( Hey there, you’ve clicked into a novel, in progress.  To read it from the beginning, please click back to the July 16th posting, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1) [go to the Archives section to the left].  If you’re up to speed, read on my friends.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xii )
     OWEN WALKED IN STEP WITH THE PACE of the street crowd, the sun on his face, his anticipation growing. He relished in the rush and total release of the ‘celebratory rendezvous’. The conqueror earned his spoils, capital and carnal. He went through the revolving doors and straight to the front desk of the spacious lobby, giving the attendant his name. The attendant handed Owen an envelope, in it a keycard and a note on hotel stationery.
     “I’m waiting, Room 535. E,” he read.
     On the fifth floor, he swept the card through 535’s electronic lock, heard the latch release and pushed the door open to find her across the room. She looked out the window to the street below. His nostrils flared to the faint scent of her jasmine perfume.
     “I’ve poured you champagne, dear. Have some while I enjoy the view,” her smoky voice floated across the room.
     He took the fluted glass from the small table and downed the drink in one draft.
     She looked back over her shoulder to him,
     “Relax darling, take off your jacket, we have plenty of time.” she said. “Do you have to go back to the office?” she asked.
     “Not really,” he said, and took the bottle out of the ice bucket and poured himself another glassful. He pulled out his cell phone.
     “Amy,” he said in his best business tone, “I won’t be back this afternoon,” he looked at the figure silhouetted in the window, “something has come up…
     “Why are you laughing?…
     “Never mind, I’ll see you in the morning.”
     He removed his jacket, replaced the cell to the inner pocket, and hung the jacket in the closet. As he loosened his tie, he walked to the window, then slid both hands around her waist.
     She placed her glass on the windowsill, turned around, took his face in both hands and kissed him softly.
     “Let’s get to know each other,” she whispered.
     Owen looked into her eyes, but realized he was having trouble focusing. Her face was a blur. A rush of fire enveloped him, accompanied by a wave of nausea. His hands now fell to his knees, as he braced himself from falling; the room a carousel in his head.
     “What’s wrong, baby?” she asked, her hands now grasped his shoulders, and she tried to steady him.
     “Come on, you need to lie down,” she told him, took one of his arms over her neck, wrapped her closest arm around his waist, and they staggered across the room, then fell together on the bed. She rolled him to the center of the mattress on his back, and unbuttoned his shirt.
     “My God, you’re soaking wet,” he heard her say, while stars streaked across his field of vision, which was just blotches of colored light.
     “I’ll get you a cool towel,” came her comforting voice.
     He tried to speak, but nothing came forth, his mouth cotton.
     “Shhhh, I’ll be right back,” she said, “everything will be all right.”
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