The Silver Girl
Her eyes are mournful, as though she grieves something — or someone.
This is a collaborative choose your own adventure story. Click here for the chapter guide. Go back to chapter 1 by Linden Schneider here. Return to the previous chapter here.
Hardening your heart, you declare to Sandra, “No. What you want to say to me, should be said in my partner’s presence as well.”
For the first time ever, annoyance ripples through Sandra’s friendly face. Her gold eyes sparkle with an unknown emotion. But she maintains her smile, and spears up a tomato from the buffet tray onto her plate. “Hey, honey, that’s okay, I understand. Maybe next time, then.” Her smile grows a little tighter. “See you tomorrow morning!”
She waves, and flips her glossy blond hair. You have a sinking feeling in your stomach, like you’ve crossed a tripwire and it’s too late for you to escape. Still, you don’t feel comfortable being alone with her, nor do you want to leave your partner to have a “private talk” with Sandra.
You hug your shoulders, feeling disturbed. After you watch Sandra’s silhouette fade into the hotel lobby crowd, you hurry back to your partner’s booth in the buffet, even though you’ve hardly collected any food on your plate.
Relief floods you when you see your partner lounging on the plush seats, their head tilted back and their eyes closed as though they’re trying to catch a nap. But you know that, like a cat, your partner will wake up at the slightest stir.
Indeed, at your approach, their eyes flicker open. Then they narrow. “What have you been up to?” they ask with a note of accusation.
Their implied criticism hurts, but you suppose you weren’t entirely innocent. While you would never cheat on your partner, you were undeniably drawn to Sandra’s easy charm and alluring body. Yes, you took more than one glance at her gorgeous figure.
Immediately, you feel ashamed. You find your partner attractive too, and they do have a fit and athletic body. But Sandra looks like a supermodel, while your partner is pretty in a more mundane way. You shut off these unpleasant thoughts to answer your partner’s question:
“I bumped into Sandra.” You lift your hands to plead for peace when they glare at you. “It’s not what you think. She asked if she could have a word with me in private. I declined, saying that what she has to say to me, should be said in your presence, too.”
Your partner’s brows relax at your words. Still, they cross their arms over their chest. “Okay, but how did she react?”
You grimace. “She didn’t seem pleased. But she was still polite and said that was all right, and she would see me tomorrow morning.” You shrug. Even as you share this information with your partner, you feel a chill race up your spine. Have you said the wrong thing to Sandra?
Your partner presses their lips together into a hard line. They steal one of the scallops from your plate. “There’s no use worrying now. What’s done is done.”
You subtly move your plate away from your partner, and you stare at them with skepticism. “Really? Don’t you want to at least think of backup plans? Escape routes?”
But your significant other scowls at you. “What escape routes? We’re virtually trapped on an island now.”
Stunned, you try to catch a glimpse of your environment from the small buffet windows, but they are either blocked by wandering customers, or they only show the hotel lobby. Claustrophobia grips you.
You feel a hand on your arm and you jump. But it’s only your partner, frowning. They say, “It’s tough being on an island, but if they truly mean us harm, we — will find a way.”
You want to respond with sarcasm about how likely that is, but you restrain yourself. As irritated as you are, it’s not your partner’s fault.
Next morning at 7 AM, you are woken by a disturbingly loud alarm. You curse and scramble for the snooze button, but there is none.
Your partner moans and turns over, their fingers in their ears. But there is no way to stop the incessant ringing. It reminds you of alarm bells.
Then, a harsh voice comes on the intercom, “Everyone, get off your asses and go down to the lobby at once. Or we’ll bang on your doors and grab you by force.”
“Sheesh, dramatic much?” your partner whispers in a hiss.
The voice on the intercom continues, “Breakfast will be served at the buffet, and we will find you there. Hurry!”
At long last, the alarm-like ringing fades. But you dare not tarry in case they weren’t kidding about coming to bang on your door. As if in response to your thoughts, you hear heavy footsteps thudding closer. You curse again and hastily change your clothes to go downstairs. Your partner does the same, but at a much less hurried pace.
When you open the door, you’re relieved, but also mystified, that no one is outside. But maybe they just entered one of the other rooms?
Regardless, you and your partner dart down the elevator to the ground floor. With all this rush, even the grand buffet doesn’t feel as hearty as it did yesterday afternoon. And last night, you and your partner had ordered room service for dinner.
As you tuck into your breakfast platters, piled high with pancakes, French toast, cheese cubes, and the like, a petite young woman with long, flowing silver hair comes up to your table. Her hair is dyed, but it’s stylish. Her eyes are mournful, as though she grieves something — or someone.
She gazes at you in silence, barely acknowledging your partner. Before you can break the silence and ask her what she wants, she speaks:
“I’m Silvia.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Have you met Sandra, one of the Vacation Roulette organizers? She is my cousin and I caution you not to trust her.”
The hairs on your body stand on end. You notice that Silvia looks like a ghost, with her pallor, her silver hair, and her wispy, lost demeanor. She casts a furtive glance around the buffet, then whispers, “Please be careful around her.” With that, she slips away like a small spirit.
Seconds later, a familiar voice greets you. “There you are!” It’s Sandra, of course. Her radiance is blinding. She grins. “I hope old Jerome didn’t scare you too much. He likes to do the wakeup announcements. It never fails to shock everyone out of bed — including me.” She winks conspiratorially. Then she raises her eyebrows. “And you just met Silvia, didn’t you?”
You exchange a puzzled glance with your partner.
Sandra continues, “I love Silvia, she’s my cousin. But just between you and me, some of the things she says don’t make sense.” She adds in a hushed voice, “She might sound downright paranoid sometimes, but I hope you don’t take her words to heart. She means well but the way she perceives things…is out of touch with reality.”
Sandra puts her hands on her hips and straightens up. “Please don’t tell Silvia or anyone else what I said, okay? Silvia is a sensitive soul, and I don’t want the other vacationers to think poorly of her, since not everyone is kind or open-minded.” She shakes her head slowly. Then she flashes her sweet, sunshine smile again. “When you’re done with breakfast, come join us in the lobby, okay?” She waves and saunters away.
You stare off into the distance, thinking over these bizarre encounters.
What will you do?
- Seek out Silvia. She may be odd, but you trust her more than you trust Sandra.
- Just go straight to the lobby to meet Sandra and the other Vacation Roulette crew.
