She wanted to lie down. If you lie down in a snowdrift and fall asleep, you won’t even realize you’re dying. Maybe it’s better just to fall asleep. Who would miss her?
The noise of the traffic beckoned. She had reached Twenty-third. Cars streamed by with their headlights glaring, searching her face like massive eyes. She hid herself behind her shaking hands. She could smell the soot on her fingers. And there it was again, the blinding light of the explosion. Alexis felt frozen with fear. She struggled to regain her stride.
If she walked to the Montlake Bridge, she could catch the #43. She could see people waiting at the bus stop. She would go and wait with them.
As she approached, she could hear someone singing. A woman waited with a guide dog. She was wearing an orange rain jacket and singing. “Heaven, I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.” Alexis looked at her and felt an overwhelming need to talk to somebody. The woman wouldn’t judge her. When the bus came, she sat in the front, next to this woman and close to the bus driver, but she didn’t say a word.
She’d left something behind. The trinket from the fair, a small medallion with both of their names pressed upon it. Worth almost nothing, and now worth everything. She reached into her pocket, in case it had magically claimed her. Nothing.
It was still in his hand. The evidence of her knowing him was in his hand. The police would find it when they found him. She was the last person who had seen him. And they would come looking for her.
She had to protect herself. Whatever LJ was doing wasn’t good. He’d always made her nervous, but he’d never really scared her before. She was desperate to see him alive again.
The bus passed a man standing in the rain talking to himself. It could have been LJ. One more step, and he could have been that man on the corner talking to himself. Not too long ago, the police had killed such a man—a man who was drunk and carrying a knife. A danger to himself and others. LJ.
The bus had turned the corner and was rolling down the hill to Nineteeth. It came to a screeching halt at the tennis courts. They were soaked, with puddles gathering near the nets. The tall streetlamps bathed them in a surreal light.
Alexis needed air. She rose abruptly from her seat and hurried down the steps, away from the prying eyes. The wind had picked up, and the rain hit her back at an angle. She bent her head and hunched her shoulders.
It was a little more than a mile to the Angeline. What would she do when she got there? Maybe Mr. Kenji will find me. I’ll tell him what happened. He’ll keep my secrets like he kept the violin. And Edith. I’ll wake Edith up and tell her what happened.
She walked toward the Safeway on Fifteenth. She was aware of being hungry. The dinner at the Sorrento seemed as if it had taken place days before. If she slipped into the supermarket, maybe she could grab something warm. No, someone would see her, someone she knew from the hotel. She kept walking.
Something told her to take the back streets, so she headed south on Seventeenth. She could see the hospital complex and the Christian Science Church. She moved like a cat, ducking in and out of doorways to get out of the rain.
That’s when she saw them—Linda and their friends from Garfield, turning onto Pine in a sleek black VW Bug. They were on their way to the midnight showing of The Exorcist at the Egyptian. She was supposed to have been with them. No wonder Linda hadn’t been home earlier. Alexis couldn’t believe she had completely forgotten, but Linda had asked her to come to the movie two weeks ago—before all her problems began. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now her life was like a horror flick. Nothing Hollywood could dream up could compare with what she had lived through in the past few weeks. For some reason, when she saw Linda, shame washed over her. Would Linda want her now?
Sometimes, in class at Garfield, she would listen to stories of classmates who had seen relatives die in front of them or descriptions of parents lost to drugs. She always felt sorrow when she heard such stories, but she also felt At least . . . At least, I have a secure place to live . . . a mother who loves me . . . at least, I have a huge adoptive family . . . we keep each other going . . . at least.
She wanted to run after Linda’s car. She wanted to pull her girlfriend away from the others and tell her they needed to run away, somewhere far from Seattle, somewhere far from the reach of parents and ghosts.
Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe she had imagined it. Linda. The explosion. Edith. The hotel. LJ. This night.
But here she was at the Hotel Angeline. Its sad Victorian face was sullied by tears. Ursula would be complaining about the leaks. Alexis went around back to the basement door. She didn’t want to run into any of the residents.
She needed to get to LJ’s room. Something in his room would help her make sense of it all. She could hear the sounds of the television coming from the parlor. Law & Order: Criminal Intent.
She climbed the stairs and rounded the corner. Several residents were sitting in front of the TV. Mr. Kenji wasn’t there. She headed for the stairs that would lead her to LJ’s room. Just then, the announcer’s voice stopped her cold.
“Breaking news on the Fremont Inferno: Seattle Police have discovered evidence of a terrorist bomb-making lab in the abandoned warehouse where a chemical fire has been raging for the past hour. KGNU-TV will bring you updates as they develop.”
She was aware of feeling hot. Just then, Habib appeared by the window with a pretzel in his beak. She gasped. Ursula called from the parlor, “Is that you, baby doll?”
She hurried up the stairs, noticing that the skylight was open a crack and that rainwater had pooled on the floor. So, that was Habib was getting in and out. Alexis wondered if LJ had opened the skylight on purpose before he left, to give the crow its freedom. She fished in her shirt for her passkey and used it to open LJ’s door. The flowers were still fresh, everything laid out neatly like the whole place was waiting for him. What was she looking for? Something that would give her an idea of who he really was. Some evidence, some opening.
She searched his desk. His mechanical pens were lined up in a carved wooden box from India. The side drawers held papers and newspaper clippings. In the top drawer were several neatly labeled discs.
One of them read ALEXIS: LISTEN.
CHAPTER 14
SUZANNE SELFORS
ON THE QUIET BIRCH-LINED STREET, something sparkles, gliding between raindrops. Night has descended. The familiar and soothing rhythm of rain beats against the windows and rooftops of the Capitol Hill neighborhood. Sleep has enticed most into its depths. But not the girl who sits at the edge of a bed, shivering.
And not the shape, which lingers outside the Hotel Angeline, hanging in the mist like a whisper.
Why am I here?
Thoughts are scattered, difficult to grasp. The shape pulls its edges closer. Awareness gathers.
I am Edith.
And then she remembers. This is her hotel. Angeline. Named after the eldest daughter of Chief Sealth. She remembers the story of the daughter who refused to leave her land at the edge of the sea. Of the princess who chose a shack and a life as a laundress rather than a life on the reservation. Poverty and isolation became Angeline’s roommates, but she worked hard, supported herself, and kept her home.
Just as I have done, Edith thinks. I worked hard, supported myself, and this is my home. Her thoughts drift again, as hazy as her formless body. She looks down. What body? Where is my body? Panic surges and she twists and writhes, trying to find what is lost. Where is my body? It hadn’t been a perfect body. She’d always regretted her soft thighs and her wide feet. But an imperfect body is better than no body at all. She looks back at the building. A deep longing to be reunited with her physical self draws her forward. She moves, a mere essence, finding her way through the cellar doors and into the basement. City light follows, trickling after her like mercury. The light points with silvery fingers at the center of the room, where a plain dark coffin sits, a stool next to it. Is this the reason she’s been su
mmoned to this place? She circles, then dives through the lid. A corpse’s face greets her, eyes closed, skin pale despite the heavy makeup. She shoots out of the lid and hovers below the ceiling.
My name is Edith and I’m dead.
A sudden rush of indignation hits her. Why had they stuck her in the plain coffin? Why not the fancy one in the corner, with its glossy veneer and red-satin lining? And why had no one given her a funeral? Maybe her life hadn’t been the most exciting on the planet, but it deserved some sort of ceremony. Stories are supposed to be told, prayers said. A priest, a rabbi, a shaman, a ferryman to take her across the river. Something, for God’s sake. Not stuck in the basement!
Edith sweeps through the room, a tornado of emotion. Where was the gratitude for all that she’d done? She’d kept the place spotless. She’d treated her tenants like family, letting them be late with the rent, listening to their tragic histories, holding their aged hands. She’d brought tradition to their weary lives with afternoon tea. These people are family, she’d often said. Treat them with love and respect. How many times had she spoken those words? She’d opened her home and her heart and they weren’t even going to give her the satisfaction of a funeral.
Stashed away in a coffin in the basement. Only one person could have come up with such a stupid idea.
Lynn, she thinks, hovering over her tomb. You’re behind this. You and your crazy ideas.
And to think she’d slept with him all those times, sneaking between bedrooms after the other tenants had turned off their lights. Whispering secret longings, secret regrets.
He was handsome in those days. His rebellious nature charming. But the years gradually soured him and paranoia scarred his features. Initially, she’d felt that motherly instinct to care for yet another lost soul, but when Lynn began to see conspiracy at every corner, when his whispers turned delusional, her desire for him died. She had more important things to focus on anyway.
She turns and looks toward the stairs. Something pulls at her, urges her forward. Someone is whispering her name.
Up the stairs she moves, without footsteps, to the second floor. A crow sits on the banister. It cocks its head and looks directly at her. You see me, she thinks. It clicks its beak. They are alone on this floor, the scent of sherry in the air. The others have gone to bed—the woman with the peg leg, the Greenpeace warrior, the snake charmer. Where is the girl? she asks the crow. Where is my daughter?
The crow takes flight and disappears up the stairs. She follows, up one flight, then the other, until she comes to the fourth-floor landing. The voice calls for her again and she flies into the room. There is pain in this room, sorrow as thick as the night. A girl sits at the edge of a bed, which has been stripped of its sheets and blankets.
“Mom,” the girl whispers, wringing her hands—a gesture much too old for one so young. Her shoulders are hunched and she is shivering. Her hair is a new color. Curly locks fall over her eyes. Though it’s night, she hasn’t changed into her pajamas. Hasn’t brushed her hair or teeth, all those rituals she’d been taught. A silver blouse clings to her skinny frame, a rain-soaked skirt of blue feathers is matted against her legs. Why is she dressed this way?
Alexis, I’m here. But the words have no sound and the girl continues wringing her hands.
Edith floats above the bed. No one has bothered to make it. The striped ticking of the mattress is stained from sweat and sickness. This is where my life ended. The memories wash through her.
She’d refused to see a doctor. When the symptoms began—the sweating, the aches, the pain in her gums and tongue—it was easy to tell herself that it was a bout of flu. She’d been sick off and on for years with assorted ailments. She’d been called a hypochondriac, and maybe there was some truth to that. So when the new illness came on, she’d decided to deal with it on her own. Why visit a doctor just to be told it was all in her head? Why add a doctor’s bill to the pile of unpaid bills that already littered her desk?
By the time she began to lose her balance and the tremors took over, the mercury had already poisoned her brain. The heavy metal had invaded her nervous system, every organ, every cell. She should have gone straight to the hospital, she should have asked for help, but her brain was muddled, starved of oxygen.
Lynn should have known. He should have taken her. But doctors were part of the system, part of the Establishment he distrusted. His own brain was as warped as her mercury-poisoned brain, from a lifetime of chemicals he’d chosen to ingest. So instead of doing the right thing, the rational thing, he’d carried her body to the basement.
Edith screams, a silent gust that shoots around the walls.
“Mom.”
The whisper draws Edith back to the moment, the reason she’s been summoned to this place. She settles on the bed next to her daughter.
I’m here. Alexis, I’m here.
Edith wants to hug her with arms that no longer exist, arms that are imprisoned in a plain coffin in the basement. I know you’re afraid.
“I don’t know what to do,” Alexis says. As she speaks, she stares at the crow that now stands across from her on the dresser. “We’re going to lose the hotel.”
The crow offers no words of advice. It gazes upon Edith with its black bead eyes. Tell Alexis that I’m here, Edith says to the crow. But it turns its attention to its once-broken wing, grooming the feathers. Time is running out. Edith feels herself evaporating like a puddle in the sun. But she isn’t ready to leave. She must help her daughter. The Hotel Angeline was supposed to shelter both of them. Edith had done everything humanly possible to hold on to the hotel, but it wasn’t worth this terrible price. If only she’d realized that and acted sooner, been able to prevent this. Instead she’d left a huge mess, the proof scattered atop her desk and all around the hotel. Debt and more debt. Crazy tenants who rarely paid rent. A father figure with a drug-soaked mind.
A small sob escapes her daughter’s lips. “I won’t let anyone take the hotel,” Alexis says, tightening her mouth in stubborn determination. Edith knows that look. She’s worn the exact expression for most of her life. We’re both so stubborn, Edith whispers.
Then Edith understands why she’s been summoned. She must guide her daughter. But in what direction? Alexis is alone. She has no one. If she gives up this fight to keep the hotel, her future could be bright. She could live with her uncle. He’s not so bad. At least he’d keep Alexis safe. Buy her whatever she desired. Send her to the doctor when she gets sick. She’d have the chance to make new friends, go to a good school. She could leave the burden of this place behind.
The crow clicks its beak, then flies from the dresser and lands on the bed. It curiously nips at one of the blue feathers. “I miss her,” Alexis tells the bird. “But even though she’s gone, I don’t want to leave. This is my home. I love it here. I don’t want to live with my uncle. But I don’t know what to do.”
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Edith thinks. These are her walls. This is her home. Alexis will not give up. The spirit of Angeline is alive and well.
“Mom? What should I do?”
Edith winds around Alexis’s shoulders, weaves between strands of hair. You must get help, she whispers, rippling down her daughter’s arms. Get help, Alexis. You can’t do it alone. Get help.
Alexis looks up. For a moment she stares right at her mother. Then her gaze travels through Edith, focusing on the open doorway. She stands. “There’s no one to help,” she says.
Edith sighs like a wind chime.
Then she is gone.
CHAPTER 15
CAROL CASSELLA
ALEXIS LET HERSELF SLUMP ONTO the pillow; the smells of her mother’s perfume, a vintage LJ mix of chamomile and rosemary with a wisp of spearmint, lingered in the down. Suddenly it felt like Alexis had swallowed half the pillow, a thick lump in her throat that was a mix of loss and grief and terror. She had been alone for so much of her life; no siblings, no father, a mother vaguely distracted on the best of days and a bit loony on the
worst. A soft-bellied hippie for her other stand-in parent. But at this moment, she was discovering the bitter roots of that word “alone.” Not one living person in the world knew she was now, officially, an orphan. All her conviction to grow up overnight and manage this rotting hotel vanished in a wish to be eight, to be five, to be a baby in her mother’s arms.
The rain pelted against the window and the shadows of the streetlight fell on the worn floor in flickering streaks. Winter was arriving with this storm; she could feel it, as if the room were dropping by degrees with each moment. If she stayed here she would lose her grip, she thought. If the world was going to leave her this abandoned, then she would have to find her own help. She would have to give up on her stubborn determination to save the Angeline and herself through her own single-minded grit. But who in this crazy hotel could she trust? Linda, she thought. Linda was the only living person who might even claim to love her.
Alexis pushed herself up and wiped her eyes on the edge of the pillow, pulled her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Linda’s number. Her heart skipped once when she heard it pick up, but just as quickly it went silent again. Linda had hung up. Alexis dialed again, and this time she heard Linda’s harsh whisper, “I’m in the movie. Exorcist. And you’re not, in case you didn’t notice!”
“Linda, I’m sorry. I couldn’t . . . I need to talk to you. I need to see you.”
“So, like, if you’d come to the movie, like you were supposed to, we’d be talking. Right?”
Alexis ran her tongue across her salted lips. “Look, I’m kind of desperate here. I want to see you.” She waited through a long pause. “Please. Please, sweetie.”
Maybe it was the endearment, but she could almost hear Linda’s heart soften. “Yeah. You don’t sound so good. I’ll see if Jen and Lisa are ready to go.” She let out a short laugh. “It’s not like we don’t know how the movie turns out.”
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