Frost

by Elise Faber

  Happily, the girl flicked the photo album to another picture. This time of me and Polly when she was eighteen. Betty had taken the photo of us at Ellis Island when we visited the Statue of Liberty.

  So many pictures. So many memories.

  Not far from us, I could hear Polly and her husband talking to a few of our visitors who wanted to pay their respect to me when my pesky doctors announced that it was time.

  So many people came. Family and friends of my previous visitors, as well as the staff from Wish Upon a Genie Foundation had all arrived. Being an honorary founder of the charity company did have its perks. Betty had founded the company in my honor long before they found me looking lost and broken, trying to find Floriza’s hotel many, many years ago. Almost all the people involved with the company came to see me.

  They held a gathering for me the day before. I even got to eat a bowl of gumbo, despite Polly’s protests that it was too spicy for me. Betty, who I long considered my sister, gave me a salute from her wheelchair. Her dark, withered skin and intelligent eyes told me her time was coming soon, something we both kept to ourselves lest we add silver to Polly’s hair.

  Together, we had raised Polly into this wonderful woman she turned out to be. I was proud to be called her “uncle” and to have been included into their little family, which had grown to her own kids and her grandchildren.

  Turning my hands over, I marveled at their gnarled appearance. They don’t hurt anymore. Arthritis, huh. Old age caught up with me finally. As well as a few other illnesses I had managed to escape during my younger years. Now, my body had decided it was time to rest.

  Closing my eyes, I smiled and welcomed the darkness.

  “Ambroise.”

  I knew that voice. I’ve been waiting to hear her again for a lifetime. With a happy smile, I opened my eyes and saw my heart waiting for me.

  “Michele.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to send all my love to the following people: Michele Jade Perry, Donna Moore, Millie Clarke, Lucie Curtis, Diane Brown, Louise Francomb, Alison Mackmin, Becky Morton, Rachel Cole, Chris Bryant and my main man, David Ashman.

  To my awesome book besties: Linda Oaks, Jillian Jenkins, Britanny Shivers, Keri Monkman, Amy Barber, Michelle Naquin, Sara Meadows, and the amazing Jill Sava.

  To all my family and friends, thank you for all you love and support.

  To the three men in my life: My loving husband, Henry and our two wonderful boys Kyle and Jaden. This is for you, guys. I love you so much.

  THE THINGS WE LEAVE BEHIND

  by Kelly Martin

  To my "nerd" team. I love you guys!

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the Beginning

  “May I help you?” a man with the name Higgins stamped on his gold-plated nametag, asks from behind the counter of the world-renown Toujours Hotel. It is one of those places that you are pretty sure has seen its fair share of history, a few ghosts and, since we are in New Orleans, maybe even a vampire or two. Honestly, I don’t believe in any of that. The woman I’m with, she does. She’s the one who dragged me here. She says it is a matter of life or death. I think she’s insane.

  What she thinks is happening, can’t happen. And she’s crazy for even thinking it can.

  Then again, I’m here with her, so I must be as insane as she is. I let her talk me into coming. I guess I want it to be true, even if I don’t believe it. There is a part of me, a very small-but-still-there part, that wants it to be true.

  If it’s true, I can talk to her.

  If I can talk to her, then maybe I can change things. I can make things right.

  Maybe.

  But it is a long shot.

  I don’t believe it. Not really.

  “Room 614, please. We have reservations.” My companion answers for me when I don’t. She’s got a plastic smile plastered on her face. Her big blue eyes are shining just like her long blond hair, not that I notice things like that anymore. Or I shouldn’t, at least.

  Higgins looks up from his computer. His eyes widen slightly for a moment before lowering back into that same pensive look he had when we walked in. “Room 614. Hmm… I believe I can find you another room in our hotel that would better suit your needs. Upgrade even…” He glances at Jodi. Just a quick look. Nothing that should catch my attention. But it does. I'm not sure why. The look lasts for only a moment before he clears his throat and starts tapping on the computer keys.

  My companion, Jodi, stops him with her sweet smile. Sugar and spice. That’s how she got me here too. I dare any man — heck, anybody — to not give Jodi Granger what she wants in life. Too bad what she wants isn’t something any sane man would give. Luckily for her, I’m not sane. Not anymore.

  “Thank you, Mr…”

  “Higgins.”

  “Mr. Higgins.” She bats her eyelashes.

  I swear Higgins holds in a breath. I know I do. It’s been a while.

  Focus.

  “Mr. Higgins, I assure you, my husband Will and I want Room 614. We asked for it when we made our reservations. It was available then. Has something… happened since then?”

  Jodi Granger. Always the detective. Always asking questions to get details, even when she didn’t have to. I daresay the receptionist at the hotel has no idea about what’s going on up on the sixth floor. The cleaning staff? Yeah, maybe. Then again, ole Higgins did give us that look when we told him about Room 614, so maybe — maybe he does know. And maybe he is wanting us to change rooms to keep us safe.

  I can’t believe I let her talk me into this. A weak moment. Our anniversary. And too many episodes of Ghost Hunters is all I can figure out as to why I even agreed. That and her big, blue eyes. I’ve always been partial to blondes. Sort of how I got in this mess anyway.

  Mr. Higgins clears his throat and forces a smile. “Of course not. Nothing at all. I just thought since we have nicer rooms available that you would like to upgrade. Nothing more.”

  “For a fee.” Jodi tilts her head and smirks wickedly. How a woman can flirt and interrogate and slightly accuse someone of doing something bad at the same time is beyond me. I don’t understand men — and I am one. I guess I don’t understand people.

  “No. Not for a fee. As a favor. Please. That room is under… renovations.”

  “Bull.” Even I flinch when Jodi says it. Sassy broad. I like it.

  Higgins looks at me for some sort of help. I guess he figures I can talk the missus into staying in another room. What ole Higgins doesn’t know is that Jodi isn’t the missus, and if I could talk her into anything, we wouldn’t be here right now. My life has sure gone in the crapper in the last weeks since she found me. Not that it was that good beforehand. Hasn’t been for about five years. I just shrug at him and make a she’s crazy sign with my finger, so she can’t see it of course.

  Jodi crosses her arms and gives him the look that has sterilized a thousand men.

  Finally, Higgins sighs and his shoulders slump. Jodi has won. I could have told him not to waste his time arguing, but it was sort of fun to watch him try. Many men throughout the years have probably tried, and they have probably all failed miserably. Jodi can’t be over twenty-five, but wow… is she something else.

  He clicks the keys of his computer a little bit harder than needed. Jodi glances up at me and winks. Oh yeah, she knows she’s good.

  Higgins turns toward the wall of keys behind him. It reminds me of an old-fashioned hotel system. Boxes with key numbers on them. Keys lying inside at the end of longish chains with the room number on them. I’ve heard that everybody who enters Hotel Toujours sees things a bit differently. It is part of the charm. Or voodoo or magic or whatever it is. I don’t know. I don’t care. I wonder if Jodi sees the same thing I see, or if it is different. I’ll ask her later if I think about it. We are here on business, after all. Well, she’s here on business. I’m here out of curiosity. Curiosity and her big blue eyes.

  Sweat beads on my brow, even though it is a bit cold in here. Christ
mas Eve is pretty darn cold in NOLA, though not as cold as home in Tennessee. The lobby is filled with Christmas trees and unopened presents, probably empty boxes. The fire in the fireplace is roaring. Cinnamon is the smell of the evening. I consider Hotel Toujours homey with its warm, wood-paneled walls, hardwood floors, and dim lighting. A mountain-cabin feel right in the heart of New Orleans. I like it. It makes me feel peaceful, comfortable. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time. Then again, maybe it is just how I see it. I want it to be nice, so it is. I want it to be calming, so it is. I want it to remind me of her, so it does.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  It’s been too long.

  But here I am.

  Higgins hands me the key. His eyes are cold and stern. I think he’s trying to send me a message through brainwaves. I hate to tell him, but it ain’t working. I know about Room 614. I know about the attacks and the deaths. I know about the evil in there. I know it all, so no amount of glaring at me will make a difference. I know what I’m getting myself into.

  That’s a total lie. I’m sure if I knew exactly, down to the very last detail of what is waiting for me up in Room 614, I’d run the other direction. I’d leave Jodi and just hightail it to the nearest Motel 6. Seems the smartest option. After all, who would knowingly do what we are about to do? I’ll tell you who. Crazy people.

  Jodi said she did this kind of thing all the time.

  Like I said, crazy people.

  “Thank you.” I flash every tooth I have at Mr. Higgins to let him know that we are in this for the long haul — or at least for the overnight. I do appreciate his worry, but it isn’t necessary. The things Jodi told me about the room, I mean, they can’t be real, right?

  “Don’t thank me.” He seems melancholy. “You should have taken me up on my offer. Or just stayed home. It would have been more humane.” With that, he glares at Jodi.

  Okay…

  The way he says it, the way he looks at me, the smile fades from my lips, and cold chills run up my spine. It is one thing to imagine how something is going to be. It is quite another to see the fear in someone else’s eyes. The Hotel Toujours has a reputation for paranormal activity. It is why lots of people visit. I’ve heard people have experiences with Jinn granting wishes, ghosts, and other things I don’t believe in. She believes in them.

  Hotel Toujours isn’t my ideal place for a vacation or even an overnight ghost hunt, but I’d follow that blonde anywhere.

  Even to hell and back.

  “Never been accused of being a smart man,” I kid back as I pick up my bag.

  Jodi grabs hers, and we head toward the elevator.

  “No… no, you aren’t.” I hear Higgins grumble behind me.

  I ignore him and push the up button on the elevator. I look at Jodi. She doesn’t look at me. We both know what we are in for tonight, or what Jodi hopes will happen. Personally, I don’t know what I want to happen. I need closure, but is this really the best way? No, I can answer that right now. No, it isn’t. Still… Jodi says it’s the only way. I have to go with her, or more people will die. I can’t have that on my head. I already have too much guilt as it is.

  The elevator door opens. Jodi and I step inside. It is nice. Wood. Lots of wood, just like in the hotel lobby. I push the button for the 6th floor, the top level on this particular elevator.

  “Some people have seen up to floor one hundred,” Jodi whispers in my ear, or rather my elbow, since she is short, and I’m on the tall side of life.

  “Impossible.” I’m not convinced though. If I’m going along with this, then it means at least part of me believes in — something.

  “You’ll see.” Jodi sounds so confident. Good for her. She’s not going to have to experience the same thing I am. She can’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t even know what I’m feeling.

  The elevator door slides closed, and Higgins’ gaze catches mine. I have just enough time to see him make the sign of the cross on his chest.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Just a Little Bit of Hocus Pocus

  The elevator opens on the sixth floor. I would be a liar if I didn’t admit to my heart being in my throat. The entire ride up there, I was thinking about some of the stories Jodi told me about this room. I don’t think it is a very good idea to go in there. Not doing what we are planning on doing. Seems a bit reckless. I don’t like reckless. I’m the total opposite of reckless.

  The sixth floor looks a lot like the elevator and the lobby. Lots… and lots… of wood. Polished paneling is on the walls. Gray and green carpet on the floor. Brass sconces with dim fake candles light the corridor. It looks… inviting.

  “Why would anybody stay here?” I pick up my bag and try to make my feet move forward when everything I have wants to make the door shut, go back down, and never think of the Hotel Toujours ever again.

  “Probably a few like us with jobs to do.” Jodi is even hesitating herself. And she’s the professional. This doesn’t make me feel any more confident. “Probably some who just want to get a scare. Some who stumble upon it and don’t know what sort of a hotel it is.”

  “I think it is just a regular hotel with a creepy publicist. They probably pipe in the crazy drugs to make people think they are seeing things and then help pass along the weirdo stories on social media. Bam, a haunted hotel…”

  “That will give you whatever you ask for,” she adds.

  I think that’s her favorite part of the lore she told me. It has occurred to me on a few occasions that maybe Jodi wants more from the hotel than to keep a few people from being hurt or dying by the evil in Room 614. I think this is more than her job. I can’t think about it, though, because whatever is Jodi’s deal is her deal. I’m here for one reason and one reason only.

  We walk down the corridor. She has a confident posture about her. Like it’s any other day at work. Like what we are about to do isn’t the creepiest, scariest crap that has ever happened on God’s green earth. I wonder how many of these things she’s fought in her short life, and why she started fighting them in the first place. Why is it her job to take care of all the creepy crawlies?

  Then again, thinking like that is a dangerous road. If I keep going down it, I’ll eventually start believing it myself. I’m not here because I believe it. How many times do I have to tell myself that? I’m not here because I believe it. I’m here because she asked me to come. I’m here to hopefully help. I’m here… I’m here because what else do I have to do? Nobody ever shows up on the town drunk’s doorstep and asks him to be a part of an adventure — ever. They never show up, and their first words are “I need your help.” So when it does happen, you take it as a miracle, and you run with it.

  Even if you don’t believe it.

  Because you have to.

  Because you need something to live for.

  It’s been a long five years.

  I need a drink. It’s been over twelve hours and I… need…a… drink.

  Of course, adding alcohol to the mix in all this would probably be a bad idea. No telling what sort of craziness the hotel drugs would make me see then. So yeah, I need alcohol like I need a hole in the head.

  The corridor seems to go on forever. You’d think Room 614 wouldn’t be that terribly far down. I swear we’ve passed the same light fixture fifty times. Then again, they are all the same design, so how would I know?

  Jodi jiggles the key in her fingers and mumbles the numbers as we pass. “Room 611… 612… 613…”

  She stops.

  I stop.

  There it is. Room 614. I don’t know what I thought it would look like. The gates of hell, maybe, by the way Jodi described it. Funny how I agreed to go with her after her very detailed description, but I did. Some would call me suicidal. I call myself not caring if I lived or died. There is a difference. I’m not going to jump off a bridge, but if a bridge pushed me off… well, I wouldn’t fight it.

  I do keep a loaded gun next to the chair in my living room — just in case one day I decide I don’t
need to be pushed.

  But I’m not suicidal.

  Not at all…

  This door, though. It’s just a door. A typical, ordinary, everyday door. It’s dark wood like everything else in this hotel. Looks sturdy, like it was made to last. That’s what I like about this hotel. Besides the crazy stories and nutty whackjobs who actually believe this place is cursed, or whatever they believe, it is actually beautiful. Built sturdy. Built to last.

  “Piece-of-crap door.” Jodi says as she puts the key in the lock.

  “I don’t know your definition of ‘piece of crap,’ but it’s not that door. I think it would withstand anything.”

  Jodi’s brow arches very high, very slowly. “This door? This… this door?”

  “You see any other doors around?” A little too sassy probably? Can’t say I care at the moment.

  “It’s a piece-of-crap metal door. How could you think it’s sturdy?”

  I start to open my mouth to say something then snap it shut. So it’s true? The hotel does appear differently to different people? At the same time? No, no. That can’t be true. Things are things. People see something, and that’s what it is. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Then again, I recall something about a dress on the Internet that some people saw as blue and black — and some saw as white and gold. Same picture. Same dress. People saw different things based on their — well, I thought based on their level of color blindness. The dress was white and gold. Simple. Easy. Those were the colors on the screen. That was the color of the dress.

  End of story.

  Except, I think I read somewhere that the actual dress was blue and black which makes no sense. How can two people see the same thing as different? Sort of makes the whole judicial system a little more screwed up, doesn’t it? I’m a lawyer. Or, I was a lawyer. Nothing is as black and white as I always thought it was.