* * * *
“Do you mind sharing a room?” Carol asked. “It’s the weekend, and we usually fill up.”
“It’s fine,” Jen replied, glancing around the small room with a double bed. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall, before the stairs on the right.” Carol forced a toothless smile. “It’s shared, so be sure to lock the door. You don’t want any walk-ins when you’re doing your business.”
Jen scrunched her brows together, and her mouth parted as though she were going to say something but didn’t. The woman handed her the room key. Jen had never used a skeleton key and had only seen them in museums. Turning it over in her hands, she looked at the details of its floral eye and square teeth.
Carol continued, now facing into the hallway. “And don’t let Dorothy scare you. Just fill the tub; she’ll go away until you’re done.”
“Oh!?” Jen said as the door clicked shut.
Tyler was already asleep on the bed. Her fingers traced the smooth shaft of the key without her realizing it. She crossed the room to the window. Drab street lights fighting to illuminate the street didn’t give enough light for her to see what laid beyond the window. Her reflection was more distinct than anything outside, and she turned from the window.
Since leaving work with Tyler, everything seemed distant and dream-like. The vintage clothing Carol had given them added to the illusion going on around her. Maybe Tyler had slipped a hallucinogen into her drink and took her to wonderland with him. Her calmness was the strangest; shouldn’t she be whimpering in the corner like the girls in the movies?
Danger sirens wailed in her head as she stepped into the hallway, locking the door, then sliding the room key into the back pocket of her newly acquired jeans. The warm light of the hall was stronger than the streetlights, showing her there was no reason to be afraid. The faint creak from the floors didn’t allow anyone to sneak around without warning.
She found the bathroom without a problem and locked the door as had been suggested. Sitting on the toilet, she glanced at the tub encircled by a white shower curtain, wondering who Dorothy was. A bath sounded nice, but it had to wait until the morning when she wasn’t exhausted. Leaving the bathroom, Jen didn’t notice Dorothy had sat up in the tub with a frown because the stranger had not been curious to look for her.
Tyler slept deeply diagonally across the bed. The clothing, she and Carol had helped him put on, had been flung around the room, leaving him naked on top of the bedding. Tapping his leg told his subconscious to move, and he obeyed. The key fell out of her pocket when she removed the jeans, reminding her to lock the door.
“I should’ve asked Carol where we are,” she muttered to herself at the door. “I need to make calls in the morning; don’t want anyone worrying.”
Living in the city all her life, she’d never experienced darkness such as what filled the room when she turned out the lamp next to the bed. She was glad she had done it when she laid in bed and not standing, she wasn’t sure if she was able to find her way the short distance to the bed. The depth of the darkness enveloped her, keeping her from seeing the hand she held in front of her face, even with the blinds open. Taking a deep breath, she didn’t let the void prevent her from quickly finding sleep.
Chapter Eight
The one lamb shalt thou offer in the morning, and the other lamb shalt thou offer at even.
Numbers 28:4, KJV
Laughter woke Jen. The room was no longer dark as it had been when she had turned off the light. It wasn’t bright, either, but shadowy. She turned her head on the soft pillow. Tyler stood naked at the window, and she hoped he didn’t have a hard-on. Hearing her stir, he glanced back at her.
“Oh my God, Jen,” he said, laughter heightening his voice an octave. “You’ll never guess where we are.”
Seeing him from the side, she was relieved to see his flaccid penis. “You’re right. I won’t. Where are we?”
“Shoshoni!” He turned, grabbing her hand, and pulled her from the bed.
“Where?” She looked away from him, moving her concentration to the long-closed service station across the street.
“The town I grew up in.”
“In Wyoming?”
He nodded happily.
“Shit.” Shock vibrated her voice. Shoshoni was the last place she ever expected to visit. “None of this makes any sense.”
“It’s great though, isn’t it,” he said, turning from the window grabbing the hand-me-down clothes from the floor. “I haven’t been here in like twenty years.” His smile was broad and glee-filled.
“I need to get back to Boston,” she said, still not feeling anxiety about being whisked more than three thousand miles away. He bounced around the room pulling on his jeans. “Where’s the airport?”
He laughed, then said through the T-shirt he pulled over his head, “About a hundred miles east of here. But, hey, let’s hold off on leaving for a bit.”
“Ok.” Shrugging, Jen became concerned with emotion missing in her voice, and the utter calm she had for the situation. “If you say so.” She wasn’t sure why she had answered in that manner, it was as though a potent drug stifled her or she was in a bad dream she hadn’t woke from—inside she screamed, but didn’t have the strength to force it from her mouth. “I don’t know why we’re here, or how we got here.”
“Me, either,” he said, more chipper than before. “But, Mr. Bel—” Knocking on the door interrupted him. “Where’s the key?” he asked, glancing around. She pointed to the dresser near the door. The key vibrated with his jubilation as he unlocked the door. He swung the door open, and exclaimed, “It’s Carol!”
“You’re feeling better,” she said in a bland tone. Not giving much of her attention to Tyler, she looked past him to Jen, and continued, “I have some breakfast ready downstairs.”
“Great! I’m starved, Carol!” Tyler rushed out of the room. “Is Mr.—”
“He never eats with me,” Carol interrupted, knowing what he was going to ask. “Come on,” she prompted Jen. “Don’t want it getting cold.”
Jen followed them down the hall to the stairs. Tyler stood in the middle of the hallway staring at the door on the right. Carol looped her arm around his, and said, “There’ll be enough time to visit with him later.” Jen glanced at the door, her stomach churned. Quickly, she turned to descend the stairs.
Jen had never seen Tyler eat the way he did. Anything left over on her plate was devoured. Carol didn’t eat with them; she said she had eaten before they woke. Between bites, he didn’t speak but laughed. Then when nothing was left, he jumped from the table, ran through the manager’s apartment, to the lobby, then outside.
“Don’t worry, he’ll come back,” Carol said, patting her hand. She stared across the table to the living room at the dining room in the mirror’s reflection showing only Jen present at the table. “Why don’t you go on upstairs, and take a bath?” She asked, starting to stand to clear the table.
Jen took her hand, stopping her, and asking, “May I use your phone?”
The woman blinked, her eyes turning into dark orbs. Jen gasped, and let go of the woman. With another blink, they returned to the pale blue they had been. Relaxing, thinking it was a trick of the light from a car passing the window, Jen looked at the curious woman.
“Don’t worry about calling anyone,” Carol said. “I’ve taken care of everything for you…and for Tyler, too.”
She stood, taking the plates from the table. Jen stared, her brows scrunched together, at the woman.
“I don’t understand,” Jen said, her voice quavered (finally, she felt some emotion). “I need to tell my mom where I am, and call my job.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Carol replied, facing the closed white door leading to the kitchen, plates held in her hands near her chest. “All taken care of.”
“You spoke to them?”
“Didn’t I just say so?” Carol’s voice raised an octave with agitation.
“I need to let them k
now I’m ok,” Jen said, moving from the table, staring at the back of the woman’s head.
Carol beamed. “Of course, dear,” she said, mimicking Jen’s voice perfectly. “They understand everything.” The woman continued to sound like her, until she said, “Don’t worry about helping me clean up. Now, go on up and take a bath.”
“What did you…how did you?” Jen asked.
After a few seconds of Carol not returning to the dining room, Jen went to the kitchen door. Though she pushed, there was no movement. She beat on it with two open hands but received no response from the woman. Her forehead met the warm, slick surface of the glossy, painted door, and she lowered her eyelids.
“What now?” she muttered, turning away.
She scanned the room. The walls, trim, and door were white. On the floor, beneath the polished pine table, was a braided green and orange rug. Above the table, a bronze chandelier hung, covered with ornate flourishes and roses.
The wall with the door to the kitchen held a floor to ceiling built-in cabinet painted the same glossy white of the door and trim. Near the window, covered with sheer drapes, was a teak and glass china cabinet filled with porcelain and crystal knickknacks.
Opposite the window was a doorway leading to a darkened hall, and a teak desk (matching the china cabinet) with a short, slotted hutch sitting between the hall entrance and quarter wall, giving the living and dining rooms the slight impression of separation.
The antique rotary phone, sitting on the desk, was covered with dust. She didn’t call anyone from this phone. Jen thought. It probably doesn’t even work. Curious to see whether it worked, she reached for the phone as she approached the desk. The clatter of dishes reached her from the sealed kitchen door, stopping her hand from touching the phone. She glanced into the murky hallway.
Three closed doors hid the rooms from her. Bravely, her head popped into the hallway, at the end a large black safe sat in a door-less closet. To the right a closed door, and from the left, light poured through the open door of the kitchen.
Carol’s shadow appeared in the light, and Jen stepped back into the dining room, not wanting further interaction with her at the moment. She had problems comprehending how the woman had perfectly mimicked her voice. Though another mystery presented itself to her, she didn’t feel anything, except maybe melancholy.
Her shoes barely made a sound on the oak floor as she entered the living room. A comfortable sofa sat along the wall near closed French pocket-doors. A built-in bookshelf housed aged books in the partial wall. Under the large mirror, facing the dining room, sat a long mahogany cabinet with bronze colored fabric screens.
She ran her finger along the smooth surface of the cabinet. Feeling it give to her touch, she pressed it harder. The panel popped up. Carefully lifting it, she found a phonograph player, a small chrome panel with ‘eight-track’ printed on it, and a long, narrow dial with a sequence of numbers. Her brow furrowed, realizing the cabinet was an all-in-one entertainment system and assumed behind the front panel the TV hid. Curiosity took control, and spotting the small brass knob on the front, pulled it, confirming what she had thought.
Smiling, she left the manager’s apartment, noticing the partially open, tall and narrow box attached to the wall near the door, holding keys on small brass hooks.
She inventoried the items on the manager’s desk—pens, registration cards, nothing exciting—then around the lobby. Large windows faced the streets with a few dead flies laying in a heap on the sill.
A brown, leather sofa faced her; its surface gleamed in the light shining through the windows. A narrow knotty-pine coffee table sat in front of it on the green and white checkered linoleum tiles.
A closed wooden door near the desk, maybe ten feet away, received little interest from her curiosity. Another few steps from the closed door at the corner, the dumbwaiter sat open. Around the corner from it was the men’s restroom.
The click of a door unlocking made her jump as though she were a child sneaking into her parents’ room looking for hidden Christmas presents. She looked over her shoulder. The door near the desk opened a crack, then shut before she could see who had opened it. She stared at the door expectantly for a moment before continuing her exploration.
Not quite centered on the wall, an empty but running, chest soda-machine sat with greasy fingerprints smeared on its glass lid. Above it hung a faded black-and-white picture of the Wild West—four men wore rough looking long-sleeve shirts, worn jeans and boots, and dusty cowboy hats. One sat while the others stood near the door, on a wooden walk at the front of a restaurant. ‘Working-Mens Lunch’ was printed in a strange font on the banner extending the short width of the building above the door. Behind the sitting man was a blank blackboard, and below it was another sign, written in the same font as the banner, ‘Special The Biggest HOT CAKES IN THE STATES with Honey Syrup 15₵’—she scanned the men’s faces, noticing they were Native Americans.
Next was the door to the women’s restroom. Across from the bathroom was a closed door next to the stairs leading up, and an open door leading into a shadowy laundromat. Pausing at the closed door, she wondered what was behind it. She tried the door.
“Don’t go down there,” a sloppy voice said from the lobby. Her head twisted to the right. A round old man, wearing brown pants with suspenders, and a thin, white-collared shirt, gaped at her with a toothless mouth. “I stayed in a room down there for years, but it’s not nice anymore.”
“Oh?” she replied, and he closed his door.
Jen returned upstairs, noticing the closed dumbwaiter door near the shared bathroom. Not relishing the thought of using a bathroom all the other guests used, she wrinkled her nose. Then it occurred to her she hadn’t seen anyone besides Carol and the good-looking man down the hall.
“Maybe I will take a nice bath.” She glanced at the open bathroom door. “Doesn’t look like Dorothy is using it.”
Back inside her and Tyler’s room, she went to the window, hoping to see him return, but all she saw was the run-down service station and dirt. The air in the room was stale and carried a strange smell. Taking a deep breath, she knew she recognized the smell lingering in the air, though its identity didn’t come to her. The drawers of the dresser were filled with clothing that she assumed had been left over the years by guests.
“I hope Carol is having my mom send me my clothes,” she said, holding up a brown and gold flowered blouse. “I guess it’s either flower-power or grunge.” She pulled out a T-shirt with a band name she didn’t recognize.
She opened the door. A thin girl, around ten years old, leaned against the door opposite her room, looking at her with sparkling, pale-blue eyes. Long, straight, blonde hair hung to her elbows. Seeing Jen, she stood up straight with joy radiating from her.
“Hi,” she said, her voice was sweet and bright. “I’m Becki.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Becki. I’m Jen.”
“I know.” Her mouth stretched wider. Jen closed the door to her room and started toward the bathroom, not finding it strange the girl knew her name. Carol more than likely had told her. “You should lock your door,” she said, staring at the door.
“It’s ok,” Jen replied. “I don’t have anything in there.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Becki said, her brows stretched high behind her perfectly cut bangs. “You don’t want walk-ins.”
Jen stopped, turning back to the girl staring at her door. Feeling her back pocket, she found the key and pulled it out, returning to the door.
“What are these walk-ins?” Jen asked, locking the door. “Carol mentioned them last night.”
The girl was no longer in the hall. Jen looked down the stretch of the corridor to the fire exit at the end, then the other way, across the small sitting area to the door of the man’s room.
A chill ran along her spine, the strongest reaction to the peculiarities she’d experienced since her arrival. She still didn’t understand her blasé feelings. Maybe when Tyler came back from expl
oring, she’d talk with him about it.
Shaking her head, she pushed away the idea. Yesterday morning, they had only talked at work. Then she finally got her nerve up to ask him out for a drink, leading to exquisite sex, and now here.
“Strangest dream ever,” she said, rationalizing how she came to be in Shoshoni, Wyoming, and her lack of emotion over being there.
“It’s no dream,” she said, pulling back the white curtain around the tub. “No dream at all.”
Usually, people screamed, jumped, or cursed, but not Jen. She stared at the woman with running mascara, soaking in the tub of pink water. Even seeing the oozing gash on her wrist gave her no feeling of alarm.
“Oh, he’s got you good,” Dorothy continued when she received no excitement from Jen. “Tyler, too, from the way he’s been gallivanting.” She watched Jen. “Do you even know you’re suppressed?”
Jen looked at the women, remembering what Carol had said. She reached through the parted curtain to the cross knobbed faucets (one for each hot and cold), turning the water on to fill the tub. Dorothy vanished.
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