Where Stars Won't Shine
Page 6
Ethan shivered. It was not from the chill in the hotel lobby.
Ivy’s skin turned a certain shade of gray, not unlike Annabelle. “You mean to tell me you knew him?”
He nodded slowly, trying to blink away Tucker’s lifeless face. “I guess you could say that, though ‘knew’ is a strong word. We talked on occasion. Hung out a few times. I didn’t give him shit like the others but I didn’t exactly invite him into my life with open arms either.”
“If I knew that bastard, I’d never step foot here again.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. What’s with all the questions, anyway? You writing a book?”
“Me? Absolutely not. In case you hadn’t heard, they did write a book. It came out today, in fact. I started reading it on the plane but I couldn’t stomach the thing. He’s a killer, not a celebrity, though the author would have you think it’s the other way around. And that guy, Zeke? He runs an entire website dedicated to him. I tried to look it up on my phone but the Internet’s spotty here.”
“More like non-existent.” He held up his phone. The screen seemed worse now. He wondered if it would work again after he left Marlowe. “What about you? What brings you to America’s favorite murder site?”
“I …” she trailed off. Her hands fidgeted. She played with a large diamond engagement ring.
“Where’s your husband on this fine night?”
She caught him staring and spun her ring around, hiding the diamond from view. “Not here. I mean I’m not married. Or engaged.”
“Then why the ring?”
“It’s a long story.” She finished her drink in one final sip and set it down too hard. “It’s getting late. I’m tired.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too. Although, I don’t have a clue what time it is.”
“There’s a clock above the bar.”
He stood and stretched. “That doesn’t do us much good.” Like his watch, the minute and second hands did laps around each other, speeding in opposite directions. It reminded him of a compass in the Bermuda Triangle.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Not sure but they’re all that way. I don’t think anything works properly in Marlowe. It’s like the damned things are scared. I don’t blame them one bit. A piece of advice? Whatever you came here for, it’s probably not worth it. If I were you, I’d get some sleep and get the hell out of here first thing in the morning. That’s my plan.”
Ivy watched the clock, her eyes wide, her skin oily with sweat. “I’ll take that under advisement.” A moment later, she left.
Sitting alone in the bar, Ethan felt a sense of dread so strong it made his skin come alive, every hair standing at attention. He needed to get the hell out of this place but he wasn’t about to step foot outside, not while it was dark. He’d told Alexis he had a work conference. Judging by her reaction, she hadn’t bought his cover story but she didn’t press the issue either. She wouldn’t come searching if he didn’t answer his phone. Not tonight, at least. Which meant he was unaccounted for. If anything were to happen to him, no one would know where he really was. Not even Andrew, on account of the note magically changing addresses.
He nearly jogged to his room, keeping his eyes steady, not looking in any direction other than forward, telling himself the dread he felt was nothing more than nerves.
Morning could not come soon enough.
NINE
AMY WASN’T DREAMING. Not in the traditional sense, at least. Her mind was tired, as was her body, but it refused to shut off entirely. She was in a transitional state, inches away from sleep but still tethered to reality.
She lay on her back, staring at the moldy ceiling. There was a stain up there. It had been smaller when they first checked in. She was sure of it. In the last hour it had grown, changing shapes as it expanded. She watched it like a cloud, trying to pinpoint an image. Each new transformation brought with it a jolt, her blood pressure spiking. She saw teeth and glowing eyes and something like a face peering down at her.
Perhaps something was dripping through the floor of the room upstairs but surely no one was up there. The girl at the desk—Annabelle—must have been lying when she’d said there were other guests. The hotel, much like the town itself, seemed abandoned.
Her prickly skin and speeding pulse begged to differ, quite certain they were not alone. The others, whoever they may be, were just good at staying hidden.
She tensed, tried to force her thoughts elsewhere, though where they landed wasn’t much better. She recalled her first weeks living in Virginia. She stayed in a small apartment with a roommate—Tanya—who’d barely spoken during their entire time together. The girl never seemed to be home. She majored in nursing at the same college, worked well into the night. Amy had hoped they could be friends but after only a few days of the living situation, she knew it wasn’t meant to be.
In fact no friends seemed meant to be. Her classmates all had their own cliques. Whenever she reached out she was shot down. It felt like high school all over again. Except she hadn’t felt this alone in high school. She hadn’t been the most popular girl in her class but she’d had some friends.
After she received The Call, the one where she’d been certain her mother was dead, she’d drifted away from just about every person in her life. Her biological father had died when she was five. One day he was healthy, the next he suffered a stroke and died hours later. Her stepfather, Grant, was a stranger. Much like Tanya, they may have lived together but they weren’t friends and certainly not family.
So Amy had chosen a state at random—Virginia, as it turned out—and traveled from Florida to her new home and school. She lost touch with her old friends and failed to make new ones. It was lonely to say the least.
Until she’d met Zeke.
She felt him stir in his sleep as if hearing his name. Earlier, he’d insisted they explore the town. He was looking for something, he told her, though he wouldn’t tell her what. She’d begged him to take the night off. He was exhausted, even if he wasn’t aware. He’d fought her until he fell asleep an hour ago.
She watched his sleeping face. She’d wanted to leave him for months now. Her loneliness had been the culprit of their relationship and now she felt trapped. Worse still, she was afraid to leave him. He’d been growing stranger in recent times. She couldn’t be certain how he’d react. Now that they were in Marlowe, on his dream vacation, she couldn’t bring the subject up. Not yet, at least.
But what if you never had another chance?
Shivering, she tried to make sense of the question but she froze when Zeke mumbled something in his sleep and stood. It was obvious by the way he stumbled that he was sleepwalking again. He whispered words as if in mid-conversation with someone she couldn’t see. Whatever they spoke of, it excited him.
He sat at the desk and wrote something in his notebook. Another note. When he was finished, he stood again and stepped into the hallway.
She did not want to follow him. While he may have been asleep, he moved like he had a destination in mind. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was more like he was a puppet, like someone—something—held the strings.
But she couldn’t let him wander off. They weren’t in the safety of their home. There were staircases and balconies. He could get himself hurt.
She got out of bed and, on her way out of the room, glanced at the newest note.
And wished she hadn’t.
The words were written in such a rush, they looked more like symbols. Their message, though, was quite clear. It was another letter, as she’d suspected. Just like the rest, he’d written the words as if they weren’t from him but someone else.
Tucker Ashton.
Dear Zeke,
It’s almost time now. We’re so close. You’re still on board, right? Of course you are. You’ve always been on board. You may not realize this but we share a special bond, you and I. We think the same way. And right now, we’ve never been closer. I’ll be waiting at the end of the first floor hall
. The door would have you think it’s a utility room but don’t believe your eyes. Marlowe is my town now. It has a way of bending to my command. You must hurry, though. We don’t have much time. It’s complicated but you’ll have to trust me. I’m back, Zeke, and I’m going to make you a millionaire. We’ll be legends together.
Your Old Pal Tucker.
Amy tried to block the gasp but it was insistent, spilling out of her mouth as she dropped the note. It landed on the carpet and leaned against the desk’s leg so the words still faced her. Like they demanded to be read.
She peered into the hall and caught the sight of Zeke’s jet-black hair as he rounded the corner and made his way, presumably, to the utility room.
Unless you went by the letter’s instructions. In which case, it wasn’t a utility room at all. Which made it … what?
She didn’t have an answer. Didn’t want an answer. She paced for a moment before making a decision. She’d go after Zeke but only to ensure he didn’t get hurt. When he was tucked back in and dreaming of his favorite serial killer, she’d pack her things and hit the road. If she couldn’t tell him things were over, for fear of his reaction, then she wouldn’t.
The letter fluttered as if from a breeze, though both windows were closed.
She stepped into the hall and hurried, hoping she could catch Zeke before he made it to the mystery room. She wasn’t sure what lay inside, but something told her if Zeke entered, he would not come out the same.
“Damn thing,” Ivy said for the thousandth time. Her phone was acting strangely. Earlier there’d been no Internet connection and now, when she tried to call Mariah, it didn’t work at all. She dialed her sister’s number again and held the phone to her ear.
There was no ring tone, nor static, but there was something. Something like breathing.
She shook her head. You’re being ridiculous. It’s just this place and that guy—Ethan’s—story. If you believe him, then this entire town is … what? Haunted?
For a moment, the slight hissing (breathing) grew louder in her ear. She tossed the phone across the room. It landed on the bed, screen side up, and even from her spot near the bathroom she could see the screen as it transitioned from her wallpaper (a picture of her and Scott, of course) to something that looked very much like a computer just before it crashes. Pixels and lines with no semblance of a pattern.
It felt wrong not being able to see Scott’s face smiling at her. It was a constant comfort. Every time she turned her phone on, she felt a bit calmer. Her therapist insisted it was a step back in her road to closure but if it held off a panic attack or ten, she saw nothing wrong with leaving the wallpaper as is.
She nibbled her nails and tried to think. Wasn’t there a phone downstairs in the lobby? Had Ethan mentioned if he’d tried it or if it worked? She didn’t like the idea of going back down there, of being in the same room as Annabelle and her severed spine. Ivy thought it was just one of her hallucinations until she’d seen the way Ethan stared. He’d shrugged it off but she could tell they were on the same page.
But Mariah would worry. She’d made Ivy promise to call her the moment she checked in. And that hadn’t been the only promise, had it?
Promise you’ll get the hell out of there if something goes wrong.
Ivy wasn’t sure if any of this counted as wrong but it certainly felt that way. She’d do as Ethan said, wait it out until morning and then get the hell out of this black hole the moment the sun was in the sky. If her phone worked once she got back to civilization, then all the better. If not, she’d use the one at the convenience store, tell her sister she’d been right all along.
Ivy caught herself twirling the engagement ring around her finger, the one Ethan had asked about. The one she sometimes forgot she wore in the first place.
The one she found while cleaning out Scott’s bureau.
After … that night … she’d delayed going through his belongings. To do so would be to admit he was really gone. To believe she really had seen his corpse, really had seen the message written in his blood and addressed, she assumed, to her.
I’ll be seeing you.
She’d made hints during their relationship, of course. What woman didn’t when they found The One? They rarely fought and when they did something came from it. A behavior was changed, an apology given. It was, by all counts, the healthiest relationship she’d ever been in. When the ring didn’t come after her initial hints, she thought: That’s fine. He loves me and he’s here, so what’s it matter if we don’t make it official just yet?
Part of her was disappointed, sure, but she’d never stopped believing he loved her. He made that apparent every chance he had. He was a good man. The kind of person you only meet once in your life. The kind that, despite being an inch shorter than you, doesn’t feel the need to prove his masculinity. The kind that seems cool and calm during times of crisis. It was that latter quality she missed so much now. Had he been here with her, he would’ve known what to do, would’ve stroked her hair and told her to breathe slowly.
But you’re forgetting if he was here, you wouldn’t be in Marlowe. You’d be back home in Portland, sipping wine by the fire or eating his world famous meat loaf instead of losing your mind in what is probably the most haunted place in the country.
Her thoughts went on, stuttering in her mind. She tried to make them stop but it was a lost cause. They kept on until the moment she heard the knock at the door.
It was a loud thud, strong enough to shake the door in its frame. Yet it wasn’t demanding to be let in. It simply wanted her to know it was there.
It? Was she still thinking about the knock or who (what) was on the other side?
It came again, louder this time. Three quick, strong thuds.
Her voice shook and she was shocked it worked at all. “W-who is it?”
A long pause. She could hear something out there, something like the heavy breathing she’d heard on the phone.
Finally, when the voice came, she nearly screamed. “Room service.” It was raspy and high-pitched, a teenage girl mixed with an elderly woman.
Her skin crawled with warnings. “I didn’t order anything. You must have the wrong room.”
A pause, followed by three more knocks. The door shook worse this time. Would it be easy to break down?
“Room service.” The individual giggled under their breath as if trying to hide a prank, but something told her pranks didn’t exist in this town. There was nothing funny about Marlowe.
“Please,” Ivy said. “I didn’t order anything. I’m very tired and I’d like to sleep.”
Three final knocks. She thought she heard the wood splintering. “Room service.” Another giggle, then footsteps down the hall. It sounded as if they skipped along the way.
Ivy waited an eternity before she opened her purse and grabbed her pepper spray. She opened the door, tensing, certain she’d see the owner of the knocks. And even more certain it would not be human.
Peeking her head into the hall, she saw nothing aside from the metal tray on the carpet in front of her. An elegant cover had been placed over the plate, like something in a four-star hotel. She wasn’t certain how many stars Hotel Marlowe had earned but the cover felt out of place. Not to mention she really hadn’t ordered anything.
She kneeled down and reached for the cover’s handle despite her internal warnings, her mind begging her to stop. She held on for a long time before she lifted it and almost fainted at the sight of the two objects.
The first was a spider much bigger than she’d ever seen. It was covered in fur. Its legs were long and thick and its eyes seemed to study her for a moment, as if wondering if she was worth the effort of jumping and biting. She was certain it was poisonous, judging by the fang-like teeth protruding from its lips.
But oddly enough, the spider wasn’t what worried her the most. It eventually grew bored and scuttled down the hallway.
The second object was, in a way, just as poisonous.
The skeletal face
watched her from below, begging her to pick the book up and open its cover, which she did with a hypnotic reach of her hand. It wasn’t her copy of Birth of a Monster. The binding looked brand new, no signs of tearing.
A joke. It had to be a joke. That asshole Zeke was playing tricks with her. But the theory didn’t ring true in her thoughts.
She opened the book and chose a passage at random.
And felt like crying when she read:
Ivy Longwood is a dumb little bitch who thinks the world owes her something just because her husband—shorter than her, mind you (how pathetic is that?)—got hacked up in his bathroom while she was out with the girls. She thinks she’s the only one who’s ever faced tragedy. Her sister, Mariah, considers kicking Ivy out every night. What’s the sense in keeping her around if Ivy is just going to play the dead boyfriend card every chance she gets? Ivy doesn’t pay rent or help with the chores. She doesn’t do much of anything except sulk all day. Then she became obsessed with the message. The one written in her midget boyfriend’s blood. It said I’ll be seeing you and now that she’s in Marlowe, in the belly of the beast, it’s more than true. It’s inevitable. And when she does see me, I’m going to do her sister a favor. I’m going to cut her stupid limbs and stupid nipples and stupid head right off her body.
She dropped the book. It landed words-side up. The pages moved, the next chapter presenting itself but she did not read further. Instead she opened her mouth and attempted to scream.
But it was cut off by another scream. One that came from down the hall. It sounded familiar.
Amy.
TEN
ETHAN WAS HAVING trouble sleeping. Nothing new there.