She helped me box up the apartment, making piles of things. There was a “keep” pile, a “discard” pile, and a “donate” pile. The “donate” pile was the biggest as we went through each room of the apartment. We hadn’t had that much stuff, Anna and I, and Anna’s mother had taken a few boxes of her daughter’s belongings after the funeral, but there was still, surprisingly, a lot of things. There were times that I broke down crying, drawing my knees up as I sat on the living room floor, Gwen rubbing little circles on my back and making trips to the local liquor store for really cheap wine. But somehow, miraculously, in two days we got through it.
And I ended up with a single suitcase of clothes, and a few plastic totes of things. That was it. That was, somehow, my life’s worth of possessions.
It made me feel sad and small. And completely alone.
But Gwen wouldn’t let me feel that way for long. She drove me to my apartment manager’s office, and I told the woman I’d vacated the apartment.
And then that was it. It was over.
I walked through the apartment one last time, running my fingers over the counter that Anna had pressed me against when she wanted to kiss me deeply, putting her hands into the back pockets of my jeans as she held me to her. I was leaving the couch behind, the couch that had held us both as we watched movies together, me sitting in her lap as she held me tightly around the waist. My eyes filled with tears as I walked through every small room, and I said goodbye for the last time. Even if I moved back, I’d never have this apartment again.
But a still, small voice in the back of my head—or maybe my heart—knew the truth of it. I was never coming back to Greensprings again.
I couldn’t.
“I’m turning into you,” I told Gwen when I climbed up into the passenger side of Moochie, her van. Gwen cast me a sidelong grin as she turned the key in the ignition. She was looking exceptionally eccentric today, her long frizzy brown hair in two braids falling down her back over the paisley peasant blouse. Her blue eyes flashed as she winked at me, Moochie roaring to life beneath her hands.
“You mean you’re becoming reckless?” She grinned, casting a glance over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking space.
“I’m becoming crazy,” I muttered, fingers sinking into the plush arms of my seat as Gwen roared out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a truck that honked for about five minutes behind us irately.
“Crazy’s good!” she yelled over the boom of the engine. “A crazy person has adventures, sees amazing things…has a good life,” she said a little softer, but I still heard it.
I wanted to have a good life. Doesn’t everyone? I just thought that particular ship had already sailed for me. That my chance of having a good life had died with Anna.
But maybe not. Maybe in this absolutely crazy move, I had been given another chance. Another chance in Eternal Cove. I put my chin in my hand and watched the just-turning trees race past our window in red and golden blurs as Gwen weaved in and out of country roads and little roads and bigger roads on our way through New Hampshire toward Maine.
“What kind of person just takes your word for it when hiring someone?” I asked Gwen what was probably a very obvious question, but one I hadn’t yet considered as we paused at a fast food joint, stretching as we tumbled out of the van. “The owner of Eternal Cove didn’t even want a resume you said…” I muttered, patting my jacket pocket to make certain my wallet was still in it. It was.
“I dunno,” said Gwen, shrugging and touching her toes, which caused a group of college boys to run into a garbage can as they walked past, not looking where they were going. I stared at them with a frown, but they weren’t exactly looking at me, either. Even though Gwen was about fifteen years their senior, she had that sort of quality about her. She could have charmed the antlers off of a moose. “She just asked me who she should hire for the job, I told her about you, and she said you were hired if you wanted it,” she grinned, stretching overhead and straightening.
“That just seems odd—no resumes, no interviews,” I muttered, following Gwen and the scent of french fries through the door and into the ordering line. Gwen shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, shrugged.
“I mean, she’s eccentric,” said Gwen, peering up at the lit menu above us, glowing with tantalizing pictures of sandwiches and beverages. “Do I want a number five or a number seven?”
“Five,” I said glancing up. “What do you mean, ‘eccentric’?”
“I’d like a number five, please!” Gwen told the fast food attendant cheerfully. “And if you could give me that in the largest size possible, I’d greatly appreciate it.” She pulled a couple of bills out of her pocket and shrugged at me. “I mean eccentric,” she muttered, taking the receipt with her order number.
“And for you?” the fast food guy said in a very bored tone of voice.
“Um…a medium coffee and a large order of fries, thanks,” I said, handing him my debit card. He swiped it through and gave me my receipt, and I followed Gwen to the side where we waited with a bunch of other hungry-looking people for our orders. “You’re being dodgy,” I told her then with a frown.
“I mean, she’s kind of quiet. Keeps to herself. Wears a suit and tie…” said Gwen, trailing off and watching me closely for a reaction. “That’s why I told you about the whole ‘gorgeous women’ thing. I’m pretty sure my boss is gay. And a few other people there are, too, I think.”
“How is that even possible? It’s a little town in Maine…how many lesbians can there possibly be? And if you think she’s gay just because she wears a tie, your gaydar is massively malfunctioning,” I snorted, not caring that the elderly man ahead of us was frowning with all of his might back at me.
“My gaydar is functioning just fine, thanks. And I wasn’t talking about lesbians in the town…I mean, there might be. I was actually talking about just in the hotel,” said Gwen mildly, biting her lip. “Um…”
“Order seventy-nine!” yelled one of the attendants, dropping a tray of very largely sized bags on the counter.
“That’s me!” said Gwen with glee, stepping forward and scooping up the bags.
“Order eighty!” It took me a second to process that this was my order. Mostly because I was trying to compute the fact that there was a hotel apparently full of gay women in Maine.
“I mean, not everyone there’s gay, I don’t think,” said Gwen, bursting my bubble as we headed back to the car. “I mean, I’m not. I think the head cook isn’t. But my gaydar has gone off every single time I meet anyone new from the Sullivan clan, and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…back up there. I think you need to tell me the whole story. From the beginning.”
We headed back to the van with bags of more calories than ten people should probably have ingested for lunch and very large cups of coffee. The scent of the french fries mixed with the steam from the coffee made my stomach roar in protest, begging to be fed.
“So the Sullivan Hotel is the only hotel or motel or whatever in Eternal Cove,” said Gwen, starting the engine again. “You’re going to love Eternal Cove, by the way. It’s this crazy little town. Everyone I’ve met is awesome, and there’s this cute little clothing boutique, and... Anyway,” she continued, when she caught my glance. “The hotel is owned by Kane Sullivan. She’s going to be your new boss. And she has a pretty big family. They all live at the hotel.”
“Big family?” I dipped a french fry into the hole on the top of my cup of coffee and took a bite.
“That’s disgusting,” said Gwen, wrinkling her nose as she took a chug of coffee. “And yeah, big family. I guess she had a lot of adopted sisters? Or something? Look, I don’t try to be nosy, but there are a lot of ladies who are staying at the hotel, all with the last name of Sullivan. And they don’t look related. It’s kind of weird, but they’re all nice to me, so I’ve never really pried, asked questions, you know? Anyway, if you ask me, I kind of think maybe all of those ladies are her harem or something,” she said, wa
ggling her eyebrows at me as she took another sip of coffee. “They’re all really unspeakably gorgeous, all of the women I’ve met. And they cover the whole spectrum of gay ladies, apparently. I’ve met butches and femmes and really hard femmes, and…I’m telling you, I genuinely think all of those women are her harem.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I snorted, rolling my eyes as I dipped another french fry in my coffee as I tried to wrap my head around this. Gorgeous lesbian women. All with the same last name. It was actually a little weird. “And french fries in coffee isn’t disgusting,” I told her proudly as she made a little sound. “It’s actually quite tasty. Tell me a little more about Kane…” I said then, sitting back in my seat and cradling my coffee cup in my hands. Kane Sullivan. What kind of a name was Kane?
“Like I said, she’s a little weird. But she’s always been really nice to me. She’s very quiet, but when she comes into a room…” Gwen actually shivered when she said those words, her shoulders shaking a little as she breathed out. “I mean, you know it when she walks through a door, is all,” she said, raising her eyebrows at me. “She has this…presence. It’s really commanding. I hope you know it took quite a bit of courage from me to tell her about you. I had to seek her out, ask her for a meeting. I told her about you, and she just said you were hired if you wanted the job. She makes very firm, very quick decisions. She’s just…that kind of lady. ”
“You mean an eccentric lady,” I said, holding my cup a little tighter as the sun came out from behind the clouds, causing all of the trees to brighten, their leaves moving in the wind, as red as if they were on fire.
“Yeah,” said Gwen, though her brows had risen a little higher.
We drove a little farther in silence. Her eating the contents of her greasy paper bags of fast food. Me munching on french fries soggy with coffee, thinking about how absolutely crazy I was to have gone along with this.
The sun lit up the autumn trees, the road stretching ahead of us leading toward the unknown.
---
When we passed the town sign for “Eternal Cove, a Pleasant Place to Live!” it was already dark out. The spotlight trained on the town sign was much too bright, and the faded quality of its paint was more visible than anyone would have probably liked. There was a little graphic sun over a few faded blue waves next to “Eternal Cove.” We’d been able to smell the salt air for a few miles coming in through the van’s vents, but it was too dark to make out the water that Gwen assured me was on my right. Occasionally, I saw a flashing light, far out into the blackness, that I assumed was a passing boat.
The air felt like a storm was coming, and the sky was as dark as a grave.
We drove down the small main street of Eternal Cove. Old Victorian buildings that looked a little run down held a tea house, a coffee shop, a Subway restaurant, a Chinese place, a barber shop and an antique store that had a slightly horrifying mannequin in the front window wearing a clown mask surrounded by orange lights. It was finally October, and there were pumpkins and sagging cornstalks tied to each lamppost along the way. The street was almost completely deserted, although my watch told me that it was only eight o’clock-ish on a Sunday night.
“They close up early around here,” said Gwen with a shrug as the van’s blunt nose began to edge upwards. We’d gone through the main street, and now we were winding our way up what must be a very impressive hill. I peered out of the window, up and up, wishing that it was still daylight so that I could see.
“You’ll get to see it tomorrow,” Gwen promised, her grin infectious as she turned the van along a looping curve of the road, her knuckles white on the worn wheel. “The Sullivan Hotel is really impressive in the daylight, but I honestly think you’ll be pretty impressed by it at night, too…”
We rounded a bend in the road, and then there it was.
The Sullivan Hotel.
I’m pretty certain my jaw hit the floor of the van.
I was reminded, instantly, of the kind of period dramas that they show on PBS. The Sullivan Hotel looked like it belonged in England…not here. Not in Maine, US of A. It was this sprawling, monstrously huge blocky building, seven stories high, with columns and towers. But the very first thing I noticed about it was the color of stone it was made out of. I supposed I’d seen red stone buildings before, but they’d never stuck out in my mind. Maybe because they weren’t this red. The building was a color of red that you should only call blood. And, to top it all off, almost every room throughout its monstrous sprawl of rooms was lit like it was on fire. That’s the impression that I got, actually—that the entire building was on fire, but it was made of stone—very red stone—so that’d be impossible. But still…it seemed to flicker, even when I closed my eyes. The Sullivan Hotel burned itself in my vision, even when I closed my eyes.
I suppose that maybe I should have been afraid of it, a big red building outside of town, lit up and flickering like a bad omen. Gwen parked Moochie along the front walkway, and we both got out of the van, staring up and up and up at the sprawling building. It was lavish, excessive. Beautiful. With all of its columns and towers and—as I peered up, I noticed at the very top over the front door—gargoyles. Gwen glanced eagerly at me before opening up the van’s side door and lugging out my suitcase.
“Come on, I can’t wait to show you—” She kept talking, but she was trotting ahead of me, just a little too far for me to hear, and I had to almost run to keep up, picing up and lurching along with my suitcase so that it banged against my thigh as we walked up the shallow stone steps toward the entrance. The Sullivan Hotel’s main entrance had four massive marble pillars pockmarked by the salty Maine rain (I didn’t even know that marble came in red), and scarlet planters on either side of each pillar big enough to contain a body. Not that I immediately thought that when looking at them, but there was something about this entryway that made my thoughts turn a little ghastly. Maybe it was the tiny carved red faces on the planters—gargoyle faces. Spooky faces with distended tongues, bulging eyes and curving horns. I shuddered a little as Gwen held open the main door for me, a big wooden thing that it took her two hands to keep steady and open. I stepped through, and then it was over. I’d made my decision fully, for better or worse.
I was here.
I had entered the Sullivan Hotel, and my choice was made.
Dark oak paneling along the cathedral walls echoed back the sound of my flats on the checkerboard floor, a checkerboard made not of the usual white and black squares, but of red and black. Together, Gwen and I walked toward the front desk, a big sprawling wooden thing carved with loops and filigree that looked wide enough to park a carriage on (my brain was thinking in Victorian pictures at this point—the hotel did that to you), much too wide for what I assumed was the guest book, the old leather thing cracked open to two empty cream pages. The antique brass bell on the counter made a tinny ding! when Gwen pressed her palm to it, and the sound carried down the hallway, around the corner…maybe it went on forever.
Two massive corridors, big enough to drive a couple of semis down at the same time, stretched away to our left and to our right. But right to the side of the old oaken desk rose a stairway. I guess I’d been expecting something impressive, something Queen Victoria would have walked down. But this staircase was actually not like the corridors at all, not like the impressive desk or the rising cathedral ceilings around us. The staircase was a tall, spindly thing, much too steep and wide, but also as steep as a cliff face. It didn’t look like steps, but rather like a ladder had been propped against one of the walls. I stared up it in shock, the dark wood contrasting with the red of the carpeting on the steps. It looked like a tongue.
“We don’t usually use that staircase,” said Gwen, wrinkling her nose as she followed my gaze. When she caught my expression she chuckled a little and waggled her fingers at me, eyes wide. “They say a couple of people have fallen to their deaths on that staircase! We call it the Widowmaker.”
“Great,” I muttered, setting the su
itcase down beside my foot, shivering a little.
There were paintings on the walls here, old paintings that I realized—a little shocked—were originals. I wandered over to the closest one. It was of a naked woman, lounging on a rock, her back to the viewer, her face in profile as she turned, gazing to the left. She had long, straight blonde hair, a full mouth and flashing blue eyes, and she was smiling, amused, as she gazed regally at a big black cat that reminded me of a lion more than a panther as it crouched along the edge of the painting. But it wasn’t the cat that the viewer’s eyes were drawn to. It was the woman. She looked regal, powerful, and I felt the skin on my arms begin a shiver. I liked the painting very much, but it reminded me of something. It reminded me of…
“Earth to Rose, come in Rose!” Gwen joked, touching my arm lightly. “It says on the sheet here that I’m supposed to cover the front desk tonight so…I guess I’ll show you to your room, and then I’ve got duty!”
“So no one was covering the front desk?” I said, bewildered, blinking and staring back at the big oaken desk, utterly empty. “That doesn’t make any sense. What if someone came in?”
“Oh, no one really comes to Eternal Cove,” said Gwen, wrinkling her nose. “Come on! This way!”
“A hotel that no one visits. So bizarre,” I muttered, hefting up my suitcase again and turning to follow her down the broad hallway, the unnerving red and black checkerboard pattern of the floor continuing on under my feet. I paused as I passed the painting again, my gaze lingering on the woman’s commanding presence, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and back, the way her smile curved. It was a courageous smile. She wasn’t afraid of that beast. Strangely, I got the feeling that it’s almost as if she’d summoned it to her.
“Rose!”
“I’m coming…” I said, and then I was, trotting down the hallway at a brisk clip, and around the corner, following Gwen. The skin on my arms pricked as I continued along the curve of the hall, as the paintings, all with little lamps overhead like you’d see in a private gallery, lit and showcasing the works of art in their full glory, continued on and on, all different subjects and artistic styles and time periods.
Meeting Eternity (The Sullivan Vampires, Volume 1 Page 2