Kaan stood in her room at the Marriott. She peeked through the curtains of the ceiling-to-floor windows, that provided a sixty-five-story view of skyscrapers new, and old, sparkling in the night.
She retreated to the bed. The TV was on and tuned to the Food Network. Beat Bobby Flay.
The room service had brought up an omelet earlier. Kaan stared at the ceiling. Earlier in the week, Beth had stood at the edge of the well, “I’ll be right here. And if it gets too cold, I’ll be in the cabin, on the walkie-talkie.”
Kaan stood on a rung of the rope ladder, “I won’t be gone long.”
She crossed through the tunnel at the bottom of the first well and sat at the bottom of the second well. By the time she got there, the sky was gray. It began to drizzle. Kaan sat in the well, holding her knees, looking up at the rain that grazed her cheeks, scrunching up her eyes in response to the distant light.
In the present, there was a knock at the door. Kaan got up to see who it was. Ran stood in the fish-eye view of the peep-hole.