An impatient rap on the door yanks me from sleep. It can’t be long since I closed my eyes. It’s still dark outside.

Two voices seep in through the cracks in the door, along with light from the corridor. One of the voices belongs to the motel owner, the other to a woman. Could it be someone sent by Damien? Anything is possible at this point. Maybe he’s standing right there next to them.

My body is heavy as I pull myself up and cower near the headboard. Despite the fact that I’m shaking with cold, fear-induced sweat dampens my armpits. It’s a struggle to think straight. But I have to think fast—act fast.

The knocking gets louder and more persistent. Knock, knock, knock. Thud, thud, thud, my heart responds.

“Open the door right this second.” The woman’s husky voice is angry. I detect a British accent.

A quick glance out the window reveals nothing new. No new cars parked in the lot—but that doesn’t mean anything.

On tiptoes, I hurry to the door, lift my damp clothes from the chair, and get dressed in the semi-darkness, ignoring the coolness of the fabric. In my rush I almost trip, but I get my balance back in time before I fall.

I’ve just finished dressing and am pulling back the curtain to make my escape through the window when a key slides into the lock from the other side. After a few metal clashes in the lock, my own key, which I’d left in the lock, falls to the ground and bounces away from the door.

Trying to keep my hands still, I fumble with the window to open it, but it’s stuck.

A key turns, the door bursts open, and the light flicks on. A tall, freckled woman with a blond halo braid glares at me, eyes spitting fire. The man I met at reception cowers behind her, but his head is tipped to the side so he can see past his companion. Is that fear I detect in his eyes?

During the few seconds we eye each other from across the room, I wait for Damien to reveal himself. But he doesn’t.

I turn away from the window and face my visitors fully. “Is… is something wrong?”

“Yes,” the woman barks. “This is a place of business. No one stays here for free.” She rolls up the thick sleeves of her cream bathrobe as though she’s readying herself for a physical fight.

I wrap my arms around my body. “I... I don’t understand.” I point at the man’s pale face. “I didn’t have cash so I gave him my wedding band. It should be worth... something.”

“Are you talking about this useless piece of jewelry?” She holds up the wedding band. “This is fake platinum... worthless. My son here might be incapable of telling the value of a piece of jewelry, but I know what I’m talking about. I used to be a jeweler back in England.”

“It can’t be. I thought...” My words turn to dust in my mouth.

“This is a business, not a homeless shelter.” She tosses the ring across the room, and it lands at my bare feet. “If you don’t have money to pay for your stay, then get your things and go.”

I glance at the blanket of darkness on the other side of the window pane, my stomach clenching. My eyes film with tears as I glance back at the woman.

“I’m sorry about the ring. I had no idea. My husband... he gave it to me. He...” I almost tell her that Damien can afford expensive jewelry, but I bite my tongue. The last thing I want is for them to get in touch with him. Not that I would even know how to contact him. Or want to.

“I’m tired of tourists coming here and trying to take advantage of the locals. Get your things and leave.”

“Please, let me stay till the sun comes up. I have other jewelry on me. I’ll sell it somewhere and give you whatever I owe you.” My eyes shift between her and her son. “It was not my intention to trick you. My life is in danger. I don’t know where to go.”

The woman’s eyes remain stony. “Sorry. No free stays here. We work for a living. There are other motels in this town.”

I’m sure if I refuse to leave, she’ll drag me off her property. Left with no choice, I nod and pick up the ring from the floor.

I take two steps toward them, ready to leave, when I remember the knife under my pillow. As my single form of protection, I cannot go without it. But if I take it out now, they might feel threatened.

I look around the room. “Can I have a few minutes to get my things together? I promise I’ll leave after that.”

The woman raises a hand, fingers splayed. “Five minutes. Nothing more.”

“Okay.” I blink away tears. “That’s all I need.”

They leave the room but don’t close the door. As soon as they’re gone, I get the knife, wrap the kitchen towel around it, and return it to my back pocket.

Guilt gnaws at me as I wrap the ratty towel from my earlier shower around my body, under my blouse, and push it into the waistband of my pants. Who would have thought I’d turn out to be such a good thief?

I find them downstairs at the main entrance, one on each side of the door. The man averts his eyes, while his mother holds the door open for me, gaze unwavering.

“Thank you.” At least I managed to get a few hours of sleep, disturbed as it was.

My gratitude doesn’t get a response, not that I expected it to.

Outside, I retrace my steps, following the path that led me to the motel. The moment I’m a safe distance away from my temporary shelter, I pull the towel from under my blouse and throw it over my shoulders. The damp clothes make the air feel even cooler than it was a couple of hours earlier.

As I push my way through the night, I think back to the moment the woman and her son barged into my room.

Why would Damien give me a worthless ring? Considering the deep, albeit sick, feelings he has for me, it doesn’t make sense.

The diamond ring weighs heavy on my finger. I’m tempted to remove it, to study it in the light of a street lamp. But that’s a bad idea. Much as I want it off my finger, there’s still a chance it’s the real thing, in which case it’s safer on me until I find a jewelry or pawn shop.

The world is sleeping. There isn’t a soul on the street but me and a few stray dogs. Prickles of fear shower my spine every time I walk past a dark corner, expecting a figure to spring out of the shadows.

I try not to think of what’s lurking as I hurry back toward Marissa’s liquor store. The chances of it still being open are slim, but I have to see for myself. To my disappointment, I find the lights off and the door locked.

With nowhere left to go, I head in the direction of the beach, in the hope that a wide open space will be safer than all those corners that could hide unknown dangers. The rush of the waves and the taste of salt in the air tell me I don’t have far to walk.

Ten minutes later, my soles touch the pebbled beach. I drag my heavy feet along the edge of the inky water, stepping over empty beer cans, shells, and what looks in the moonlight to be a condom wrapper.

I try not to think of the night of Chelsea’s engagement party, when I was safe—close to happy, even. Now I’m homeless and struggling to survive in a foreign country. I push the memories and images of the past to the back of my mind.

I find shelter between two large boulders, where I lay my towel down and sink onto it.

Gazing out at the waves rolling in and out, I allow myself to cry until I’m so empty and exhausted that sleep threatens to steal me. But falling asleep is the last thing I want to do. I need my eyes and ears open for any signs of danger.