8:34 A.M.

The floor beneath her barefeet were cold. Wooden floor. Uneven and polished. Enough light from three floor to roof windows placed near from each one, inches away. The sun beamed down and let off an ambient glow.

She used the illumination to determine several things at once: laying on the guestroom cold wooden floor; stripped completely naked; and for the first time in awhile, she was alone.

Her head hurt, pounding with questions, and filled with hangover.

The purple liquids from her legs, feet, lower lip, and neck were gone. Either Zander cleaned her up, or she did. Her mind wasn't all there.

She stood up and gestured towards the door. She pressed her ivory hand against the door and tried to open it. Closed.
Odd. He would never lock me in a room, strange, she thought. She didn't know why he would lock her in the room, as an inmate or a psycho.

Friday morning. End of a long struggling week. She didn't earn this.

"Hello? Anybody there?" she asked, banging her fist against the door. Why did he locked me in here? It would had been heaven if he left me with some food, she thought.
She began to panick, go insane, and freak out. She knew there had to be a way out of here. Out of this prison. First off, inventory. They might stored storages in this room, as the saying went, one person's trash was the guest's treasure.

Her skin prickling with goosebumps. Thoughts that includes: Zany was the Mr. Fuckboy; preparing to kill her; setting up his Whack-A-Zan booth at the summerfest; or contemplating games with his 'new toy'.
She smiled then. Though this time, it wasn't a happy expression on her face.

"Zander?" she asked. "Where are you?"

No answer.

Where would they hide the storages at?, she thought. Closet?

She walked towards the closet and open it. Nothing. He was smart, she would give him that. But why lock her in the room? There goes another question that be pounding inside her head. She knew he wasn't that crazy or insane.

"Sweetie," Zander soft voice echoed through the door. "unlock the door and get your cleaned clothes and glass of water."

She felt stupid. That when the memories of 4 a.m. to 5 a.m. came flooding in.

We're here, Zander said, pulling up in the driveway and turning off the engine. The guestroom is the last room on the right. Lock your door and strip your dirty clothes.

Thanks for letting me stay for a couple hours, Scarlett said, clutching her bag against her chest. She couldn't stand the stench and feeling of the purple liquid, all over her.

No problem. In the morning the FBI may need to talk to us, Zander took Scarlett's arm and guided her into the house. We all are suspects, we knew the victim.

"Thanks Zan," Scarlett responded and gestured towards the door and unlocked it. "I'll be walking home. It's close."

She picked up her clothes and glass of water, and putted her matching bra and panties on first then the blouse and pants on.

"Do you need anything?" He asked. "Or clothes?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm fine with walking," Scarlett said. "Thanks anyway."