by Elise Faber
“You see a metal door? Metal?”
She knocks on it. I hear the distinct sound of wood.
“See? Metal.”
“You’ve completely lost your mind.” I try to laugh it off, though I’m really not laughing. Not at all.
Jodi stares at me with the most serious expression I believe I’ve ever seen.
Oh good Lord.
Very slowly, the sides of her lips curl up, and she smirks at me.
“You lying bitch.” I shake my head and can’t hold in my very honest chuckle.
“Had you going though, didn’t I, grumpy?” She knocks on the door. “Wow, can you believe how thick this door is? Really high-grade wood.”
“I hate you.”
“I know you do.” She smacks me playfully on my shoulder and turns the key.
I have a feeling, a very bad feeling that this night won’t go as I have planned. Not that I’ve really planned anything. Not entirely.
I’m not the praying type. I haven’t been since I lost her. I do take a second before I step over the threshold to say a silent, Please, God. Please keep Jodi safe. Please keep me safe. Please let us find Jessica.
Please don’t let us find her.
Because if the stories are true, then what we are going to find inside isn’t my wife. It’s something I don’t want to know about, something I don’t want to think about.
Every guy wants to think of his dead wife as an angel in heaven, not a vengeful, murderous spirit on earth.
Room 614 — I never made it in the first time.
I step inside. Five years too late.
CHAPTER THREE
Never Piss Off Your Dead Wife… and Other Valuable Life Lessons
The hotel room isn’t like I imagined it would be. It definitely isn’t like I remember the brochure Jessica showed me. I could swear it is supposed to have white walls with cream-colored bedding and red pillow accents that matched the floor-to-ceiling curtains.
This room… well, I guess they’ve remodeled — or I’m seeing what I want to see, though I’m not sure who would want to see this.
Gray.
That’s about the only word I can use to describe it. Gray. Gray and dull and just — dull. The walls are a gunmetal color, making the room feel so cold. The comforters are an even darker color of gray, almost black — charcoal, I guess is the name the kids use nowadays. The floor is a light gray carpet. The curtains are the same color as the bedspread. Dull… dull… dull…
“Is this the crypt-keeper’s permanent abode?”
“Funny,” Jodi deadpans.
She throws her bag down on the bed and scans the room like it is any other case. To her, it is. To me, this is my life. Even if we don’t find Jessica, and I pray to God we don’t, I was still supposed to meet her here. The Toujours Hotel — 10:00 p.m. Or whenever, if the plane was late coming in.
I never made it to the hotel.
Neither did she.
“So, first things first. Let’s get some base readings. Attacks don’t start until after ten, so we have a few hours to kill — sorry, hunter joke.” She smiles at me with that infectious grin, but it quickly fades. I guess she sees how hard this is on me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. Look, I know this is difficult. I’m just not used to hunting with a civilian.”
“You mean hunting with bait,” I amend for her. That’s all I am to her. Bait. All any of this has ever been.
“Believe me, if you were just bait, I’d have picked up any ole guy on the street. She doesn’t seem too picky when it comes to her victims. What I need to do is stop her from hurting anybody else. Jessica Jenkins needs to be stopped and stopped tonight.”
“Don’t say that.” The words barely come out above a whisper. I flinch at how vulnerable I sound. I don’t want to sound like this. I want to be all brave and with a devil-may-care attitude. Honestly, I don’t want Jodi to think I believe her. I clear my throat and bite my lip to force myself to focus. I didn’t think it would affect me like it has. I never thought I’d actually believe it. “Don’t say that Jessica’s here. You don’t know she is.”
“Will…”
“No, you don’t know for sure. You haven’t seen her. Nobody has.”
“I’ve talked to eye witnesses.”
“You talked to people who saw a Woman in White with long blond hair. Hell, that could be anybody. That is every other Woman in White story in the world.”
“Actually…” Jodi has a tone that tells me I’m more than likely about to be schooled. After all, what can a former lawyer possibly know about ghosts? “…a Woman in White is a ghost on the side of the road who gets men to pick her up and drive her home. They don’t usually haunt hotel rooms, and most definitely not a hotel room that has never had any other deaths in it.”
“That you know of.”
She huffs at me.
“Jodi, think about it. Some dude could have killed some girl up here and packed her in a bag and lugged her to kingdom come, for all we know. And, I’m not saying I even think there is a ghost here, but IF there was, it wouldn’t be Jessica. I know that for a fact.”
“Then why are you here?” Her hands are very firmly on her hips.
“I was bored.”
“Get a hobby.”
“Jodi.”
“Will.”
This is getting us nowhere.
“Fine…” She pulls out some sort of device from her pocket and turns it on. It is the size of a cellphone with lights on top. The lights, at the moment, are green. I have no idea if that is a good color or a bad color. She sees me staring at her hand. “Green is clean. Red is dead.”
“Easy enough to remember.” I gulp hard. I’ve watched ghost-hunter programs on TV before. I always thought it was hocus pocus and camera tricks for better ratings. And here I am, part of one. Life is funny. Life is weird.
Life sucks.
The doohickey in her hand beeps, and she turns her back to me.
“Uh… you can start unpacking my bag. Inside is some salt. Most of the time, people use it to repel spirits, but we are going to use it to trap one.”
“How? It’s salt. Why not just throw pork rinds around the windows and doors and call it a day?”
“Because that would be stupid,” she bites back.
At least it is fun to banter with her. If I’m going to be stuck in a hotel room with a ghost hunter, it might as well be one I can talk to. And one that isn’t bad looking…
Stop.
Just stop.
I can’t think things like that. Not here. Especially not now.
Besides, Jodi is at least ten years younger than I. She wouldn’t even give me a sideways glance. Except… no, it’s nothing. That look I saw — or thought I saw — her giving me on the drive up to the hotel was nothing. Just her looking at me. Probably trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.
I can tell her exactly what’s wrong with me. I died the same day my wife did. Not physically, of course. I’m not a ghost or poltergeist — or whatever the things are that haunt people. I’m very much alive. I’m very much physical. Very much here. My soul, though… my heart died that night.
I didn’t tell this to Jodi. I don’t think it is her right to know since she hunted me down and all, but this was supposed to be my last anniversary. Anniversary of our marriage. Anniversary of Jessica’s death. I’ve lived five years with all of this pain, with all this numbness — which seems like an oxymoron, but it isn’t. I’ve done my part. I lived… but I can’t do it anymore.
I’m not suicidal. I just know my limits.
It is after eight o’clock, and I’ve already lived longer than I ever intended to today. In fact, three weeks ago, when Jodi came knocking on my door, I was cleaning my gun. I had every intention of using it today. I suppose I am suicidal. My wife died at 7:00 p.m. by the coroner’s best guess. So would I. Turns out, I did something even better — I finally made it to the hotel.
“Did you hear me?” Jodi sounds annoyed. Great. So much for my vi
sions of my last night on earth ending with a bang… pun intended.
“Um…” I admit sheepishly. I don’t even have to finish my thought.
She rolls her eyes at me and takes a long, a very long, deep breath. “Can we focus here, Will, please? I know you don’t believe in any of this. And yeah, I know I should have taken you to some other haunted house and let you actually see a ghost before I brought a skeptic like you here because this can be dangerous — and it is even more dangerous doing this with someone who doesn’t believe…” She starts stalking toward me.
No, this isn’t good at all. I would back up, but it seems pointless.
“But there was no time, remember? By the time you decided to actually come here with me, I didn’t have time to properly train you — much less let you see a ghost. So yeah, I know you think this is all stupid and a waste of time or whatever. I get it. You aren’t impressed, but know that this is very real!” She pokes her finger so hard against my chest it takes everything I have not to flinch. Jodi isn’t as big as a peanut, but if looks could kill, I’d be a dead man. “Very. Real. This can get very shady in here, and it can happen really fast. I can’t protect myself if you are going to be all ‘Ahhh, it’s a ghost’ on me. Do you understand?”
She has no idea how much I am starting to believe her. I’m not sure why, either. Just a feeling I don’t want. But it is there. Somewhere deep in my gut. Jodi doesn’t have to know that, though. No sense showing all my cards.
I nod because I’m fairly sure she isn’t going to back up until I do. She pushes her finger harder into my chest, hard enough to push me back a little before she finally backs off. Sweet mother of pearl, I think she’s scared! Why else would she have such a violent reaction? She has every right to be scared, truth be told. From what she’s told me, the thing in Room 614 doesn’t go after the men — unless they are alone, in which case, she does all sorts of unpleasant things, i.e., fulfills every man’s dream. Those men got off lucky.
The women… not so much. I looked it up after Jodi left me all dumbfounded and not sure what to say three weeks ago. At least part of her story had been true. For the last five years, there have been reports of attacks in Room 614. They started out small: some scratches that didn’t cut the skin, pulled hair, a few bruises — nothing major. As time went on, the violence escalated to broken bones, bloody scratches — one woman even got thrown across the room.
Six months ago, the first death happened — a woman by the name of Anna Kemp. Anna went by the name Angel Dust at the local strip club. I know a lot of girls in those places don’t do this, but, Anna, apparently needed the extra money. A man by the name of John Doe brought her to the Hotel Toujours. They ended up in Room 614. Anna was thrown so hard against the wall — and not in the fun and kinky way — that it snapped her neck. The police suspected John, but he claimed a ghost did it.
John Doe is now residing in Shady Brooke Mental Facility. Guess it is better than jail.
I take it Jodi decides that I’ll be a good little soldier. She backs up, turns her attention to her blinking doo-dad, and starts toward the bathroom with it. I decide it is best to do what I’m supposed to do, so I go to her bag on the bed and open it. It feels strange opening the bag of another woman. Especially one I barely know. Still… it isn’t like we are here for a romantic rendezvous. She wants my help sending the ghost of my dead wife to heaven.
A romantic rendezvous sounds better.
I grab the salt and head to the window. This is stupid. Salt… salt? To keep ghosts away or whatever it is Jodi said we were doing with it. Trapping the ghost? Whatever. I open the container, go to the window, and pour a nice thick white line. You know, if it is Jessica, and Jodi does send her to heaven, then maybe I can be there with her tomorrow…
Maybe…
I hate being alone. I hate it more than anything. Just sitting at home, day in and day out, waiting to die. Waiting for something. It never comes, though. It just never comes.
“Nothing.” Jodi comes out of the bathroom and turns her machine off in a huff. She throws it on the bed like it is a worthless piece of homemade machinery — and it might be for all I know. “Not one EMF spike. Not one single thing that says, ‘Hey, this place is haunted.’”
“Maybe it’s not.” I say, ever so helpfully, finishing up my salt-the-window duties. Next comes the door. I bet the maid will love us…
That Jenkins couple and their weird salt fetish.
Jodi glares at me, and I smile my most innocent smile back. “Know it all.”
“Thank you.” I head for the door, which means I have to walk past her. When I do, the scent of strawberries hits me. I hesitate a second and let the aroma fill my nose before it dawns on me how much of a creepy stalker I appear to be, so I move on.
I bend down and start pouring the salt on the floor — the salt that is serving a much higher purpose than the typical table variety. It is protecting us. Keeping us safe. The condiment of all condiments.
Hallelujah.
“Ow!” I jump up and suck on my index finger. It starts burning my throat… ow… ow… OW!
“What?” Jodi runs to me as if I’m on fire. Apparently, I screamed like a two-year-old kid.
“What’s in this stuff anyway?”
“What? The salt? Why, did you get some on you?”
I show her my index finger. The tip is turning an unfortunate shade of black. And I’m pretty sure my throat is on fire.
“Interesting…”
It’s my turn to glare at her.
“I mean… don’t touch the salt. It’s… special.”
“Oh great,” I suck away the pain — that sounds weird — close the lid on the salt, and get up off the floor. I don’t even want to touch the stuff anymore, so I toss it to her.
She catches it as if it’s no big thing. As if she catches horrible, containers of pain and death all the time.
“Are you kidding me? What’s in that?”
“Salt.”
“And…”
“Other things, I guess.”
“You…” Of all the things, I didn’t come all the way here to be poisoned by the very thing I thought was protecting me — us. I mean, if I thought salt could actually, okay, who am I kidding? I might be getting on the non-skeptic bandwagon. Not sure why. It’s not like anything has happened to us here. “…you mean, little…”
“Bitch." She yawns. "I know. What can I say? We need to be safe.”
Again I show her my finger, very much wanting to give her the middle-finger salute while I’m at it. Instead, she shrugs and turns back to the bag to dig through and find more torture things for me, no doubt. I decide it best to go into the bathroom, drink some cold water, and run some on my finger. Get the chemical rinsed away before it eats off my entire hand.
I shut the bathroom door and lean against it. This was probably a bad idea.
The bathroom is colored like the rest of the room, gray. Everything is gray. Who decided it was a good idea to make the entire room gray? Is it to set the mood? Paint the haunted room gray? Add to the mystery?
I hate it.
It needs some color. It is depressing, and that is saying a lot coming from the suicidal — I admit it — guy. If I’m wanting the room to have some color, you know it’s bad.
It’s bad.
I turn on the water and hang on to the sides of the sink, just to get my composure for a few seconds. This isn’t easy. I guess Jodi never said it would be, but still. After a few seconds of my heart nearly beating out of my chest, I open my eyes and stare.
My finger is better. No burns. No bruise. No sign that I’d ever been attacked by the salt poison.
Weird.
And my throat doesn’t hate me anymore. I’m definitely not complaining about that.
I run my finger under the water anyway, just to be sure, and turn off the faucet. I avoid the mirror over the sink. I’m fairly sure I look like death-warmed-over, and I in no way want to see myself like that. I tried to pull it together
for this trip with Jodi. I wonder if I succeeded.
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I look. Not bad, I have to say. A shave and a new haircut make me look as young as I did way back when Jessica and I were first married — not that we were married that long before…
I have to smile because it is nice to look like that man again. It’s even nice to feel like that man again, if only a little bit.
“You alright in there?” Jodi knocks on my door.
“Getting spooked already?” I tease. It’s nice to tease… maybe not nice, but it feels nice.
“Whatever. Excuse me for caring enough to ask.”
I smile. Jessica used to say that to me too.
CHAPTER FOUR
Death takes a Holiday — A Guide to the After Afterlife
Jodi is quiet.
We are lying on the bed as any couple would — because that is the ghost’s M.O. A couple together. Ghost — or whatever — goes after the girl. Boy goes away scot-free. Doesn’t seem fair, does it? Anyway, it is an hour before Ghosty is supposed to arrive and beat the tar out of Jodi, but we go ahead and decide to get in position, just in case she’s watching. It would look weird if we didn’t actually pretend to be a couple — pretend to actually like each other, a little.
Truth is, from what I see in Jodi, I like her. It’s not only because she is gorgeous. She is. She really is. I’ve always been partial to blondes. Jessica is a blonde. And Jodi has big blue eyes, just like Jessica. Maybe that’s why I let her talk me into this. She reminds me so much of Jessica. Not enough to make me think Jodi is Jessica. That would be insane.
I’m totally and completely sane… as I lie here in the room where people have died and am chasing the thing that killed them.
Yup. Totally. Totally sane.
Jodi is tougher than Jessica, though. She has a tough edge to her as if she’s seen a lot in her short life. I bet in this line of work she has. I’m curious, but I don’t really want to ask. If I ask, then she might take it to mean that I’m curious. If she knows I’m curious, then she might think I believe her. We can’t have that.