Robbery.doc

From Dotti Carrick's files in the Hesh Records filesystem

Intranet URL: http://www.hesh-intranet.com/heshencrypted/data/lvuxuiihdl062g484d9l9w4vg9qroobj/robbery.doc

Rosemary stopped dead in the doorway. Her little postage stamp of a hotel room was empty. The furniture was there, of course. The carpet and lamps, certainly. But it was empty of the things she had left there earlier; empty of her bag, her clothing strewn around, her pile of ticket stubs, itineraries and miscellaneous coinage on the night table. Rosemary shook herself a bit to throw off the blanket of paranoia that had enveloped her. Her night out with Rob and his astounding array of neuroses had clearly wormed its way into her brain. Now she, too, was looking for a plot, supernatural or otherwise, at every turn; how such a sad, delusional man could live on his own was beyond her. At second glance, it was obvious that the maid had just been in to tidy up her mess. Her bags would be in the closet, her clothing folded and put away. Her papers would be in the drawer of the night table. Rosemary bit her lip and chewed. Her fingers floated up to entangle a lock of hair. Clearly, the maid had been by. But it couldn’t hurt to check, just to be sure, could it? One foot followed the other in a slow and precise cadence. She skirted the bed and bent over to the night table. Her fingers paused at the pull, and she took a deep breath. Being prudent and checking after her belongings was not paranoia, she told herself. Any maid could have made off with her small store of money. Surely her documents were worth no tiny sum on the black market. She pulled open the drawer. It was empty. Rosemary stared for a long few moments. She rested her fingers lightly on the bottom of the drawer, feeling the weft of the cheap wood. It was disappointingly solid. She sprang into action. She moved to the closet and flung it open. Empty. She pulled the drawers out of the bureau. Empty, every one. She looked in the shower, under the bed, behind the television. She pulled the comforter off the bed, and the sheets. And finally, she sank down in the center of her ravaged hotel room, the one that was indubitably free of any trace of her occupation. She had no more money. She had no identification, and no ticket home. She had no key. She had no friends. Alone and penniless in a foreign land, Rosemary let her head fall forward, her limbs loosen into rubber, and began to cry.