Once the message went through, Natalie pushed open the private room door.
Every conversation ended at the same time, and the laughter vanished with it.
Dim lights cast a hazy glow across the room. Cigarette smoke, liquor, and heavy perfume had blended into a stale odor that filled the air.
Several sharply dressed men and women occupied the room. Some sat while the others stood, but every one of them looked toward the entrance.
Natalie stopped at the edge of the light. Her long gown followed the graceful lines of her slim body, while the soft glow made her skin appear almost radiant.
Usually, her beautiful eyes shone with warmth and energy. Tonight, however, something dark concealed every emotion behind them.
Ryan sat in the middle of the sofa with a clear view of the entrance. Smoke rose from the cigarette between his fingers and drifted across the sharp angles of his face.
Before anyone else could react, Ryan noticed her and briefly panicked. Then he saw that her hearing aids were missing, and the strain left his body. He rose from the sofa and walked toward her while signing, "Baby, why did you take so long? We've all been waiting for you."
Disgust twisted Natalie's stomach.
Before she could answer, someone behind her called out, "Well, this looks like quite the party."
Each word carried a playful sweetness that sounded forced enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
Everyone instinctively turned toward the doorway to see who had interrupted them.
Caylee waited beneath the warm hallway light in a fitted red slip dress. Its high slit revealed nearly the full length of her thigh. Loose waves of hair covered her shoulders, while perfect makeup and bright red lipstick completed her striking appearance.
She rested against the doorframe and slowly surveyed everyone in the room. When her attention reached Ryan, a secretive smile appeared on one side of her mouth.
Something changed in Ryan's expression. Natalie's failure to react convinced him that she couldn't hear anything, and some of his unease faded. After facing Caylee, he spoke quietly. "Why did you come in here? I told you to stay in the room next door."
Every trace of tension in his voice reached Natalie clearly.
Caylee laughed. "I didn't want to be so far away from you. I'll just stay near the doorway for a little while. Natalie won't know I'm here unless she turns around, and she can't hear what we're saying. So why are you acting so nervous?"
Her words helped everyone in the room relax.
Someone muttered in agreement, "Shit, I completely forgot she can't hear us. She nearly scared me to death!"
"Exactly. For one second, I thought everything was about to come crashing down."
Soon, everyone stopped caring about what they said around Natalie, and their voices took on a cruel, mocking edge.
Natalie curled both hands into tight fists beside her body. Her fingernails dug so deeply into her palms that the sharp pain became impossible to ignore.
Each word cut into her.
She could hear them.
Every single word.
Caylee's smile became even more pleased as she lifted her voice. "You can't hear me, can you, Natalie? That terrible crash failed to kill you, but at least it left you deaf. How tragic."
"Knock it off," Ryan snapped in a low, stern voice. He glanced nervously at Natalie and seemed afraid that she might somehow understand what they were saying.
His anger didn't bother Caylee in the slightest, and her grin only widened.
Leaving the doorway, she walked into the room and stopped directly behind Natalie. Affection filled her eyes when she looked at Ryan, and she made sure everyone could hear her. "Weren't you just worried that Natalie might learn I'd come back, Ryan? You can relax now. She can't hear anything we say. I could call her a bitch right in front of her, and she still wouldn't..."
Before Caylee could finish, Natalie turned around and struck Caylee hard across the face.
Every sound inside the room disappeared at once.
Everyone present could only stare at Natalie in disbelief.
What had just happened? Had Natalie heard Caylee? That was impossible. She had lost her hearing.
