Room Number 77.

The Museum tour ended. Those objects. Leaving an imprint. They both went back to their hotels. Meeting up later. Refreshing. Changing their clothes. To celebrate the last night in New York. Restaurant rated with five stars. Marvellous dining scene. Starry eyes. Speaking without words. Vibes that do not lie. Shivering. Goose bumps. Delight. She was wearing her hottest dress. Red. A designer from Paris. Killer legs. Hard not to feel attracted. His weakness. After all he was just a man. He looked stunning in his outfit. They were a lovely match. Everyone stared at them. The music was perfect. Mindblowing exchange. The red wine conquered their tongues. Seduced. The after taste a hit. Sparkling smiles.

He payed the bill. Like a true gentleman. Then he invited her to join him in his hotel room. He wrote the address and the number on a napkin with an intimate message for her. Closed it. A present. She opened it. The address known. Room number 77. His words touched her soul deep. OMG, he knew how to catch her attention. The napkin fell on the floor. They did not pay attention to it. They were too excited. Head over heels. Into deep. They left the restaurant. Walking closely together. He touched her hand with utmost care. Observed her reaction. She did not seem to refuse. His male confidence growing. In the corner of the restaurant where they had diner together, a shadow moved. The napkin. Acted like a leaf. Weightless.

The shadow followed the couple. They took a taxi. To his hotel. The shadow never left them. A beautiful hotel room. Luxurious. He opened a bottle of champagne, Ruinart. She saw the brand. Was aware of the highest value. Living in abundance. Golden bubbles rising. In their bodies and minds. Talking louder. Laughing. Limitless. All dimensions gone. The shadow moved behind their backs. Patiently observing every gesture. The shadow noticed how her face was expressing desire and excitement. He was into her. A fact. Undeniable. The shadow could not stand it. Replying with anger. She took her high heels off. He knew her well. The next step predictable. Time for action. He turned the light off.

He was surprised. She laughed. He stumbled. 'Let me check it, sweetheart', his last words. With his hands exploring the environment. Reached the bathroom. The shadow surrounded him. Slowly taking away his breath. No sound. He lost consciousness. It all happened quickly. The bath tube the perfect bed. For an asshole. The shadow went to her. She tought it was him. Teasing her. A game. Between lovers. He touched her. Went further. Too much bubbles inside her mind to know the difference between the stranger and her former lover from Paris. They made love. All night long. She was blown away. The best making love scene ever. She would not let him go. When she fell asleep, the shadow left the hotel room.

In the morning, the sun light entered the hotel room. She was searching for him. Eyes closed. Hand exploring the sheets. No body. She opened her eyes. Looking around. Empty glasses. Ruinart. On the table. Dizzy. Walking to the bathroom. Headache. The door seemed blocked. She screamed. Saw his body in the bath tube. Terrified. Next to his body his US passport. The mirror was decorated. With her red lipstick. She recognised the letter S. She called the receptionist. Some words left her mouth. Urgency. Dead or maybe still alive. She could not tell it. The New York city ambulance arrived at once. They took him away. She cried. Pale. Asked her some questions. They took his papers.

She had to sit down. Her mind activated. Wait a minute. How long had he been there? Her memory returning slowly. The light went off. He left the scene but came back. Or? Suddenly she was aware that something was not right. The pieces of the puzzle did not match. The S on the mirror, the body in the bath tube, the light that went off ... But they made love all night long? She looked at the bed. Next to the bed a picture. A young boy. Playing with paper planes. His eyes moved. She felt her head and stomache turning. She lost it. Could reach the phone. Calling the number of the receptionist. Then fell down. The receptionist reached room number 77. Second emergency. The lights of the ambulance. Serious warning.

By Liesbeth Leysen