C4 antho - Chamber Four

~254~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology
“I couldn’t say, miss.”
“He’s not in our room. He’s not in back. I wish I knew
where he’s gotten to.”
“That’s what many people wish,” said Patrick.
“What does that mean?” Sharon asked him.
“Things are not what they seem, miss,” said Patrick.
“No shit, Patrick,” said Sharon.
No shit. Sharon didn’t need Patrick, she didn’t need an
Etonian, she didn’t need the great-nephew of the Bishop of
Leicester, to tell her things were not what they seem. So what
if they weren’t? Sharon didn’t care. Sharon said she was
doing the next thing. She didn’t need to know how things really
were. Not knowing was, even, part of the thing of doing
the next thing. She didn’t care about knowing how things really
were. But she wouldn’t have minded knowing how things
were not. She knew Munro and the rest weren’t what they
seemed to be. But what did they seem to be? What was she,
however falsely, supposed to believe? She didn’t even know
that. And nobody seemed to care. Was she, then, not even
important enough to fool?
“Where were you?” she asked Munro when he came
along the gallery to their room. He walked between two men
who were helping him, the same men―or men who looked
like the men―Sharon had seen on the beach. They didn’t
speak. They helped Munro to his chair on the veranda and
left. Munro sat heavily in the chair. Sharon knelt before him
and looked up at him where he sat.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“Had some calls to make,” said Munro.
“Calls? You mean telephone?”
“Like a telephone,” said Munro. “There’s no real telephone
here.”