When Dominic strolled into the parlor with Conrad about fifteen minutes later, he seemed genuinely surprised to see her waiting for him.

  “Where’d you get off to?”

  She didn’t want to admit how much the basement had frightened her or how frustrated she was with Beom for leaving his pregnant wife behind in such short order. Instead, she folded her arms and shrugged.

  “I’m ready to call it a night.”

  As he studied her, his brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched downward. He nodded and grabbed Burke’s arm before he wandered away.

  “Hey Conrad, I’m gonna take Rozie to our room. Do we…”

  Conrad nodded, scanned the back wall, and waved one of the staff members over. The young woman approached.

  “Will you take the Lowry’s to their room?”

  She nodded and took a step back. “Let me get you your key,” she said.

  Conrad turned back to Dom. “The staff have taken your bags up to your room. Ms. Moore will take you if you’ll just follow her.”

  Dom and Rozie turned, but Burke’s hand fell on Dom’s shoulder. “You’ll still join us for a few more rounds?”

  Dom glanced at Rozie, the question written in his lopsided expression.

  “You stay and play with the other kids. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll make sure he gets a home safely, Mrs. Lowry,” Conrad said in a sing-song voice, jabbing Dom in the ribs.

  Dominic squeezed her hand before releasing it.

  “What do you say, ? Let’s bump it up to thirty minutes!” Tyler yelled as he entered the parlor. “My ass was still hanging out of a cabinet when Benny came down!”

  Rozie rolled her eyes. Not for the first time, she was glad she had met Dom during their junior year of college, after his friendship with the other boys from St. George’s had lost its potency.

  had to fetch a step stool to retrieve her key from the top row of the old-fashioned key hook wall behind the check-in counter. Rozie eyed the resort’s brochures on the counter. A stack of glossy hiking trail maps sat next to the brochures. Three trails stretched from the resort, weaving through Big Thicket National Preserve, which bordered the property on two sides. Rozie plucked a map from the pile just as the petite staff member came out from behind the reception desk.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Once again she climbed the semicircle of a staircase. Instead of turning left, however, Rozie followed the gray-clad figure to the right, back into the hotel wing. Now that no one hunted her, she studied the hall. Despite the remodel, the slight curves and wayward angles in the otherwise arrow-straight lines—wood warping, foundation settling—hinted at the building’s true age.

  Her guide stopped at room two-eleven. Rozie realized the door had an old-fashioned lock above the heavy brass knob. Moore withdrew a stout rust-brown skeleton key, big enough to fill half the young woman’s hand, and drove it into the keyhole. The lock turned with a thud, magnified by the solid wood-paneled door.

  Both of the sconces at the far end of the hall beamed merrily.

  She swung the door open, and the staff person cleared her throat. Rozie, stirred out of her memory, took the key held out to her. She thanked the young woman and Ms. Moore walk briskly back down the hall in a blur of gray. Surprised by the abrupt departure, Rozie watched her leave.

  When she turned her focus onto the room, the half-tester bed commanded her attention. The rich, dark shape climbed to the ceiling. She was grateful for the wooden flooring. It made the room feel more dignified. True to Conrad’s word, she found their luggage stowed away in the small closet next to the bathroom.

  Rozie suppressed a shiver when she saw the same claw-footed tub as the other bathroom, complete with a round curtain rod suspended from the ceiling. But after a pause, she spun the hot water knob all the way open. As she waited for the water to warm, she opened her rolling bag and pulled out her nightgown—not that different from the dress she wore now, aside from the even-more-pathetic flannel instead of cotton jersey.

  Rozie grabbed at the fabric of her dress and paused. On either side of the bed hung two paintings, darkened with age. It wasn’t until Rozie stood directly in front of one that she realized it was a portrait. A young girl, her blonde hair barely discernible from beneath the grime, clutched a single braid that draped over her shoulder. In the other portrait, a boy stood erect, almost comically so. His hand rested on a large dog. The Great Dane’s ears perked up, staring off into the distance. Rozie inched forward. Whatever had the dog’s attention had captured the boy’s as well. His eyes, painted whorls, looked over Rozie’s shoulder. She fought the urge to look over her shoulder. Instead, she grabbed her nightgown and retreated to the bathroom.

  She was grateful that the hot water came faster than she expected in the old building. With a twist of the third knob, the shower head coughed and erupted with steam. As the water poured over her face and shoulders, she felt the day’s dried sweat and grime dissolve from her skin and wash down the drain. She grabbed the soap from the sink next to the tub, ‘French milled’ of course. Rozie made quick work of cleaning herself—her feet ached threateningly.

  After her toweling off and dressing, she heard feet pounding down the hall just outside her door. As she climbed into bed, Rozie thought about grabbing the novel she began during the drive, but with her feet off the floor it was a lost cause.

  “All ye, all ye out and free,” Alfie yelled.

  Rozie listened for a moment. The round was nearly over. She glanced at the antique clock atop the dresser. Two-thirty. She had taken longer in the shower than she had expected.

  “Riley, you bastard, the round’s over, you won,” he yelled again.

  “Hey, who are you calling a bastard, you dick?” Tyler called with a laugh.

  They were all unwanted or neglected somehow. Dominic, Riley, Conrad, Benny, Alfonso, Tyler and Jon. Their friendship hinged on the fact that when the other boys at St. George went home during break, they were left behind. Dominic’s mother had drowned the summer he entered the sixth grade. His father remarried a little over a year later. Then, his half-sister came. And off Dominic went to St. George for his freshman year.

  Rozie frowned as she reached for the chain dangling below the lamp on the bedside table.