Bodies (10)

When we reach the landing in the first floor, I immediately spot the half-open door.
Hazim notices it, too. “Get behind me!” he hisses.
I obey.
To my surprise and horror, Hazim pulls out a small gun from under his belt, holding it before him as we cover the last metres on tiptoes. He slams the door open, makes a circular movement with his outstretched arms, just like they do in the movies.
Even in the dark, we can see that no one’s there. I sigh with relief.
Until I switch on the ceiling light and discover what’s left of my room. A gasp of despair escapes me. The cupboard doors are wide open, all my clothes lie on the floor. The sheets and blankets have been torn apart, the pillows and the mattress cut into pieces, fluffy white feathers cover everything. The TV set has been smashed in, the rest of the furniture chopped up with an axe.
“What the fuck…!” I whisper, leaning onto Hazim’s muscular frame for reassurance.
“Collect your things!” he whispers back, pushing me away. “Come on!”
“Huh? What? My things? But… we should call the reception! The police! Or Murat!” I try to remain level-headed, but panic makes my voice crack.
“You listen to me or what? Murat cannot help you anymore! You’re in danger!”
I don’t want to believe it. There must be an easy way out of this! An explanation. Something rational. I’m sure, I’m so sure, so fucking sure; because my certainty is the only thing that keeps me sane and whole. “That’s ridiculous. Why should I be in danger? And why shouldn’t Murat be able to help? He’s got money and power. That sorts out everything, in no matter which country!”
Hazim rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so stupid! You think this—“ he points his gun at the mess around us“—would be possible without Murat knowing?”
“What you’re talking about? Why would he know of this? I mean, a break-in can happen just about anywhere, right?”
“Anywhere. But not here. Not in Hiçbiryerde, even less in this hotel. Look around —this is not just a break-in, you idiot! If we had time to check, you would realize nothing is missing.” He shoves his gun back under his belt.
Stunned, I fix my clothes. Sure enough, I see one of Murat’s gifts, a massive, golden chain bracelet, peep out under one of my black shirts. A burglar wouldn’t have left without taking it. It’s worth a good amount of bucks.
So… if nothing has been stolen, why would anyone do this…?
“I need a drink,” I murmur and turn toward the small fridge in the corner.
“Don’t!” Hazim intercedes.
“Why not?”
“Because I think that…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, opens the fridge instead and takes out a can of soda and a little bottle of Whiskey. “Yes, just as I thought,” he says after inspecting them.
“What is it now?” I want to know, irritated.
“Look here.” He shows me the cap of the Whiskey bottle, then the can.
There’s a little hole in each. As if someone had introduced a syringe.
“My God… someone tries to poison me?” A nervous laugh escapes me. I notice how pathetic I sound.
“I guess they injected GHB into all the beverages,” Hazim states.
“The rape drug?” The seriousness of the situation sinks in at last. My legs get weak, I have to sit down.
Put Hazim jerks me up again. “We don’t have time. Take your passport, your ID card, your money, all the important stuff. And then let’s get out of here!”
“What about my clothes? Do I have time to pack?”
“No.” He pats me on the shoulder. “You have ten minutes until my return.”
I try to hold him back, but he has already left the room.

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