Sorry

They had left me, and I could not understand why. I couldn't begin to comprehend what would be behind such a betrayal. What had I done ? Had I said the wrong thing, reacted in a way to disappoint ? I could not know. 

There was only the note. If you can really call a piece of paper containing but one word a note. 

'Sorry'

Even the handwriting was a mystery, barely legible. Were they sorry that they had left me, or sorry for something else they had done which I was so far unaware ? Was I supposed to have apologised for some infraction ? I racked my brain for recent incidents where I was at fault, had said or done something, stepped out of line, spoken out of turn. I could think of nothing, and the handwriting was of no help. I could not even be certain whose writing it was. A single word on a sheet of A4 paper. Did the emptiness of the page signify a potential for further explanation ?

I did not know. I could not know. 

I tried holding the sheet of paper to the light, looked at it from various shallow angles. I even tried tracing out any words left indented upon it from the previous page. All this revealed was my predilection for nineteen twenties crime novels. No simple answers here. No Belgian detective to sweep in and solve the mystery with a mere twirl of a perfectly trimmed moustache. 

I searched the grounds next, only to confirm three things either from observation or from conversation with the young lady on reception. 

One. My friends had indeed checked out. Two. Their cars were all gone, so now I was also stranded without transport ! Three. They had settled not only their own bills, but mine before leaving. 

I had acquired some facts, but also discovered more uncertainties. More and more puzzling. What could be so urgent that had caused them to leave in such a manner, but to leave me behind ? None of it made sense. 

My mind became overwhelmed with the uncertainties. I was sorely tempted to go to the bar and either search for my answers with the assistance of whiskey or occlude my senses sufficiently that it no longer mattered. No ! I would be strong. 

I could leave. Check out. But go where ? Aside from the lack of transport, which I was certain could easily be arranged, where would I go ? Should I go home ? My friends had kindly paid for my room up to the end of the week. The length of time we had actually planned to stay. This meant they either intended me to stay on at the hotel, or to at least provide me with the option should I wish to take it. Did this mean they might return ? 

Sod it. I assured myself it was not a weakness to want to drink at a time such as this, and made my way to the bar. Mercifully it was not very busy at all, and I was served quickly. I sat in the corner absentmindedly rolling the ice around the tumbler as I stared through the inviting darkness of the spirit. 

My reverie was interrupted when I sensed someone standing over me. Their shadow moving across me, deepening the cosy haze around me another level towards darkness. 

'Hi. I'm Sonny' came the voice. At the same time he offered an outstretched hand. I looked up, instantly drawn to his eyes. Brown in colour, but kind, observant and deep. A flick of uncertainty on his face evaporated in an instant, replaced by a disarming smile. Without thought, I reached out my hand also. He took my hand with a firmness that was neither too soft nor too strong, but left me certain he possessed a hidden strength. I found myself leaning towards him. 

Taking this as a cue, he sat down. Still observing me deeply with those eyes. 

'My friends have all left without me, it's quite a mystery really..' I paused to drink some of my whiskey. My mouth suddenly dry. The corners of his lifted again. He had not taken his eyes off me. 

He leaned closer across the table, lowering his voice. There was a twinkle in his eyes. 'One man's mystery is another man's adventure, wouldn't you say ?' He asked rhetorically. 'What about you and I having an adventure together ?'