The shadows that circulated weren’t like her mother and father at all – young and carefree, love oozing from them – they were entirely different.
One brushed against her causing her to inhale sharply. The touch of it revealed its suffering, just as the teenager had revealed hers. A snapshot, but it was enough. In it there was confusion, bewilderment and a dreadful sense of loss. To the right of her, another shadow brushed past – she understood guilt this time, sorrow at ever having been the instrument of pain, and fear too, in case there was a price to be paid for it.
Rather than continue forward, she started to back up. The shadows were accumulating, blocking her mother and father entirely. Where were they? Did they linger still, or had they gone? She couldn’t hear laughter any more, just a low hum, slow, steady, and hypnotic. Another shadow crept closer, there were plenty of them now, filling the void, and she flinched, almost vomited. The loneliness of whatever it was – whoever had touched her this time – was simply too much to bear. It was angry too: you set the bar too high!
If these were the same creatures that were in her dreams then the barrier was no longer in place, it had indeed failed. She flapped her hands, as if to ward the shadow off, to ward them all off. She didn’t want these entities breaking through, forcing her to face them, to validate them – they were simply too stark, rising up from a cold, cold place.
“No, no, no!” she started to utter, her voice getting louder with each protestation. “I’m not one of you. I’m nothing to do with you. Leave me alone.”
Like her parents, they weren’t listening either. Instead they multiplied, getting deeper and darker; a swarm of them, more terrifying even than the teen in the elevator. Some of them raised their arms, as though beseeching her, as though she had all the answers.
“I can’t save you, do you hear? I can’t! I wish someone would save me!”
She hadn’t realised how far she’d backed up. She was at the end of the corridor again, and there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere except Althea’s room. The exit door was crowded, but Althea’s room was clear, as if she was being steered there, directed.
It’s no use. The door’s locked!
Except it wasn’t. Not any longer. It was wide open.
Again, Caroline had to squint. Was it true what she was seeing? She’d tested the door handle. She knew it was locked. Althea wasn’t there.
Was she?
There was a whisper in her ear. She had to strain to hear it, a voice that seemed to glide towards her.
You can come in now.
Looking ahead again and then to the left, she hurled herself into 1110.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Slamming the door shut, Caroline lent against it, prayers tumbling from her mouth that it would prove effective. Could materials such as oak, cement, and plaster keep such phantoms out, if that’s what those things in the corridor were? Part of her screamed ‘No’, nothing could keep them out, but in this corner suite, on the uppermost floor, she felt a degree of safety, as if the barrier were not just physical this time, but spiritual.
Turning, she expected to see Althea standing in front of her, Jenna by her side – a formidable pairing – but there was no one. It was an empty room although one that was slightly different to before. Surfaces weren’t as polished and a thin layer of dust seemed to have settled over everything, as if time had caught up with it and wreaked havoc, as time so often does. Beneath her feet the carpet was worn, just like everywhere else in the hotel, fraying even, threadbare patches obvious at various intervals. The rhythm that had assaulted her ears earlier was now drowned out by the banging of her heart. It was still holding out despite everything. What a strange, strange place this was. She’d found both heaven and hell in it, but what if there was more hell to come? Right now, it seemed likely.
“Althea,” she called out. “Are you here? Answer me if you are.”
When there was no answer, she walked to the double doors and pulled them open. The bedroom was as empty as the living room. So who could have unlocked the door?
Back in the living room, she stood for a while, trying to gather her thoughts, to rationalise the irrational. You’re safe, she reminded herself. In here, you’re safe.
The gloom, she realised, was in part due to the day fading. She crossed over to the window, her intention to open the curtains wider to let in what light she could, pausing only briefly at the picture she’d looked at before, the one celebrating the opening of the hotel. The picture was slightly askew, so she straightened it. A place to rest, to relax, and to make memories, she read again. It was true… to an extent.
Moving swiftly past it, she almost tore the curtains apart. The contrast in light – although slight – caused her eyes to sting and she shut them briefly, waiting for them to adjust. Once again she tried to blame her imagination for what had just happened – unusual circumstances conjuring the unusual. More than that… the downright frightening. Even as she tried to reason she knew it was no good. There was no explanation, none that she could find. There was something wrong at The Egress, and still she was trapped here, both her and David, no release in sight for at least another day, not unless they started walking, enduring miles and miles of wasteland. Wasteland? What was here before?
A ledger on the writing bureau near the window caught her attention. It was laid out neatly, a slim pen positioned beside it. Grabbing the chair she sat down, tracing her fingers over the cover – once fancy; the brown leather was now cracked in several places. Before she could persuade herself to do otherwise, she opened it. It was a list of names, a date beside each one, starting in 1922, when the hotel had first opened. Beside quite a few of the dates were ticks, but not all of them, for some that column remained blank.
Martha Bergstein, April 1922 (no tick), Ronald Greaves (tick), June 1922, Cory Howard, July 1922 (tick), Michael Adams, December 1922 (tick)… the list ran on and on. Caroline turned the pages, read more names, a whole litany of them, and then flicked through to a more modern era – her era – this exact month and year. There was Marilyn Hollick (no tick), John Cole (no tick), Elspeth Borchardt (no tick), Tallula May (no tick), her own name – Caroline Daynes (no tick), and David’s, but it was just his forename scribed there.
It was a guest list, it had to be – the register David had been searching for – but there was no way it was complete. A complete guest list would fill several such books. What was it doing in Althea’s room?
It’s here because she’s the manager.
Even so, it still seemed odd to Caroline.
She couldn’t have started this ledger. She must have inherited it.
And yet the handwriting was the same throughout, something she double- and triple-checked.
So many questions filled her head that she feared it might burst. What if Helen’s name is in here too? Helen Ansell, who may or may not have stayed at the hotel a year ago, a young woman who had disappeared, whose body was never found?
She flicked back to the beginning of 2015.
“Helen, Helen, Helen,” she repeated the girl’s name as her finger traced downwards. “Where are you?”
Her finger stopped. There was a Helen. Quickly her eyes flicked to the surname –Ansell. There was a date also, October 2015. And there was no tick.
“What the hell…?”
Someone moved behind her.
“Caroline.”
With no hesitation at all, Caroline twisted around. “Althea!”
At last she’d put in an appearance, Jenna in place behind her. Althea remained mute; giving Caroline time to note that the old woman looked neither furious nor surprised at her intrusion. And why should she? She’d been invited in…
“I…erm… I wanted to see you, the door—”
“Was open, yes I know.”
“But not at first it wasn’t, it was locked. There were things in the corridor, shadows, shapes, my parents. It…it sounds crazy, I know, but…” Her parents, were they in this ledger too? Seized by a sudd
en desire to know, she stopped talking and turned back to the book, flicking to nine months before her birth date. But there was no mention of Tony and Dee Daynes. Disappointment and relief flooded through her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the chair aside and stood up to face Althea this time. “And then as you say the door was wide open, as if by some kind of magic. I thought I heard you whisper to come in. I did hear you whisper, but you weren’t here.”
“I’m always here,” replied Althea, her manner as calm as ever, but there was something different about her, something Caroline had to work hard to make sense of. It wasn’t her clothes, always a little old fashioned, they were nonetheless unremarkable: a long pleated navy skirt, a pale blouse and a cardigan, also in navy; nor the fact that her make-up was so heavy – the powder settling into the cracks on her face, her lipstick, a reddish colour, bleeding slightly. It was her shoulders that were different; they weren’t as straight as before. They were more rounded, slumped almost. That was the thing that had always impressed Caroline about Althea: for a woman of her age, she carried herself with such grace, such aplomb, but now she seemed… tired.
Caroline pointed at the ledger. There was no point in beating about the bush, not anymore. She may as well come straight to the point. “A girl went missing last year, her name was Helen Ansell. It was thought she was making her way to The Egress, but whether she made it or not, nobody seemed to know… until now. Her name’s in that ledger; she was here, in October 2015.”
There was a slight nod from Althea. “Do you know what the ledger’s for?”
“It’s a guest list, some guests anyway. My name’s in it, so is Marilyn’s, John’s, Tallula’s, David—”
“David?”
“Yes, he’s the one investigating Helen’s case, but it’s only his forename. Did you… write it?”
“The ledger is mine, yes.”
“But it’s…” How could she phrase it? “So old.” Fishing in her pocket, she retrieved the photo David had given her and held it up. “Do you remember Helen?”
Again she nodded.
“Then what happened to her? What happened to all those people in the corridor? The girl in the elevator – the architect’s daughter – the one who was pushed? There are so many people in this hotel, besides the guests, I mean, but they’re not real. They’re like tendrils of smoke. I’m not going mad, I’m really not. I’ve seen things. The architect’s daughter showed herself to me. Her face it was so… It was awful. But I don’t understand, any of it. It’s like a dream, a nightmare. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, both the good and the bad. I’ve even seen the ghosts of my parents. Althea, my name is in that register too, but you know that. What’s going to happen to me? To David? Are we in danger?”
Jenna moved forward, a frown on her face, causing Caroline to acknowledge that her voice had risen, that she’d been shouting.
Before she could apologise, Althea turned her head slightly in Jenna’s direction and held up a hand – the message was clear: there was no need to get involved.
“Althea,” Caroline continued, striving to keep her voice steady, “I’m sorry, but… what is going on, with everyone? Tell me.” Because if both she and David were in danger of any sort they’d take their chances with the snow, they’d walk out of here.
It was as though Althea read her mind. “You can’t leave, not yet.”
“Tomorrow we can.”
“Tomorrow, maybe.”
“I’m scared.” There was relief in admitting it.
“But you feel safe with me?”
“Safe? Yes. Yes I do.” This room, Althea herself, they were as much a haven as David.
“Just… be patient,” Althea implored.
Hadn’t she been patient enough?
“You can go back to your room now,” Althea continued.
“But—”
“There’s no congestion, it’s clear. And dinner tonight, be there.”
“Dinner?” questioned Caroline; it was the last thing on her mind.
“Rituals are important at The Egress.”
“You weren’t at dinner last night,” Caroline all but accused.
“Even so,” replied Althea, offering no explanation at all. “I’d like you to be there.”
“I just want to go home.” Her voice sounded small, as childlike as Elspeth’s.
“But where is home?” Althea asked, surprising her.
“I…” She found she couldn’t answer. England without David didn’t seem like home at all. Oh, David. How she longed for him, for his support too. She needed him, she realised, having never needed a man before. “Althea, please, what is this place?”
Althea winced, as though in pain.
“Althea?” Caroline prompted.
“I can’t tell you, I’m sorry.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because you have to find out for yourself.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Althea was right, the corridor was clear – no shapes, no shadows lurking, no dead parents laughing and flirting with each other in the foreground; no congestion as she called it.
She was exhausted, as tired as Althea looked; every bone in her body leaden. Should she go to David’s room or wait for him at hers? She wanted to see him so badly and yet she had no energy to contemplate tackling a flight of stairs right now. Her mind and her body were in free fall, the dull ache in her head nothing less than debilitating, clouding her mind, making it impossible to think. Everything was a blur.
You have to find out for yourself.
That’s another thing Althea had said, but she felt more confused than ever, more upset than ever. In a world of bewilderment, the only thing that made sense was David.
She had to rest. She simply couldn’t take any more. In her room, she sank onto the sofa, her head falling against the backrest. The girl in the elevator; Elspeth’s body in a room below; Edward leaning in to kiss her, and being so tempted by him; betraying David… No, no, she was getting confused again. She hadn’t betrayed anyone. She’d been a free agent, able to kiss Edward as much as she wanted to, and for a brief moment that’s what she’d intended, but there’d been a smell… a terrible smell, emanating from his breath, from his skin, from deep within him, something rotten that festered. 666. What sort of a sick joke was that? And David in a room whose numbers added up to 13 – you’re not superstitious, are you? That was twisted too. So much was twisted and yet… so much was right: she and David; Marilyn’s tentative friendship with John, which somehow eased their obvious pain. ‘Because I’m not like my daddy, I’m a whole lot worse.’ What had John meant by that?
There were no more answers, only more questions, all of them stacking up one upon another. What was wrong with Marilyn’s neck? Why was it a constant source of irritation to her? Was Tallula really as cold as she liked to make out? Just once she’d seen a crack in her façade, a less-confident Tallula, as lost as those in the corridor. Were they all lost, in some way? And Helen, there was no tick beside her name either, what did that mean?
She had closed her eyes but now she opened them, and looked around. Just as she’d perceived a change in Althea, she realised that the room was different too, not the arrangement of furniture as such, although certainly one or two items seemed to be at a different angle. It was more the light that the room was bathed in. A bluish light rather than yellow, no warmth to it at all, as if all warmth had been drained…
Frowning, Caroline sat up. The lights were on, just as she’d left them, and the curtains open, even though it was dark outside. There’d definitely been a shift – the change she’d feared coming.
She wanted David, but Althea was closer. Should she return to 1110 and knock on her door, to seek sanctuary again? The old woman’s room was so much safer.
Rising to her feet, she ventured forwards, but, as had happened in the corridor, she couldn’t reach her goal, the space between her and the door lengthening not shortening.
No, no, no. Vehemently, she s
hook her head. Not this again.
She’d reach the damned door; shatter this illusion, and refuse to be at the mercy of it, of anyone. Taking a deep breath, she lunged forward, putting all her might behind her action, crying out with relief when her hand clasped the cold brass handle, when she pressed down on it, when it complied.
It felt like such a triumph, like breaking a curse!
And then her euphoria faded.
There was nothing on the other side, just more darkness.
Or was there something after all?
As she continued to peer into the corridor, she started to make out more shapes, as black as their surrounds but writhing – that’s what it looked like – as though the darkness was alive. And there was music too, the faintest trace of it. Not a pleasant lullaby, a heart-felt hymn, nor a favourite tune but an assault on the ears, despite how low in volume it was. The notes kept wavering, missing a few, running too fast, slowing down, but at last she recognised it: Sweet Caroline. It was her song, being massacred.
She slammed the door shut and turned around to find more horror awaiting her: Edward and his sidekick, Tallula, wide grins splitting their faces almost in two.
“Caroline,” Edward said, the first of the pair to step forward. “Sweet Caroline.”
His voice was liquid gold again, his eyes twinkling more than David’s ever had. She tried to look away but she couldn’t. It was as though he held her in a vice.
He lifted his hand, and her own rose in response, mirroring him. She was powerless to stop it. All the while Tallula – Ice-cold Tallula – continued to grin, delighted by proceedings, not possessive at all of the man she idolised, almost willing him to go further.
With just the slightest tug, Edward pulled Caroline closer, the smell so peculiar to him evident again, burning her eyes, her throat, and the whole of her insides. His grin became wolfish; his teeth – his perfect teeth – too big for his mouth suddenly, and yet still she couldn’t resist him. Finally, their lips met, more than that, they fused together; a gesture as intimate as any she’d ever shared with David, his tongue searching for her tongue, thrusting it deep, like a snake’s head, searching – but for what?
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