Page 45 of Watch Me Burn
I couldn’t blame her for being frustrated. Handing my purse to Ethan, I began rifling through it, pulling out the notebook with my father’s journal entries. The Florida trip had been on May sixteenth, just weeks before the school year wrapped up in June.
Stephanie pinpointed the old hotel records after just a few clicks. She browsed a bit more, then shook her head.
“Nothing,” she announced.
“Damn,” Ethan whispered beside me.
“Any surveillance footage?” I wondered.
She shrugged. “Barely a chance. We only keep those for a few weeks.”
Ethan’s expression hardened. “All right, then. We’ll wait and see what turns up when the insurance company sifts through here. Hope you can manage without any income for a while, because guests won’t stick around for that.” He gestured toward the exit. “Let’s head out, Lauren.”
I was about to follow, but David’s grip on my arm halted me. Ethan shot him a lethal glare, prompting an immediate release.
“It was in May of 2008, right?” David hesitated, sharing a telling glance with Stephanie. She exhaled deeply, hinting they were hiding something.
I stepped forward, leveling my gaze with his. “We’re here for that footage. Whatever other drama unfolded isn’t our concern.”
David paused, pondering my words, then nodded. “You two are quite fortunate. A lesbian couple sued the hotel in 2008, so we retained footage from that entire year as evidence.”
Yes! Karma was on my side after all!
“Why did they sue?” I glanced at Ethan.
“They were probably refused a room,” Ethan surmised, nodding at the wall with all the Jesus stickers and pictures right next to us.
David’s silence affirmed Ethan’s guess.
“To the records, then?” Ethan broke the palpable tension.
“Stephanie, hand them the footage,” David directed. She rose with a mutter of discontent.
We followed Stephanie into a cramped storage room where an ancient-looking computer sat. As she powered it on, it creaked to life, accompanied by a symphony of beeping sounds. “We keep this relic for the 2008 footage,” she remarked, tapping away at the dusty keyboard.
The mounting suspense was unbearable. Why on earth was it taking eons to load? Each mouse click seemed to stretch for an eternity, the computer emitting nostalgic loading sounds. At last, an outdated media player sprang up on the screen, and Stephanie pressed play.
Held in silent anticipation, Ethan and I gazed intently at the grainy footage. About forty minutes of guests filtering through the check-in process passed before my heart threatened to leap out of my chest.
There he stood. Dad. I had to stifle an audible gasp. Without thinking, I clutched Ethan’s hand, holding back tears that threatened to spill.
But as I braced myself to speak, a teenage girl sidled up next to him at the front desk.
Ethan interjected, his voice laced with surprise. “Who on earth is that?”
His bewildered gaze met mine, searching for answers. But all I could offer was a shrug. I had not accompanied my father on this trip. He’d always insisted on us attending school, never allowing vacations during term time. And the idea of me deserting my brother and mom to bask on the beach alone was unthinkable.
Stephanie squinted her eyes at the footage. “Looks like his daughter.”
“Impossible,” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the familiar outline of my father’s receding hairline and the mysterious girl standing beside him. The footage’s grainy quality only revealed her pale complexion and black hair, obscured further as her back was turned to the camera.
My head was a whirlwind, filled with a tumult of unanswered questions and a surge of anxiety. Who was this girl?
“Do you have anything else?” I asked.
Stephanie shot me a look as if I was missing the obvious. “As I said, we retained footage from both the check-in counter and the restaurant for the entire year.”
“The restaurant footage too?” Ethan queried.
