by D K Bohlman
Since Sarah had arrived, though, things had been different.
Firstly, she didn’t feel the need to peer out through the crack each morning at daybreak. Just the distraction of Sarah snoring or simply breathing made her smile; made her feel alive. She had some company and her mood had changed a great deal.
The times watching the television had become more interesting. She talked to Sarah about what they were watching. They laughed together at sub-titled shows that were in English and she enjoyed telling her about those that were in Hungarian, which Sarah couldn’t understand. After the first few days, they had even leant against each other on the bed as they relaxed into the viewing.
‘Need a pee,’ Sarah said, as the television switched itself off for the night.
As she walked towards the bathroom, she stopped, turned her head toward the wardrobe.
‘Listen,’ she said.
Katalin heard it, like a rustling sound coming from inside the wardrobe. She got up from the bed and walked over to the wardrobe, stooped down a little and listened.
‘Yes, I hear. Maybe it’s a mouse. I saw one before, a few months ago. Not in the wardrobe, by the hatch. It ran through to the bathroom and then I didn’t see it again.’
Sarah was already on the bed, huddled up with her feet drawn in close, clutching her toes protectively in her hands.
‘Just have a look then, Katalin. Quickly. Tell me when you've caught it, I can't stand mice.’
Katalin squeaked a clip of amusement as she saw her roommate looking terrified on the bed. She wondered if all Scottish people were soft like this.
‘OK. I do this. Watch out, Sarah!’
She grabbed the wardrobe door handle and pulled it open with a theatrical flourish, watching for Sarah’s reaction, grinning as her new friend scooted up the bed.
‘Quick! Catch it! Before it escapes!’
Katalin turned to look inside. The floor of the wardrobe was littered with a pair of old shoes and some bits of toiletries she rarely used. There was no mouse that she could see. But the sound was still there … intermittent but still there. It wasn’t louder, though, and that seemed odd, something didn’t compute between the sound and what she saw.
‘Well?’ Sarah asked.
‘No mouse,’ Katalin said. She stood back up and peered around the side of the wardrobe. She could see no little creature scratching away. But still, the noise persisted.
She went back to the open door and knelt down in front of it, leaning completely inside.
‘Be careful!’ Sarah squeaked.
The sound stopped. So did Katalin, dead still, listening for the creature’s next move. Then there was a scraping sound … then nothing again.
Katalin stopped her breathing, to listen harder.
An almighty bang thundered against the rear of the wardrobe. It felt like it had exploded and the impact threw her body sideways, banging her head. She rolled, reeling backwards into the room, to the sound of Sarah screaming.
Visitors
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Jenna took a glance back as she passed Peter in the corridor. What she saw intrigued her, especially after her discovery of the lack of a room numbered 31.
She’d been over to Calum’s hotel to see if Izabella was around. She was disappointed to not find her behind the bar that evening, so she’d made her way back to the Hotel Cristal early.
The man and a woman stopped at room 33 and opened the door to it. The old woman she had seen down at reception, behind the desk. So she was staff, she supposed. The man, she’d seen him entering Marton Kovacs’ room just after she'd scouted it: she recognised him by the scar down his left cheek.
She slipped through her own door and watched through the small gap she left. They just moved quickly into room 33 and shut the door.
She shut the door and sat down on the bed. She only took a moment, before paying a quick visit to the loo then re-entering the corridor. She looked both ways. No one around, as usual: it didn’t seem too busy in the hotel right now.
She walked quietly up to room 33’s threshold and listened carefully, stilling her breathing to get more chance of picking up whatever was going on inside the room.
There was nothing at first, then she heard something being dragged or moved, followed by a regular light tapping, like a hammer being struck gently on a picture hook: except it carried on for a few minutes.
Then some scraping before the tapping re-started but this time with a much louder, urgent tone. It lasted only thirty seconds or so until it finished with a splintering and a large crack and thump. Then she heard the screaming.
Peter & Aliz enter room 31
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Katalin dived sideways, in time for her torso to escape the falling piece of furniture, but it landed on her legs and made her scream out loudly. There was a fibrous snap as Sarah watched on in horror. She felt slow to react, as if in a dream.
Sarah screamed again, as she saw what lay beyond where the wardrobe had stood. A gaping hole the size of two doors, a massive bellow of dust puffing out from the space, and out of the centre two people stepped, looking like fantastical ashen dervishes.
A man and an old woman. Sarah recognised the woman from her first visit to see Marton Kovacs. She was the hotel manager. The woman hung back slightly, looking around and taking in the scene, her hand over her mouth. The man coughed the dust out a few times, then held a hand up.
‘Sssh. Be quiet. We’re not here to hurt you. Please be calm.’
Sarah was too shocked to move … but Katalin was in pain and moaned softly from the floor.
The man moved into the room and picked up the wardrobe, slowly, it was clearly heavy.
‘Give me a hand.’
Sarah was woken from her inertia and stood up to grab a corner, watching the man closely. She also felt strangely slowed but managed to help push the furniture back up to the wall. Katalin moaned louder as the pressure was released from her leg.
‘Let’s have a look at your leg.’
Katalin looked wide-eyed at the man as he knelt down to her: but he appeared to be trying to help.
‘It’s OK, I’m a doctor. Aliz, pass my bag please.’
The old woman passed his bag over and opened it for him. He felt Katalin’s leg. She shouted out as he pressed it.
‘Broken maybe, I can't be sure. I’ll give you a painkiller before we do anything else, OK?’
She nodded.
He took a phial from his bag, sucked the contents into a syringe, then plunged the needle into Katalin with barely a pause. Katalin had little chance to object.
‘Lay still … pass me a pillow someone.’
Sarah grabbed a pillow from the bed and handed it to him. He looked at her. There was no warmth in his eyes, just the cold reflection of someone going through a process. Whether that was him just treating his patient or something else, she wasn’t sure, but the mechanicality of it spooked her.
The man stood up. He addressed them all, in a vague sort of way, head bowed, avoiding eye contact.
‘OK, that should help. I’ll give this thirty minutes and see how the leg changes. If it swells a lot, we may have to think about an X-ray.’
‘What are you doing here? Who are you?’ Sarah ventured, with a great degree of nervousness. ‘Can we get out of here now?’
‘Well, I need to get something else to help your friend, I’ll be back in a moment. We can talk about that then. I’ll be two minutes.’
He turned and walked back to the doors. As he passed through the doorframe, the old woman shouted after him, ‘So shall I ask the other girl what her problems are?’
‘Yes, why don't you examine her while I’m outside the room, Aliz?’
The word examine registered sharply with Sarah and she leapt towards the man as the door was closing.
‘What do you mean? Examine?’
He didn’t answer. He pushed the doors shut as she thought about resisting and then it was too late. The sc
rape of the wardrobe on the far side of the doors as it was moved back into place didn’t sound very encouraging.
The old woman dashed to the doors and hammered on them.
‘Peter, what are you doing? Open the doors please!’
There was no reply. She hammered again, less aggressively this time. Another plea. Another round of banging. Then an exhausted silence.
‘Damn, damn … damn that man.’ The old woman looked at Sarah, ‘So, I suppose you haven’t been sick or had any bleeding, Sarah?’
‘What? No … what do you mean?’
The woman looked pitiful. ‘Never mind. I think we are now three in here.’ She sat down on a chair opposite the bed and started to cry.
Jenna listens in
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Jenna kept listening at the door of room 33. After the screams, it went very quiet for a while, there were some muted voices if she strained to hear, but little other noise. Then there was a cacophony of door slamming, heavy scraping, banging and yelling, before she heard footsteps approach the room door from the inside.
She stepped away sharply and skipped back to her room, just in time to close the door to a thread and observe the man come out. Only this time without the woman from reception.
She waited until he’d called the lift and disappeared before listening again at the door. She couldn’t hear anything.
She sat back down in her room and thought about the facts. Screams … so some fear. Two in and one out … might not be anything for her to be concerned with. But she could ask for the woman at the desk and check that out tomorrow. For now, sitting watching the door of room 33 wasn’t a particularly appealing exercise.
She decided to go to the bar at Calum’s hotel.
*
Peter Kovacs was feeling smug about how easy that capture had been. Nothing to it, though he had to admit the girl being injured took a lot of pressure off him, made his withdrawal from the room a bit easier to pass off as natural.
But the harder bit was yet to come. To get the damned investigator in there with them. Now he had three of them there, he needed to move fast. Aliz would be missed very soon and he didn’t fancy the idea of feeding the three of them alone. Ideally, they needed to be alive when Neuman was brought in, so he’d better spring that particular trap now.
Making moves
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Jenna was relaxing with her third gin and tonic. Time off, a bit of downtime with Facebook and Snapchat. She’d had a brief catch up with Calum, but now he was holed up in his room, pleading he wanted a night in to watch the football on the television. Sometimes that was a cover for him doing something he didn’t want her involved in. Whatever. It suited her tonight, despite her annoyance when he did that. She couldn’t quite get over to him her concern over rooms 33 and 31. Sometimes he listened better in the mornings.
Izabella was serving again … and paying her a lot of attention as usual. She knew that was the reason she was sat in the bar … and why she was sipping slowly and sticking around, despite her Facebook feed having been read three times over.
It had crept towards midnight slowly and Jenna had begun to wonder why she was there when Izabella marched over with some purpose.
‘We are closing now as there are no more guests in the bar … unless you want another?’ She smiled with intent.
Jenna was stuck for what to say, but Izabella helped her out.
‘Or if you do want another, we could take a bottle of wine … to your room?’
Jenna shrank at the boldness but suddenly felt excited. No mistaking this … she'd been thinking of Izabella a lot since they first exchanged those lingering glances. She’d wanted her to say something like this, she hadn’t had the nerve herself somehow. Maybe because of Greg, whatever … it was hard to do. Now, something might happen and the thought of it was making Jenna buzz.
‘OK. Yep, that would be nice. But I’m at the Hotel Cristal now. Room 314. It’s not far … a ten-minute walk?’
She said it with her eyes partially averted, as if to not quite take responsibility for the decision. She kicked herself for such a boring response.
‘Nice. Yes, I think it will be nice, Jenna.’ She laughed, gaily and swept up Jenna’s empty glass. ‘Fifteen minutes, OK? And white is OK?’
‘Great. Yes, white is good.’
‘You go back. I’ll come to your room.’
Funny how fifteen minutes can be very short or very long depending on your circumstances. Jenna felt like she aged a year in the next ten minutes. When Izabella brought the bottle up to her room and said “Here I am”, it released her from a hell in which her rear was stuck immovably to her bed and her heartrate was making a pounding loud thump in her head.
Jenna showed her in. They both came into the centre of the room, starting to giggle with nerves.
There was a bed and a chair. Jenna took the chair out of indecision. Izabella stopped and looked at her, then unscrewed the wine bottle top. She looked around for glasses …
‘In the bathroom, some glasses there.’
Izabella nodded and went to get them. She returned with the glasses full and the bottle half drained.
‘Cheers. That’s what you say, eh? In Scotland?’
‘Yes, it is.’
Izabella made a gesture with her mouth, a signal of a proposition.
‘Want some coke?’
‘Coke? We’re having wine, aren’t we … oh, err no, I don’t, thanks.’
‘OK, that’s cool.’
Jenna was a bit disappointed by that. She didn’t approve of hard drugs. She'd also became vaguely aware that, as far as she could recall, she'd not mentioned she was Scottish. But maybe everyone could tell a Scottish accent, not just Brits. She’d noticed that Izabella had turned the dimmer switch down a notch or two as she came out of the bathroom … and there was a nice scent about her. She seemed to have freshened up before she came over to the hotel. Jenna sipped her wine slowly, as she chatted to Izabella, who was perched predator-like on the edge of the bed. She kept leaning sharply towards Jenna as she spoke, smiling and laughing.
Then the conversation stopped. One of those awkward silences, when you could try to find something else to say … or just go physical.
Izabella made her choice and leaned forward, sliding her open palm warmly down Jenna’s forearm. It sent tingles of excitement into Jenna. She looked down at the sliding hand then up at Izabella’s eyes. They were large, dark brown … her pupils dilated with anticipation.
Jenna’s phone rang.
Gregor.
It could have been one of those phone calls you click off at a tricky moment. But this time, it triggered guilt in Jenna. She couldn't not answer it. So she did.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey, you too.’
Izabella stood up and shrugged her shoulders, arms and palms outstretched.
‘Just a min, Greg.’
She flattened her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. ‘Sorry, Izabella. I need to talk to my friend, sorry.’
Izabella nodded … but stayed put.
Jenna pressed her lips together, a feeling of regret spreading through her. But it was an excuse to delay what was to happen with Izabella, an excuse she suddenly found herself wanting to take. She let her hand fall from the phone.
‘Sorry, Greg. Just talking to someone. How are you … ?’
It was twenty minutes of small talk, punctuated with Greg’s good humour that finally started to send her to sleep. She was tired and struggled to concentrate on not giving him any wrong signals. But the guilt was still there and she couldn’t understand why.
Fifteen minutes in, Izabella’s face clouded fast and she harrumphed softly around the bed for a moment before grabbing her handbag and display-marching out of the room. Over her shoulder … ‘OK, OK, another day then.’
Jenna looked up at her and tightened her eyes and mouth into a hurt-plead-sorry message.
‘Who was that, Jen?’
&n
bsp; ‘Someone in the bar, saying goodnight to someone. I’m a bit tired myself to be honest.’
Greg didn’t take the hint. He never was very good at that. Eventually, she said goodnight rather arbitrarily and went to the bathroom, throwing the rest of the wine down the sink. She fell asleep slowly, thinking all sorts of erotic things, involving a twisting pattern of male and female lovers. She knew she was confused, but this was silly.
*
Izabella went home to her apartment. Now she was worried. Worried that the man who was paying her would start to get impatient. She could try again the same way maybe. But it was finding the opportunity. It wasn’t always the case she came into the bar in the evening. The pressure wasn’t nice, but she needed the money. Perhaps she had to find another way. Spiking her drink was a simple way to get her compliant. Then she could do the rest easily. She could be more direct, of course, but she wasn’t sure her own strength was enough if the girl was fully alert. But maybe she’d need to risk it if she couldn’t snare her into a room again. She texted the man, telling him she was close. That it would be soon.
A headache
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Jenna’s alarm repeated itself at least half a dozen times before it developed into a long persistent tone that finally woke her up. She raised her head a tad from the pillow to peer at the time and found her head weighed about the same as a small car.
She rolled onto her back and exhaled through slack lips. She felt nauseous and tried to count how many drinks she’d had the night before. Two, three … maybe four gin & tonics? She didn't have much wine before Greg rang and Izabella left. She’d thrown the rest away. But right now it felt like she'd had the whole bottle.