Chapter Six: What’s Really Going On?

 

The next morning, the previous night's events weigh heavily on me as we sit down to breakfast in the hotel's dining room. The chatter of other guests provides a stark contrast to the tension that hangs between Brock and me.

The hotel dining hall buzzes with activity as guests worldwide gather for breakfast. Sunlight filters through large windows, casting a warm glow over the space and illuminating the elegant decor. Ornate chandeliers hang from the ceiling, their crystals sparkling in the morning light, while intricate patterns adorn the walls, hinting at the hotel's rich history.

Tables are arranged neatly across the room, each adorned with crisp white tablecloths and polished silverware. Guests sit huddled together, their voices mingling in a symphony of languages as they chat and laugh over steaming cups of coffee and plates piled high with breakfast delicacies.

The air is alive with the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee, buttery pastries, and sizzling bacon, enticing guests to indulge in the culinary delights laid out before them. A buffet table stands at the center of the room, laden with an array of dishes from around the world – fluffy pancakes, golden waffles, platters of fresh fruit, and bowls of creamy yogurt topped with honey and nuts.

When we’ve had our fill and then some, we sit, each lost in our thoughts. Amidst the hustle and bustle, I see the hotel manager, Veronica, who checked us in just three days ago, standing behind the front desk, her demeanor professional but guarded. Her eyes dart nervously around the room, her gaze lingering on Brock and me as we approach, a hint of apprehension flickering in her gaze. I can't help but notice the tension that hangs in the air, a palpable undercurrent beneath the surface of polite conversation. It's as if the hotel itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

"We need to figure out our next move." His voice is low as he scans the room for any sign of potential danger.

I nod in agreement, my mind already spinning with possibilities. "We can't just sit around and wait for them to come after us again," I reply, my tone resolute. "We need to take control of the situation."

Brock's eyes light up with fierce determination. "Agreed. But how do we do that?"

I pause, considering our options. "We need to gather more information," I say finally. Then, my gaze falls on the hotel manager. "We start with her, Veronica," I say. "She may know more than she's letting on."

Brock follows my gaze, his expression thoughtful. "It's worth a shot," he says, determination flickering in his eyes.

With a shared sense of purpose, we rise and make our way over to the reception desk. The manager looks up as we approach, her smile faltering slightly as she recognizes us.

"Good morning," I say, sounding as casual as possible. "We were wondering if we could ask you a few more questions about the previous guests in our room."

She hesitates, her eyes darting nervously around the room. Finally, in her strained voice, she says, "I'm sorry. I can't help you with that."

Brock leans in closer, his gaze intense. "Please," he says, his tone soft but urgent. "We need to know what's going on. Our lives may be in danger."

Veronica’s eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, I see a flicker of fear in her gaze. Then, just as quickly, it's gone, replaced by a steely resolve.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice firm. "I can't help you."

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realize we've hit a dead end. Veronica clearly knows more than she's letting on, but she's not willing to talk.

As we leave the hotel, frustration and fear gnawing at our insides, I can't help but wonder what other secrets are lurking beneath the surface of this seemingly idyllic city. But one thing is clear: if we're going to survive this, we'll need to stay one step ahead of our enemies and trust no one but ourselves.

That thought weighs heavily on my mind, so I steel myself for the challenges that lie ahead and prepare to face whatever dangers may come our way.

The warm Mediterranean sun beats down on us as we traverse the streets of Athens, casting long shadows across the cobblestone pavement. The city pulses with life, its streets alive with the sights and sounds of a bustling metropolis.

We navigate our way through narrow alleyways and crowded squares, the thrum of activity around us starkly contrasting with the heavy silence between us.

As we make our way towards our next destination, the awe-inspiring Parthenon, perched on a hill overlooking the city, has stood the test of time it’s been thrown. I can't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder wash over me. The temple stands as a testament to the enduring legacy of this ancient civilization.

As we approach, mingled with other tourists, the air grows heavy with anticipation. As we step through its ancient columns, a sense of reverence fills the air. The temple's grandeur is breathtaking, its towering columns reaching towards the sky like ancient sentinels guarding the secrets of the past. It's undergone a restoration and transformation, making it look like we have entered ancient Greece.

We wander through the temple grounds, marveling at the intricate carvings and ornate architecture that surround us. Each step feels like a journey through time, a glimpse into the lives of those who came before us and the mysteries that still lie hidden beneath the surface.

But as we explore the temple grounds, I can't shake the feeling that we're not alone. The same sense of unease that has plagued us since arriving in Athens lingers in the air, a silent warning that danger may lurk just out of sight.

As we reach the heart of the Parthenon, a feeling of foreboding washes over me, a sense of impending doom I can’t shake. I glance around, searching for any sign of danger, but all I see are people taking pictures, some laughing and smiling, but most are awed at the site. I take some photos with my phone and even do some videos for my YouTube channel as I notice the delicate dark green petals of the Begonia plants surrounding the Parthenon, pink and yellow, alternating.

A row of Bay Laurel with delicate pastel yellow flowers is the official Greek flower, and they stand at attention behind as if to guard the foundation. It was said there was a myth surrounding the plant: Apollo, the sun god, known for his arrogance, mocked Eros, the mischievous god of love, for his tiny bow and arrow. Eros, stung by the insult, vowed revenge. He dipped two arrows – one tipped with golden desire, the other with icy repulsion – and aimed them at the unsuspecting Apollo and a beautiful nymph named Daphne.

Apollo, struck by the golden arrow, felt an overwhelming infatuation for Daphne. He pursued her relentlessly, his affections smothering. But Daphne, pierced by the aversion arrow, felt only dread towards his advances. The more Apollo pressed his love, the deeper her loathing grew. Driven by his relentless pursuit, Apollo chased Daphne through the woods. Exhausted and desperate, she cried out to her father, the mighty river god Peneus. In a final act of protection, Peneus transformed Daphne, not into stone, but into a magnificent laurel tree.

Apollo, his heart heavy with longing, reached for the laurel. Though he could no longer hold Daphne close, he cherished the tree as a symbol of his love. He fashioned a crown of laurel leaves, forever binding him to her memory. The myth whispers that Apollo imbued the laurel with everlasting life, ensuring Daphne's beauty would forever grace the world.

It was forever known as the Greek flower.

Staring at the begonias, my mind flashes back to the bellhop and the one red begonia stuffed inside his mouth, almost signaling a signature or calling card.

I snap back to reality when Brocks puts his arm around the small of my back, startling me. “You OK?” He says, turning to me.

“Yes, just thinking about the bellhop. Remember a begonia was stuffed inside his mouth? I wonder what the significance of that is; why would the killer do that?”

“Who knows? Some killers are just odd like that.”

“Yeah, but it seems he was sending some message. And now I see all of these begonias,” I say, displaying my arms outward. It seems like we’re getting nowhere, yet we are again caught in the crossfire.”

He turns my head up to his. “I know this is frustrating and even scary. But we’re together and I won’t let anything happen to you or me. Tomorrow let’s talk to the authorities about the threats. Maybe we can get some protection if we go to the American Embassy. I refuse to let this enemy destroy my vacation.”

“I just don’t understand why we’re being targeted yet again. What is it about us that draws enemies? We’re just fifty-somethings with grandkids, and I’ve never hurt anyone, have you?”

“Of course not. This could just trace back to Troy and Melanie. Who knows, maybe she’s out for revenge of some sort. She never did like us and even wanted to kill us. And maybe it’s not Melanie at all, but someone tied to the thugs who dumped Troy in his front yard.”

“But how did they know we would be in Greece, of all places, and now? Someone must have been spying on us. Maybe there’s another hidden camera in the house.”

“No, Gray scoured it with his officers. They found nothing.”

“Well then how and where?”

“Well, think back. Did you tell anyone where and when we were coming here?”

“No –“ I hesitate, remembering I mentioned it to the Gardening Club and tell Brock this.

“Okay, well, maybe word got around then.”

“So, there were only eight people at the club two days before we left: Leah, Damian, Bradford, Alissa, Cassie, Amanda, Cruz, and me. And I guess the new lady who just started coming a few weeks ago. I think she said her name was Linda or Lisa. She was new in the area and heard about our club, so she decided to attend. She seemed very nice and was around the same age as me. Anyway, I doubt anyone cared that we were leaving.” But as the words left my lips, I wondered if I shouldn’t have said anything about our trip except to Leah. It’s not like we would have passed the next Gardening Club meeting. And, clearly, someone still thinks we’re a threat if they’re willing to travel or have their spies travel around the world to watch us.

Now that we’ve hit a dead end with Veronica, I contemplate whether to call Gray and tell him what’s going on. Maybe he’ll have some advice or can contact the embassy for us. Or maybe that has to be higher up. I have no clue as this is the first time I’ve dealt with a crime in a foreign country, and the local authorities have already had their suspicions of us with the dead bellhop in our hotel room closet. No, maybe we shouldn’t involve anyone else. Brock and I will have to do some investigating on our own.

Hopefully, we’ll get some answers.