Nicola Griffith - Stay

She moved like an ill person, not drugged but docile, and unconfidently, as though the world were a dangerous place. Perhaps it was, or at least this part of it. I led her around a brick support pillar to a couch.

“Sit.” She sat. The features were the same as Tammy’s but this wasn’t the Tammy I’d known. “Dornan is worried—” She began to blink rapidly. She couldn’t be afraid of Dornan. Afraid of him seeing her like this? “He doesn’t know where you are, and I won’t tell him unless you want me to. He doesn’t have to know about—” Distinct pallor. What had she done? “—any of this. But he’s worried, so he asked me to find you and make sure you’re all right. Are you? All right?”

Her eyes filled with tears but she made no move to reply. It was clear that she was very far from all right.

“I have a cab waiting downstairs. We can go to my hotel. We can talk. We’ll drink tea. You can tell me what’s going on. After that, you can come back here if you—”

“No!”

That seemed clear enough, so I stood, took her hand, helped her to her feet, and headed for the elevator.

“No!” she said again.

“You don’t want to leave?”

“I mean…” She made a vague gesture towards a closed door. “My things…”

Her things. “Where is Karp—Geordie—when is he coming back?” But she had closed her eyes; she wasn’t listening. “Give me the key. The elevator key.”

Without the key, she couldn’t leave, or let anyone else up. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew she was afraid. I didn’t want to be surprised. She handed it over without protest, and I put it in my pocket. Behind the first closed door was a windowless office, almost bare but for a utilitarian desk on which stood a printer and small photocopier, and, against the wall, a self-contained video playback unit and a stack of tapes. A lateral filing cabinet, freestanding supply drawers. No fax, no phone, no computer. The second door hid a half bath. The third led to the bedroom, which appeared ordinary enough—king-size bed with crimson-covered duvet, two dressers, a lovely eighteenth-century beechwood armoire, thick cream rug, reading lamps, long, heavy crimson curtains—but felt strange. I stood there for a moment, trying to work out where the oddness lay, then dismissed it. Tammy’s purse sat on the bed. I tipped out the contents to make sure that keys, wallet with credit cards, Georgia driver’s license, health insurance—all the personal essentials—were there, then shoveled everything back in. The master bath yielded two bottles of prescription pills and one cream, and contact lens paraphernalia. No watch. I took a toothbrush for good measure, and a comb, and added them to her bag. On the way back through the bedroom, I opened the dresser drawer and scooped out a handful of hose and underwear. Glasses from the bedside table. Was that everything she’d need for twenty-four hours? I didn’t want to have to take my eyes off her for a while. Something else, something else… Ring. She hadn’t been wearing Dornan’s ring. An antique jewelry chest, also eighteenth-century, but made of some dense tropical wood I wasn’t familiar with, sat on the second dresser, but I couldn’t find the ring. I tipped everything out, stirred it with my finger. No ring. Back to the bedside table. Nothing. Bathroom: no jewelry case. I went through the medicine cabinet more carefully. Nothing. I paused. This was Karp’s apartment; his ownership was apparent everywhere, from the precisely placed bronzes to the orderly kitchen to the matching leather furniture. Tammy had not made a single impression: she didn’t feel safe here. An engagement ring was personal, perhaps even precious, something to keep private, hidden. I went back to the underwear drawer, pulled it out, tipped it onto the bed. Nothing. Dornan still meant something to her or she wouldn’t be so afraid of him seeing her like this; she would have kept the ring. I shook out each pair of underpants, one at a time, put them back in the drawer. Opened the packets of hose. Began unfolding the sock pairs. I found it in the third pair, tucked down near the toe.

Back in the hallway, Tammy still stood by the elevator. I held out the bag but she took no notice of it. I used the key, and when the elevator opened she stepped in without a word.

She didn’t say anything when I gave her the bag and opened the cab door, nor when Joe turned to look at her black hair, chocolate brown eyes and full figure, then at my height and light blue eyes, and said, “Sister, huh?”

I gave him the other half of the hundred-dollar bill. “Different fathers.”

“Uh-huh.”

I gave him another fifty. He drove.

“We’re going to the Hilton,” I told Tammy. She stared through me as though I were talking in algebra. Her pupils looked normal, she wasn’t flushed or overly pale, and her breath came smoothly; she was not drugged; she had removed herself somehow, as though she had given up all responsibility for herself, or hope. Dornan had said she was smarter than I gave her credit for. What would he make of this?

We pulled up outside the hotel. “We’re getting out here,” I told her. She climbed out obediently. I sighed and reached back into the cab for her bag. Joe drove off without a backward glance. I held the bag out; she took it. “This way.” She followed me through the lobby, crowded now with guests checking their watches and exuding stress and impatience. “We’ll be in my room soon,” but she didn’t seem bothered by so many bodies all trying to breathe the same air, the same molecules that had just slithered down one red throat, then back up, to be snatched by the phlegmy lungs of a passing bellboy, who exhaled near the mouth of an old woman whose heart was probably as weak as her watery eyes. My clothes felt too tight. I wanted to punch my way to the street and not stop running until I reached Central Park and could lean against a maple trunk and look up into the leaves and believe I was not in the middle of ten million people; but here was Tammy, standing by the elevators, empty as a gourd, and Dornan, my friend, needed me to make sure she was safe.

The elevator opened and Tammy just stood there. I began to shake. I lifted my hand, but turned it instead into a light touch on her elbow and a gesture. “In. We have to go up.”

Halfway up she began to weep silently, but her expression didn’t change.

“You’re safe,” I said, wondering if I was lying. “We’re almost there.”

A couple was waiting at the twenty-second floor to go down. The younger of the two noticed Tammy’s tears and gave me a sharp look, but neither of them said anything.

Housekeeping had already tidied and cleaned the room; with my personal things hidden behind doors, it felt as comforting as an autoclave. I sat Tammy down on the edge of the nearest bed and went round turning on all the lights. The dim yellow glow added some warmth to the room. I closed the curtains to make her feel safer. “I’m going to run you a bath, and I’ll order some food while you’re relaxing.” Tammy just sat there. I took her hand and tugged her gently towards the bathroom. Her hand was cold. “The bath will get you warm.” The water gushed into the tub. I made sure there was soap, that the bath mat was on the floor. The chlorinated water frothed on itself, water so clean it was dead. I tried to ignore the automaton breathing behind me. The tub filled. As though she were a child, I tested the temperature of the water with the back of my hand. I turned off the taps. “I’ll shut the door, but I’m just out here if you need me.”

I listened outside the door. There was no snick of the lock, but after a moment I heard the soft plash of flesh meeting water, and moved away.

I called room service, ordered tea and coffee, sandwiches, water, juice.