Chapter 2 - The nineteen-year-old dishwasher looked at the cash in his apron, turned around, and walked away from a murder.
Chapter 2 - The Dishwasher's Choice
The kitchen of the Harrington Hotel was usually a symphony of clattering porcelain, shouting line cooks, and the heavy hiss of commercial dishwashers. But in that exact second, the entire universe shrank to the size of a single tile on the grease-stained floor.
The young dishwasher, a boy named Mateo who couldn't have been older than nineteen, stood rooted to the spot. His rubber apron was dripping with soapy water, and a plastic tray of dirty wine glasses trembled in his hands. His eyes darted from Ethan in his pristine wedding tuxedo, to the blonde woman with the silver dress and the raised knife, and finally to me—pressed against the frosted glass of the freezer, my skin the color of skim milk.
"What... what's going on here?" Mateo stammered, his voice cracking.
The blonde didn't hesitate. She lowered the knife into the folds of her silver dress with a terrifying, smooth grace, turning a bright, practiced smile toward the boy. "Oh, thank goodness you're here. The bride had a little too much champagne before the photos. She locked herself in by accident and she's getting hysterical."
"She has a knife!" I screamed through the glass, but the heavy insulation turned my voice into a muffled, pathetic wheeze. I beat my numb fists against the pane, leaving smears of condensation and blood from my cracked knuckles. "Mateo, don't trust them! Call the police!"
Ethan finally found his voice. He stepped between Mateo and the freezer door, his massive shoulders blocking the boy's view of my face. He put on that smooth, reassuring political voice he had used for ten years to charm donors and city council members.
"It's alright, son," Ethan said, reaching into his tuxedo pocket and pulling out a thick clip of hundred-dollar bills. He peeled off three of them and slid them into the front pocket of Mateo's wet apron. "My wife is having a severe panic attack. We're handling it privately. Take your break. Go outside for twenty minutes."
Mateo looked at the cash, then looked at the heavy steel handle of the freezer. He was a kid working for minimum wage in downtown Boston; he knew what happened to people who asked too many questions in rooms filled with men in expensive suits. His Adam's apple bobbed.
"Twenty minutes, Mr. Miller," Mateo whispered, his eyes dropping to the floor. He turned on his heel and pushed back through the double service doors, the plastic tray clattering against the frame.
The moment the doors swung shut, the blonde's smile vanished.
"We don't have twenty minutes, Ethan," she hissed, her blue eyes turning into sharp pieces of ice. "The guests are already arriving in the grand ballroom. The priest is upstairs. If she comes out of that freezer looking like a ghost, your career is over before the election even starts."
"I know, Vanessa! I know!" Ethan snapped, his hands shaking as he adjusted his diamond cufflinks. He looked at me through the glass, and for the first time in ten years, I didn't see my husband. I saw a monster who had calculated the cost of my life and decided it was worth the sacrifice. "But we can't do it here. There are security cameras in the loading dock."
"Then we change the plan," Vanessa whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of the silver handle. "We leave her. The temperature is set to minus ten. By the time they look for the extra ice during the reception, it will look like a tragic accident. A stressed bride looking for a quiet place to breathe, trapped by a faulty latch."
I slammed my frozen metal tray against the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Ethan, please! Ten years! We built everything together! You can't do this!"
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Ethan didn't look at my eyes. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the black rubber seal of the exterior latch, and threw the heavy iron bolt into place.
The small lightbulb inside the freezer flickered once and died, plunging me into absolute, suffocating darkness.
