff came they texted him an
hour in advance and face-timed him from the hall before just walking
in. None of them were really asking for permission.
What he
didn't know was that the same thing which had prevented him from
leaving also prevented anyone outside of strictly vetted and
authorized personnel from entering. The mere fact that the hotel's
wards had allowed someone close enough to knock on the door was proof
of failed security protocols.
Bealz,
though, was born and raised in the hood. Unexpected knocks at the
door were never treated with anything but serious suspicion.
Easing
over and taking up position alongside the door, he calls out, “Who
is it?”
“Hey,
little man,” a rich baritone rumbles from the hallway. “You must
be Belozi.”
Bealz
hated that name. Now that Ms. Penny was dead, he didn't know anyone
outside of his parents and a couple counselors at school who even
knew it.
“I
said, who is it?”
“Hey,
that's cool,” the man outside the door reassures. “I understand.
But I'm an old friend of your father's, young blood.”
“Yeah,
right,” Bealz thinks, remembering Dakari's sugary sweet words.
“My Dad
just stepped out. Probably to go get some ice or something. I'll
tell him you came by.”
An
intense purple light stabs through the crack in the doorjamb and the
doorknob jiggles open. Bealz jumps back, scared and ready to fight.
Stepping
through the door, a tall, well dressed, dark skinned man presents
Bealz with a blinding, easy and disarming smile.
“No
need for that, young blood. I'll just wait for him over by the bar.”
Comments
Post a Comment