“I need to know which room Natalie Smith is in.” The girl looks up at him, her expression hesitant. Hank knows it’s against the hotel’s policy to give out guest information. He reaches into his pocket and discreetly slides a few bills across the counter.
“It’s really important,” he adds, his eyes imploring. The girl glances at the money and quickly types something into the computer. She writes down a room number on paper and slides it back to Hank.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” she whispers. Hank nods, his heart heavy with gratitude and guilt. He walks towards the elevators, the number burning in his mind.
When he reaches Natalie’s floor, his steps are slow and heavy with apprehension. He stands in front of her door, his hand trembling slightly as he raises it to knock. “Room service,” he calls out, his voice a mask of calm.
There’s a moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps approaching from inside. The door opened, and Natalie stood there, surprise evident on her face. Upon seeing Hank, Natalie tries to close the door, her expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.
But Hank, resolute, gently holds it open. “Wait, we need to talk,” he says, his voice firm yet tinged with a plea. “What else do you want to talk about, Hank?
I already said that I am not cheating on you. So if you don’t believe me, then…” Natalie’s voice trails off, and a hint of frustration is evident. “I believe.
I believe you didn’t cheat on me,” Hank interrupts her, his tone conveying relief and newfound concern. Natalie looks at him, puzzled. “Then what’s the matter?”
Hank lifts the bag he brought, holding it up for her to see.
“In this,” he says. Natalie’s eyes widened slightly as she saw the bag, and she stepped aside to let Hank into the room. Once inside, Hank places the bag on the table and opens it, revealing its contents.
“Don’t you want to tell me what all this is? Why do you need a gun and fake documents? And where did you get so much money,” he asks, his voice laden with confusion and concern.
Natalie takes a deep breath, her eyes on the items laid out on the table. “I can explain everything,” she starts, her voice a mixture of resignation and urgency. “That’s why I came here,” Hank responds, indicating he’s ready to listen.
Natalie begins her explanation, her voice heavy with emotion. “Several years ago, my niece became very ill. My brother had no money for her treatment.
I tried to help them, but it was not enough.”
“And then?” Hank prompts her to continue, his expression a mix of disbelief and concern. Natalie’s voice shakes slightly. “I got involved with bad people.
They were my former students. I knew they were involved in crime, but I didn’t realize how serious it was.”
“Natalie, what are you getting at?” Hank’s voice is soft, urging her to reveal the whole story. “They offered me to rob a bank.
The sums were huge. I didn’t know what to do, but then Katie, my niece, got worse, and she urgently needed surgery. I realized I had no other choice.”
“And you robbed a bank?” Hank’s voice is barely above a whisper, disbelief etching his face.
“Yes.” Natalie’s admission is quiet but firm. Hank covers his face with his hands, trying to process the information. “Oh my God.”
“But understand.
I had no other way out,” Natalie pleads with him, trying to explain her desperate situation. “What do you mean no other way out? Natalie.
There is always a way out,” Hank says, his voice a mix of sadness and frustration. “Katie was dying. I had to do something.
At that time, I had no one but them,” Natalie’s voice cracks with the weight of her past decisions. Hank looks up, his eyes meeting hers. “I understand.
But your goal does not justify the means.”
“What would you have done in my place?” Natalie’s question is earnest, seeking understanding. Hank pauses, considering her question. “I… I don’t know.
But we need to tell the police everything.”
“Hank, please.” Natalie’s plea is soft, filled with fear and uncertainty. “I won’t tell anything. You will do it.
Tomorrow we will go to the police, and you will tell them everything. I will provide you with the best defense,” Hank’s resolve is clear; his decision has been made. Natalie’s eyes fill with tears.
“Hank, I can’t.”
Hank reaches out, taking her hand. “I will support you, Natalie. I will be with you all the time.
But we need to do what’s right.”
Natalie nods slowly, a sense of resignation mixed with a faint hope in her eyes. “Okay,” she whispers, the weight of her past and the uncertainty of her future colliding in that single word. Hank, carrying the bag of money and Natalie’s belongings, leads the way out of the hotel room.
The atmosphere between them is heavy, laden with unspoken thoughts and fears. Natalie follows him, her steps slow, her mind seemingly a million miles away. Together, they walk to Hank’s car in silence, each lost in tumultuous thoughts.
The drive home is quiet, the usual chatter that filled their trips absent. Natalie stares out the window, her eyes reflecting the turmoil within. Hank focuses on the road, but his mind races with everything Natalie has told him.
The revelation about the bank robbery, her desperate actions to save her niece – it all swirls in his head, a storm of disbelief and concern. Upon arriving home, Natalie heads straight to the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea.
It’ll help us calm down,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Hank nods, grateful for anything that might ease the tension that has enveloped them. As Natalie makes tea, Hank sits at the kitchen table, the bag beside him.
He can’t help but glance at it, a stark reminder of their reality. Natalie soon joins him, placing a cup of steaming tea in front of him. “Here, drink this.
It’ll help,” she says, trying to muster a comforting smile. Hank sips the tea, feeling the warmth spread through him. But soon, he begins to feel slightly dizziness, a sense of weakness washing over him.
He rubs his temples, trying to shake off the feeling. “I think I need to go to sleep,” he murmurs, standing up unsteadily. Natalie looks at him with concern.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just tired,” Hank replies, his voice sluggish. He makes his way to the bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Once in the bedroom, Hank barely has the energy to change into his pajamas.
He collapses onto the bed, the day’s events weighing heavily on him. Within moments, sleep overtakes him, a deep, heavy slumber that feels more like an escape from reality. The next morning, Hank wakes up feeling groggy and disoriented.
The previous day’s events linger in his mind like a bad dream. As he slowly comes to his senses, he realizes something is amiss. The bed feels emptier, and the usual morning sounds of Natalie moving around the house are absent.
Hank turns to the other side of the bed and freezes in horror. There, lying next to him is a bloody knife. His heart starts pounding in his chest, a sense of panic washing over him.
He quickly scans the room and notices bloodstains on the floor, leading a trail out of the bedroom. Hank jumps out of bed, his mind racing with fear and confusion. “Natalie!” he calls out, but there’s no response.
The house is eerily silent, adding to the growing sense of dread. He wonders where Natalie could be and what happened in the room while he was asleep. In a frantic state, Hank attempts to clean the bloodstains.
He grabs a towel and tries to wipe the floor, but his efforts only smear the blood further. He’s not thinking clearly, his actions driven by panic and shock. He looks at the knife again, his hands trembling.
He doesn’t remember anything from the night before after he fell asleep. The tea Natalie gave him, the weakness he felt. His thoughts are chaotic, jumping from one frightening possibility to another.
Hank realizes he can’t clean the mess properly. He throws the bloodied towel in the trash, his mind still struggling to process the situation. He needs to find Natalie and figure out what happened.
The sense of urgency propels him to action despite the fear and confusion clouding his thoughts. Hank steps out of the bedroom, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and confusion. The scene that greets him is one of utter chaos.
The living room, usually so neat and tidy, is now a picture of destruction. Furniture is overturned, cushions are torn apart, and broken dishes are scattered across the floor. Glass shards glint in the morning light,
