She turned off the light and sat right there on the floor by the light switch. The room was now pitch dark and frighteningly quiet. I was there, hiding in the old wooden closet. She didn’t know I was there but I could see her through the tiny crack in the closet door. Just minutes ago, she had pulled the trigger on the tall man she was talking to. They were arguing. It was a foreign language. Sounded Russian or East-European. Their argument had just turned into shouts when I saw her swiftly reach for the small gun she had holstered under her skirt and empty it in him.
Two days ago, I came to this isolated mountain resort to heal my wounds and pick myself up. A bad breakup had pulled me down. I needed to blow off some steam. Walking alone in the snow was starting to do me good. But tonight, painful memories got the best of me and after one too many whiskeys, I headed to my room. When I entered, the room looked and felt different. And there was a suitcase on the bed. Not thinking clear, I went straight for it. It opened easily. It was packed with small white-powder plastic bags. I could only imagine what that could be. Right at that point, I heard voices approaching. I panicked and hid in the closet.
After a few minutes that to me felt like eternity, she flipped the light back on. Her face was all white and wet. She dragged herself to the phone and briefly spoke with someone in the same foreign language. That brought some blood back to her face. She went to the bathroom, shut the door and turned the shower on. I quietly got out of the closet, trying my best not to look at the dead man on the floor, left the room and went back to my room which was the immediate next room. I was shivering and needed a drink. But one look at the floor almost gave me a heart-attack. My shoes had left blood prints on the beige carpet. In the frantic escape from that room, I must have walked through the blood.
It will be no time before she, and the people she called, will track the footprints to my room. And there is nowhere to go. I’ve locked myself in my bathroom, the only thing my half-drunk and half super-aware mind is telling me to do right now. I’m hoping that the sound of the gun shots has gotten the hotel staff or guests’ attention.
I’m quickly scribbling on the back of these empty hotel envelopes so that you, my love, know I was in no way involved with these drug-dealers. And for you to know that despite all the horrible things we said and did to each other, I always deeply loved you and now beg for your forgiveness. Someone just broke through my hotel room door. It’s just moments before