Haunt [Aidan Hunter series book 2] [RE-WRITING]

Chapter 1

Third person POV

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Amelia stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh formals—a pristine white shirt and a pair of beige trousers. A delicate flowery fragrance lingered around her. Her skin glowed in the sunlight seeping through the curtains, her green eyes striking, like all the hues of a forest in spring. She could mesmerize anyone with a single look, or a whip of her hair, or simply by sauntering past, because she was stunning. To top it all, she was a successful businesswoman. Needless to say, things always worked out her way.

She gathered her wet hair and swung it over her shoulder. The water had darkened its usual auburn to a deep brown. Though as bright as her looks were, the same couldn't be said about her mood. She had a habit of muttering to herself when her mood was sour.

"Can't even have a day off to splurge." She toweled her hair dry. "What's the point of an extravagant hotel room if I can't enjoy it?"

She tossed the towel on the queen-size bed and picked up a blow dryer. As she plugged it in, she received a call. The caller ID read 'Bill'. She heaved a sigh as she answered.

"Yes."

"Enjoying the hotel?" A sarcastic male voice spoke.

She looked around her luxurious suite. "It's alright. Not too ostentatious."

"You are going to show up for the conference, right?" he said.

"Of course."

"Remember, we're on a work trip. Perhaps for you this is asking too much, but if you could, to the best of your ability, try to come early."

"Shut up." Amelia ended the call.

Bill was a close friend, but sometimes he drove her up the wall. He had no concept of personal space, and his reminders got on every single one of her nerves. She arrived late to work once, just bloody once, and that man wouldn't let it go. He thought he was being real professional, but he wasn't.

Amelia took another look at the room. What I would give to have an entire day to myself, watch some movies maybe, but no.

Tossing her phone on the bed, she took the blow dryer and turned it on. At that moment, she heard music coming from outside her door. She turned off the dryer and listened intently. It was a song she recognized—O Sinnerman. Eyebrows knitting together, she kept the blow dryer back on the dresser and went to the door. On opening it, she nearly stumbled over a boombox lying right at the doorstep in front of the door.

She looked around in the hallway, but no one was there. Odd. She picked up the boombox and turned it off. A female housekeeper came out of another room into the hallway, dragging a cleaning cart with her.

"Excuse me." Amelia beckoned her. "Did you see anyone near my room?"

The housekeeper approached. "No, ma'am."

"Well, somebody left this at my door. It doesn't belong to me. Could be a prank or something. Could you leave it at the reception?"

The maid received the radio. "Of course."

Amelia went back into her hotel room, shutting the door behind her. She had an hour before it was time to leave. Might as well watch some television until then.

Much to her disappointment, the television showed static when she turned it on. So much for a luxury suite. Even the TV gave up on her. Blowing a gust of air, she picked up the telephone and called the reception.

"Hello, yes," she said. "Could you get someone up here? The TV's not working. It's static."

"Oh," a woman answered. "That's odd. The televisions should be working in every room. We just checked them this morning."

"Yeah, well, mine's all static."

"I apologize for the inconvenience. We'll send someone straight up."

"Thank you."

Amelia replaced the handle. Barely a few seconds later, the phone rang again.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Miss Ruth," a male voice spoke.

She frowned. "Who's this?"

"I know everything about you, Amelia."

"Excuse me?"

"Unless you do what I say, I'm gonna kill your family."

She was caught off guard by that. "Wha—?"

The static on her TV disappeared, and a video played on the screen. One that made Amelia's blood run cold. She lowered the phone, staring with her mouth parted at the screen, unable to believe what she saw. A mix of fear and anger rushed through her, making her heart pound in her chest and her hands tremble.

She pressed the phone to her ear. "What is this? Some kind of trick?"

"That's no trick," the man replied. "What you're watching is real. It's happening live."

Amelia's anger faded, and she stared at the TV again. It couldn't be real. She didn't want to believe it. In her line of work, she'd received threats before, but none of this kind. None so terrifying.
"Who are you?" Her voice wavered. "What do you want?"

The man responded, and his answer sent a chill down her spine, sending a shudder through her body. Her face turned ashen as she stared at nothing, and then, as though compelled, turned her gaze to the balcony. A knock on the door made her jump, her face twisting with fear.

"Room service!" a male voice called cheerfully.

"Clock's ticking, Amelia," said the man on the phone. "What's it gonna be?" With a click, he disconnected the call.

Amelia pressed her hand against her mouth to muffle her sobs as she dropped the phone. There was nothing for it. No way out.

"Miss Ruth?" The man outside the door knocked again. "Are you there?"

Tears stained her cheeks as she walked slowly, resolutely, towards the balcony. The wind caught her hair as she pulled the glass door open, the sun warmed her in spite of the cool weather. She'd never feel that again. Worst of all, she'd never see her family again, never get to hug her children, to kiss her husband, and tell them she loved them.

Fear tasted bitter in her mouth as she mounted the metal railings. She tilted her head back—the wind cooling her tears—and sent up one last, desperate prayer.

Two minutes exactly since her last phone call ended, she let herself fall.