Chapter 6 - The Quiet Penthouse
The private elevator chime echoed softly in the subterranean vestibule, a muted bell that felt entirely out of place against the quiet thrum of the city outside. I carried Lily in my arms all the way from the car, her head resting heavily against my shoulder, her breathing slow and even with exhaustion. When the heavy mahogany doors of my penthouse opened, the apartment greeted us with its customary chill. It was a minimalist expanse of white oak floors, floor-to-ceiling glass, and stark architectural lines designed to impress visiting clients and foundation board members. Tonight, however, the vast emptiness felt less like a sanctuary and more like a tomb.
I stepped inside and carried her down the long hallway toward the guest suite, flicking on wall sconces with a flick of my wrist. The guest bedroom was outfitted with an expensive down duvet and crisp linen sheets that had not been slept in since my sister visited three years ago. I gently lowered Lily onto the edge of the mattress. She stirred for a moment, her fingers clutching instinctively at the frayed hem of her worn beige dress before relaxing as the soft fabric of the duvet enveloped her.
"Stay," she whispered, her eyes barely opening.
"I'm right here," I said softly, smoothing a tangled lock of brown hair away from her dirty forehead. "I'm just going to draw a bath for you."
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In the adjoining marble bathroom, I turned the polished chrome handles of the oversized tub, watching steam billow against the frosted glass. I tested the water with my wrist, making sure it was comfortably warm, and added a few drops of lavender bath oil from a glass bottle on the counter. When I returned to the bedroom, Lily was already halfway back to sleep. I gently undressed her, setting aside the ruined beige dress and the caked shoes that had left dust on my parquet flooring. Lowering her into the warm water, I watched the tension drain from her small frame as the dirt washed away in gentle swirls of gray.
After wrapping her in a fluffy white bath sheet, I dressed her in an oversized cotton t-shirt from my own closet that hung down to her ankles like a nightshirt. By the time I tucked her beneath the duvet, she was completely dead to the world, her breathing deep and rhythmic. I stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, before turning off the bedside lamp and walking back out into the cavernous quiet of the living room.
