Chapter Two: It's Only Just Beginning

 

I stir from my sleep, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Stretching lazily, I savor the quiet tranquility of the morning before the day's adventures begin.

Opting for a refreshing shower to start the day, I make my way to the bathroom. The warm water cascades over me, washing away the remnants of sleep and invigorating my senses for the day ahead.

After my shower, I select a breezy sundress in shades of blue and white, perfect for the balmy Greek weather. Slipping on comfortable sandals, I take a moment to admire myself in the mirror, feeling ready to embrace the day.

Turning my attention to the unpacking task, I fold my clothes and place them in the dresser neatly. When I’ve unpacked, I roll the suitcase to the closet and open the door, but what greets me sends a blood-curdling scream from my lungs, piercing the air and sending shivers down my spine.

Startled, Brock jolts awake, his eyes wide with alarm as he rushes to my side. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

I point towards the closet, my hand trembling with fear. "There's...there's a body in there," I manage to stammer out, my heart racing in my chest.

With a sense of dread, Brock approaches the closet and pulls open the door, revealing the lifeless form of a man stuffed against the wall, his deep brown eyes and dark, curly black hair frozen in time. Shock washes over me as I take in the scene before me. Other than seeing a lifeless body in the closet, what is really odd is that a tiny begonia is stuffed in his mouth.

“He’s the bellhop,” Brock whispers.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, Brock and I exchange a look, knowing that our adventure in Greece has taken an unexpected and sinister turn, just as it had in the airport. And as we grapple with the shock of the discovery, I realize that our journey is far from over and our peaceful vacation is about to turn into a sea of questions and a trip down to the local police station – in Athens, Greece.

A pounding on the door snaps me out of my trance.

“Ma’am, hotel security here. Are you OK?” A man’s voice in broken English calls out.

I whisper, “What should we do?”

“We have to let him in, Trice, and tell him the truth.” I nod and take a deep breath, not knowing what our fate will reveal.

As the shock of the discovery settles in, Brock opens the door to hotel security, their concerned expressions mirroring our own. They exchange a few hushed words with Brock before being granted entry.

With a mixture of trepidation and relief, we step aside as the security personnel carefully assess the scene. Their professional demeanor is reassuring in the midst of the chaos that has unfolded in our hotel room.

After a thorough examination and the recalling of what I encountered once I finished unpacking, one of the security officers speaks up, his tone somber yet composed. "We'll need to notify the authorities immediately," he says, his voice carrying a weight of gravity.

Brock nods in agreement, his jaw set with determination. "Of course," he replies, his gaze unwavering. "We'll cooperate fully with the police."

As the security team makes arrangements to contact the authorities, a sense of unease settles over me. The reality of the situation is sinking in, and I know that we'll soon be faced with difficult questions and scrutiny.

With a heavy heart, I turn to Brock, the gravity of our predicament weighing heavily upon us. "We'll get through this together," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Brock nods, his expression resolute. "We will," he replies, his tone firm. "But first, we must do everything we can to help the police with their investigation."

As we await the authorities' arrival, a sense of apprehension lingers in the air. Our adventure in Greece has taken another unexpected turn, and we can only hope that we'll emerge from this ordeal unscathed. However, I don’t hold out much hope.

After what seems like forever, the police finally arrive at our hotel room. I remove my hands from my face as I stare into the eyes of a middle-aged Greek police officer. His demeanor tells me he’s not happy with tourists finding a dead body in their hotel room closet as he kneels and examines the body without touching it.

A while later, the medical examiner is called in, and he firmly tells us the man has been dead for at least 12 hours. As I mentally calculate the time, I realize that when we got to the hotel room, he was already dead in the closet. We fell asleep and it was nearly 9:00 when I woke up, so he had to have been killed while we were sitting in the bar drinking our wine. But who did it, and why was he killed? And, more importantly, why was he killed in our hotel room?

Goosebumps form on my arms as I wrap my arms around myself to calm my anxiety. A bomb threat hoax and now a dead bellhop in our closet – what next?

“Sir, Madam, you will need to come with me. Put your hands behind your back.” The shock at what is transpiring leaves me speechless.

“We did not have anything to do with his death. We were down at the bar when he was killed, 12 hours ago, according to the medical examiner,” Brocks says, not putting his hands behind his back.

“It is protocol. You are a foreigner, and the hotel employee was killed in your room last night. Since we don’t have a suspect, we need to ask questions of the people who were in the room when he was discovered.” The Greek officer pulled out his cuffs and I notice a slight scar across his forehead. His dark hair mainly covers it, but it’s still slightly noticeable. His brown eyes look almost black as he furrows his brow, looking at Brock who still has his hands in front of him. “Sir, hands behind, please.”

“Is this an arrest? We will answer all the questions you have for us, but you cannot arrest us unless we are being charged with something. I’m an attorney in America and know our rights, even in Greece.”

A stare-down begins, and I silently plead with Brock not to stir up trouble. I need to support my husband, though.

“He’s right, Officer … “I say, prompting a name.

“Officer Markopoulos.”

I stifle a smile as I swear it sounded like he said Marco Polo.

“Right, Officer. My husband is not trying to be difficult, but I did do my research before arriving, and unless we are being charged with a crime, you legally cannot arrest us.” Brock and I knew we had won when Officer Markopoulos put his handcuffs back inside his pocket.

“Fine, you answer questions here.” We both nod. Officer Markopoulos’s stern gaze bores into me as he addresses us. "Tell me what happened before you discovered the body?"

I swallow nervously, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "Well, it all started when we arrived at the hotel earlier today. Everything seemed normal until this morning..."

Interrupting, Markopoulos’s tone is firm. "What time was it when you made the discovery?"

I glance at Brock, his expression mirroring my unease. "Around 9 a.m. I was unpacking my suitcase. When I was finished, I wheeled it over to store it inside the closet and that is when I saw the dead body.”

“I was asleep when I heard her scream. It jolted me awake, and I rushed to her,” Brock adds.

“I am questioning the woman, and then I will address you.” Markopoulos’s scrutiny deepens as he probes further.

“The woman’s name is Patrice Summers,” Brock says curtly, emphasizing our last name for effect.

Officer Markopoulos ignored him and went on. "Did either of you notice anything unusual before the incident?"

Brock hesitates before responding. "Not really. It all seemed pretty quiet."

The officer's gaze intensifies. "Did either of you interact with the bellhop or notice anyone else behaving suspiciously?"

I shake my head. "We didn't interact with the bellhop directly, but I did see him briefly in the hallway yesterday. He seemed friendly enough."

Marcopolous's tone remains stern as he concludes, "And did you notice anyone else in the vicinity around the time of the incident?"

Brock shifts uncomfortably beside me. "No, it was pretty early, so the hallway was quiet."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Marcopolous says crisply, his expression unreadable. "We may have more questions later on. In the meantime, please remain available if we need to follow up."

As the officer turns to leave, a knot of unease forms in the pit of my stomach. Our adventure in Greece has taken an unexpected turn, and I can't shake the feeling that things are about to get even more complicated.

So much for a relaxing vacation.

Welcome to Greece

 

The wait is over!

Patrice and Brock find themselves in Athens, Greece, when a bomb threat is called in and chaos reigns. The Summers can't catch a break. Déjà vu creeps up, and Trice and her husband Brock are again caught up in another mystery. However, now the danger becomes like a familiar record she can't quite recall. Are they being targeted again? Will the events in Greece spell out doom for the couple, or will more puzzle pieces slowly come together to reveal a shocking conclusion that no one saw coming.

Chapter One: Welcome to Greece

The announcement crackled through the PA system, its cheerfulness replaced by a monotone that sent a shiver down my spine. "Attention. Due to a security concern, the airport has been placed on lockdown. Please stay calm and follow the instructions of airport security."

Brock's hand tightened around mine, his knuckles turning white. The once vibrant chaos of Athens International dissolved into a scene straight out of a nightmare. Whispers morphed into panicked murmurs, eyes darted wildly, and the air crackled with unspoken fear.

Trapped in a sea of frantic humanity, we huddled in a dimly lit corner. The warmth of the Greek sun mocked us through the terminal windows, highlighting the chilling reality of our situation. Sirens wailed in the distance, a mournful symphony playing out the unknown danger lurking just beyond the walls.

"This can't be happening," I murmured, my voice tight with disbelief. We were supposed to be on vacation, a chance to put the last year behind us. Now, fate had thrown us into the heart of a nightmare - again.

Brock, ever the pragmatist, scanned the crowd. "We can't sit here," he said, his voice low and urgent. "We need to find a way out, get a sense of what's happening."

The official exit was undoubtedly sealed. A desperate plan flickered in my mind - a back exit, a hidden passage, anything to escape the suffocating panic. We weaved through the throng, searching for a flicker of hope, a hint of escape in the concrete labyrinth.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted further down the corridor. People surged forward, voices rising in a cacophony of fear. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, we pushed towards the source of the disturbance.

There, a frantic woman, her words tumbling out in a torrent of accented Greek, said one word I could understand.

"Bomb!"

Brock cut through the panic, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. "Calm down, ma'am. We'll get help. Do you know anything about the situation?"

The woman shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

A hollow feeling settled in my stomach.  This wasn't a simple security check. This was a calculated act, a sinister game with innocent lives as pawns.

The weight of this realization pressed down on us. We needed answers. We needed to act.

With a shared glance, a silent agreement passed between us. We wouldn't wait to be rescued. We were going to take matters into our own hands. If I learned one thing from when Troy and Goldie were murdered, it’s that the police are never there when you need them.

"We split up," Brock declared, his voice resolute. "Gather information, find anything that might be useful."

The labyrinthine corridors swallowed me whole, each echoing footstep amplifying the oppressive silence. Approaching a group of airport staff huddled around a flickering monitor, I ventured a question. "What's happening? Is there a bomb?"

Met with a wary response and a mumbled assurance of "all hands on deck," I knew the official channels wouldn't provide the desperately needed answers.

As I rounded a corner, breathless and frustrated, I spotted Brock. Relief washed over me, momentarily overshadowed by the grim expression on his face.

"There are rumors," he said, his voice low. "Suspicious package near a departure gate. Unconfirmed, but..."

The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air. Our vacation had become a desperate race against time, a twisted scavenger hunt with potentially deadly consequences.

Our quest led us toward the rumored departure gate, each step fueling a burgeoning sense of dread. But the true danger, we soon realized, wasn't the bomb itself. It was the unseen forces orchestrating this chaos, the phantoms lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

As we ventured deeper into the airport's underbelly, the air grew thick with secrets and unseen eyes. We were no longer just tourists caught in a security lockdown. We were about to become unwilling players in a game far more dangerous than we could have ever imagined.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I inched closer to the huddle of airport staff. Their faces, etched with worry, were illuminated by the flickering glow of a nearby monitor. Straining to hear their hushed conversation, I took a deep breath and forced my voice into a semblance of calm.

"Excuse me," I interjected, my words scraping against the tense silence. "Do you have any updates on the bomb threat?"

The staff members flinched, their eyes darting toward me before settling on my face with a mixture of suspicion and exhaustion. A weary-looking woman with a badge that read "Eleni" finally spoke.

"We're still trying to get a handle on things, ma'am," she said, her voice tight. "Everyone's stretched thin right now. Please, just stay calm and stay put in the designated areas."

Her answer was frustratingly vague, offering little solace. All I could do was nod curtly, disappointment gnawing at me. The once bustling corridors were eerily silent, the usual symphony of announcements and greetings replaced by a suffocating stillness.

Rounding a corner, I spotted Brock up ahead, his tall frame easily visible amongst the throng of anxious passengers. Relief washed over me, momentarily dissolving the knot of tension in my stomach. He was gesturing towards me, urging me to join him.

"Trice," he said, a hint of urgency in his voice, "these folks might have some information."

A middle-aged man stepped forward, his face creased with worry lines. His rumpled suit and loosened tie spoke of a long journey.

"We heard whispers," he began, his voice thick with a Mediterranean accent, "about a suspicious package near one of the departure gates. A male called in and warned that if anyone left, the bomb would detonate in a few minutes. Not confirmed, mind you, but it could be something."

Brock listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Thank you for letting us know," he said, his voice firm. "We'll pass this information on."

A renewed sense of purpose sparked within me. We had a lead, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos. Together, we set off once more, the weight of the situation pressing down on us. This wasn't just a bomb threat anymore. This was a race against time, a desperate hunt for answers in the labyrinthine heart of the airport.

With each step, the air grew heavier, the shadows stretching longer. An unsettling realization began to dawn on me - we weren't the only ones playing this game, and the true danger lurked not in the potential bomb but in the darkness itself.

Flickering lights played on panicked faces, the vacation dream morphing into a waking nightmare.

It’s only just begun.