CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2:Morning After, Name

Unknown

"He’s gone."

Pale, weak sunlight filtered through the curtain gap and streaked the wrinkled linen. A languid warmth flowed through my limbs as I stirred.

My lips formed a grin, a faint reverberation of the previous evening. Johnson. His name brushed across my recollection like a whisper.

I stretched, still somewhat scented by him, my fingers tangled in the silk of the covers. The only sound in the room was the distant buzz of the city awakening.

I thought I'd see him next to me, his black hair blown on the pillow. The linens on the other side of the bed, however, were cool and undisturbed.

A glimmer of discomfort flashed in my abdomen. He was gone. It seemed to be before morning. There was just an empty spot where he had been, no letter, no hushed farewell.

Pulling the covers about myself, I got up and looked around the room. His clothing were gone, and he was losing his fragrance. The warmth of his body on the mattress next to mine was the only sign that he was there.

I got up, scuffing my bare feet on the soft carpet. The air was still slightly scented with his fragrance, but the restroom was deserted.

I looked on the dresser and nightstand for any clues about his whereabouts or identity, such as a business card or a message.

Nothing.

Beyond the actual absence, a sense of emptiness and chill descended over me. He had just disappeared, leaving me with just a recollection and a persistent feeling of...

A letdown? Perplexed? A weird, unnerving pain?

I hurriedly put on the dress I had thrown away the previous evening. The space seemed less personal and colder now. There were many unanswered questions in the air.

Keeping the key card in my hand, I walked out of the room. The corridor was silent and empty. My footsteps reverberated in the quiet as I made my way to the elevator.

There was a lot of bustle in the hotel lobby as workers got ready for the day and customers checked out. As I passed the concierge counter, I looked around at the faces, trying to see him. But there was no sign of him.

The chilly morning air felt good on my skin as I went outdoors. The city was waking up, vehicles honking, people going to work. I felt lost and alone as I stood on the pavement.

I gave the driver my address when I called a cab. I felt uneasy as the cab moved away from the curb and I turned to face the hotel.

He had promised to explain. He had said he would be back. However, I was aware that promises were often violated.

The passing landscape was a blur as the cab swerved through the downtown streets. I had a lot of questions and thoughts racing through my head.

Who was he? What had caused him to depart? And why did his absence make my chest feel so empty?

The stillness in my flat was overwhelming. I went around the rooms, a ghost in my own house. The warmth did little to relieve the chill that had descended upon me as I brewed a cup of tea.

Sitting on the sofa, I gazed out the window at the distant glittering city lights. The previous evening seemed like a dream, a brief experience of closeness and passion.

I grabbed my phone and looked through my contacts, trying to find a name, a number, or anything else that may help me find him. However, nothing was present. No missed calls, no messages, no sign of him.

I opened my laptop and started looking online for whatever I could discover, like a list of guests or any information on the masquerade. However, the occasion was secret and reserved for the city's elite.

With a growing feeling of annoyance, I shut off the laptop. He was a guy without a name, a history, or a future—a ghost or phantom.

The day dragged on, long and empty. I got the unshakeable impression that I had been duped and an idiot. However, the recollection of his touch, kiss, and hushed whispers was too real and vivid.

I made the decision to go, attempt to forget, and move on as the sun started to set and long shadows spread over the floor. I wore a mask of indifference, a basic black dress, and a hint of red lipstick.

I went to a quiet, dark pub with the hopes of losing myself in the throng and the music. I got a drink and sipped it gently while staring at the ice's whirling patterns.

A guy approached, his gaze lingering on my face. He grinned, a skilled, predatory smile.

His voice was slick and seductive as he inquired, "Mind if I join you?"

"Yes," I said in a chilly tone.

He shrugged and went on to someone else. The harshness of my drink was a pleasant diversion as I took another sip.

Abruptly, a recognizable aroma filled the air, a touch of sandalwood and something more, something that was exclusively his. A beat skipped in my chest. I spun around, looking around the throng.Then I caught sight of him.

His black hair was shining in the low light as he sat with his back to me at a table in the corner. He was speaking to a lady, who had her hand on his arm and adoring eyes.

An intense and piercing feeling of rage swept over me. My palm clenched into a fist as I stood.

I moved in his direction, my footfall resonating in the unexpected quiet. His eyes widened as he turned to face me.

"Salome," he said in a soft whisper.

"Johnson," I said in a poisonous tone.

The lady next to him glanced from him to me, her face displaying a combination of anger and perplexity.

Her voice was stern as she inquired, "Who is this?"

He paused, looking from one of us to the other. "This is…"

A piercing, booming sound reverberated through the pub before he could continue. A shot.

Everyone froze, terror causing their eyes to widen. The lady at Johnson's side shouted and grabbed his arm.

His eyes widened in fear as he glanced below. His white shirt was becoming smeared with a black stain. With a frantic appeal in his eyes, he glanced up at me.

Then he sagged forward, his head thudding sickeningly into the table.