The Haunting of Riley Watson

by Alexandria Clarke

  As the elevator collected them and ferried them away, Nick deflated and sighed. In his King and Queens sweats collection, with tired rounded shoulders instead of his usual impeccable posture, he looked more human than the suave man we’d met that afternoon.

  “What an ordeal,” he said. “Is it always like this?”

  It was certainly beginning to feel that way.

  The king bed was large enough for me and Jazmin to sleep comfortably with several feet between us, but we both lay near the center, each of us taking comfort from the other. It helped to have a living, breathing body nearby. She fell asleep within minutes while I lay awake staring at the ceiling and listening to her deep, even breaths. Every time I closed my eyes, I was transported to the first-floor hallway with the unearthly visitor breathing down my neck. At some point, I must have finally fallen asleep because I woke to a soft stream of sunlight and the gurgle of fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen.

  “Morning,” Jazmin said as I ambled into the living room. She wore the oversized King and Queens fleece sweater I’d bought from the gift shop on one of my first days here. She offered me a cup of coffee. “Here. You look like you need it.”

  I hummed my thanks into the fragrant steam and sat on the armchair near the balcony doors. The storm had ceased overnight, leaving nothing but a perfect stretch of blue sky and a good five feet of snow piled up against the French doors. The chill permeated the glass and crept into my bare feet. I drew them into the chair and covered them with my kimono.

  “We didn’t really get to talk about what happened last night,” Jazmin said, pouring coffee for herself before joining me in the living room. “Do you want to?”

  I squinted into the sun for as long as I could. My eyes watered in protest, eyelids drifting shut until I had no choice but to look away. The moisture slipped down my cheeks. “I’m not sure what to say. I don’t even know what happened.”

  “It sounds like you’re actually becoming Madame Lucia.”

  “I never imagined it like this,” I said. “Not some ominous, lurking figure looming just beyond my peripheral vision. It’s not supposed to be real, you know? Madame Lucia was supposed to be fun.”

  “Maybe this was supposed to happen all along,” she replied. “Maybe Madame Lucia was a way for you to figure out that you had these powers.”

  “Powers,” I said. “Come on. Listen to yourself. It’s ridiculous.”

  “And clearly true,” she retorted. “You’re not crazy, Lucia, and I don’t think Riley is either. There’s something going on at this hotel, and it’s your job to figure out what.”

  “Why?” I demanded. “Why is it up to me to free whatever spirits are trapped here?”

  “Because Riley picked you,” Jazmin said. “She confided in you. This is exactly the job you’ve been pretending to do. It’s time to step up and actually do it.”

  I stared into the ripples of my coffee, wishing I could dive into the creamy texture and live there. “It was a hoax. It wasn’t supposed to be real.”

  “But it is.” She sat on the arm of my chair and draped her legs across mine. “Don’t worry though. I’m not going to leave you. We can figure this out together.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. Let’s find Riley and go to breakfast,” she suggested. “She can get us up to speed on whatever happened in the old wing.”

  But when the elevators spilled us into the lobby, we were met by a pale-faced Nick Porter, his perfect hair disheveled as he caught sight of us and hobbled from the hallway of the first-floor guest rooms.

  “Did you hear?” he asked, leaning on his cane.

  “Hear what?” I said.

  “Tyler Watson is dead.”

  Blood rushed to my head, filling my ears like the violent whoosh of water rapids. Nick kept talking, but I didn’t hear the words. Jazmin’s shocked gasp was the only sound that made it through the internal white noise. I stepped around Nick in the middle of his sentence, toward the hallway he’d just emerged from. At the opposite end, in the doorway across from the gym’s entrance, Oliver knelt on the carpet, his head buried in his hands as he delivered himself to hysteric sobs. Daniel paced in front of the room’s open door, speaking non-stop into his radio.

  “What happened?”

  The small voice broke through the static in my mind. I turned, as if in slow motion, to look down at Riley. She didn’t return the gaze, instead staring at her father as he cried on the floor. When she ran toward the open door, everything snapped back to normal speed and sound.

  “Riley, no!” I sprinted after her with Nick and Jazmin on my heels, but she was too fast and too far ahead for us to catch.

  Daniel noticed her a moment too late. “Kid, don’t—!”

  She ducked around his legs and swung into the room. Seconds later, I skidded to a stop behind her, huffing for breath. Riley stared at something on the floor of the room, as still and silent as the King and Queens non-operational ski lift.

  Tyler’s body lay sprawled in the middle of the floor. He faced upward, his arms and legs spread out as if he’d been stabbed in the process of making a snow angel. He was pale and hollow. A massive amount of blood stained his clothes and the carpet. I didn’t know the human body held so much blood. His eyes, blank and cold, stared at the door, as if he’d watched his killer leave the room as he bled out. He’d been like this for a while. Hours. A sleeping corpse waiting for someone to wake him up.

  I pushed Jazmin into the hallway before she could see inside the room. “Don’t look,” I said. “Not unless you want nightmares for months.”

  She didn’t argue and receded into the hallway to help Nick comfort Oliver.

  “What did I do?” Oliver muttered into his hands. The words were nearly unintelligible, but the question wasn’t meant to be answered by anyone within earshot. “Where did I go wrong? I did my best with him. I swear to God I did my best. Oh, God. First Thelma, then Tyler.”

  Daniel nudged me, covering the radio speaker to mute the incessant hurried chatter, and pointed to Riley. “Get her out of there. Get everyone out of this hallway. I want every single person who stayed at this resort last night to meet in the lobby. This is officially a crime scene.”

  Riley was affixed to the sight of her brother’s body. She didn’t cry or look affected by it at all. Carefully avoiding the wide puddle of blood, I took her by the shoulders.

  “Let’s go,” I murmured.

  She planted her feet for half a second before letting me coax her out of the room. I repeated the order to Jazmin and Nick, who dragged Oliver to his feet. I led our silent, somber parade out of the hallway and into the lobby, where Nick and Jazmin helped Oliver into a chair by the fire. He was more puppet than human, limbs available for manipulation but his mind far out of reach. Riley sat on the floor and leaned against her father’s legs.

  “I’ll get everyone some water,” Nick said. “Sit tight.”

  As he headed for the Eagle’s View, Jazmin drifted to my side. We held each other tight as Oliver and Riley sat in dazed silence.

  “We gotta get out of here,” I muttered. “It’s not safe.”

  “You want to leave? What about the spirits?”

  “People are dying here, Jazmin,” I reminded her. “We don’t know if what killed Tyler was dead or alive when it did it. I don’t want to be next.”

  She hugged me tighter. “What about Riley?”

  “Daniel will keep her safe,” I said, hoping it was true.

  Despite Daniel’s instructions to stay in the lobby, we returned to the top floor to pack our things. By the time we stepped into the elevator again, Oliver and Riley were no longer sitting in front of the fire. The lobby was empty, perfect for our escape.

  “Are you sure about this?” Jazmin asked as our boots clipped against the marble floor. “The police are going to have questions.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” I said, rolling my suitcases determinedly toward the door. “They can ask me questions at home.”


  Riley stepped out from behind a pillar. “You’re leaving?”

  My suitcase, unevenly weighted from the hasty packing attempt, fell over. “God, Riley. You scared me.”

  She kicked the handle of the suitcase around so I couldn’t pick it up again. “You can’t go.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “You promised!” She launched herself at me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and locked her hands together. No matter how I tried to dislodge her, she remained stubbornly attached.

  “Riley, two people have died,” I said. “I’m scared. Jazmin’s scared. We can’t stay here anymore.”

  “They won’t kill you,” Riley promised, resting her chin on my torso to look up at me. “It’s not you they want.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s me,” she whispered. “I’m next.”

  I finally wrestled out of her grip and knelt to see her at the same eye level. “Listen to me, Riley. That’s nonsense. You aren’t—”

  “Don’t you see?” she asked, chin trembling. “They’re killing my family.”

  Jazmin tapped my shoulder. “Lucia, I don’t think we can get out of here anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  She opened the front door to the lobby. A mountain of snow spilled across the marble floor. It would take hours to shovel enough to leave the building. Jazmin’s Land Rover was hidden beneath another mound of powder. We were stuck at King and Queens until further notice.

  “Shut the door,” Daniel ordered. He’d marched in from another hallway, leading a group of young employees—Karli, Ari, Liam, and Imani included—with matching terrified expressions. “It’s cold enough in here already.”

  “We’re not staying here,” I told him.

  “Well, you sure as hell aren’t leaving,” he declared. “Where are Nick and Oliver?”

  “Here,” Nick called from the top of the steps to the Eagle’s View. Oliver leaned on his shoulder as they descended into the lobby. “I wanted to get him something to drink.”

  “Dead,” Oliver said, gazing around at his company. “They’re dead. And we’re all next. Who’s next?”

  “No one’s next,” Daniel said. “Let’s not incite a panic.”

  Nick lightly slapped Oliver’s cheek. “I think he’s in shock.”

  “All right, listen up everyone!” Daniel kicked an ottoman out of its place by the fire and stepped on top of it. He planted his hands on his hips. His fingers brushed the handle of his gun. In a second, he could draw and fire. Everyone in the room—me, Jazmin, Riley, Nick, Oliver, and the ragtag group of confused employees—gave him our full attention. “Last night, Tyler Watson was stabbed to death in his sleep.”

  The employees, who hadn’t heard the news yet, gasped, cried, and held one another, but Imani simply shrugged and said, “Mood.”

  A sharp look from Daniel silenced her. “I’ve informed my superiors of the situation, but due to the road blockages from the storm, no one will be able to reach us for several hours or even days. That being said” —he raised his voice over the scuffles of protest— “no one is to go in or out of this resort without my say so. The first-floor hallway is off limits completely. If I find anyone within a hundred feet of Tyler’s room, I will arrest you and arrange an improvised holding cell for you somewhere on the premises. I will be conducting interviews with each and every one of you about your whereabouts during the evening, so please await my instructions. Congratulations, everyone.” He jumped down from the ottoman. “You’re all officially murder suspects.”

  With nowhere to escape to, I had no choice but to return my luggage to my suite. I went alone, leaving Jazmin to watch Riley since Oliver had quickly faded into a catatonic state. In the elevator, I felt numb and cold. My fingers tingled as if I’d slept on my arms funny and the circulation was blocked. In the top floor hallway, the walk to my suite seemed longer than usual. Every step required more effort. My boots were heavier, laden down with dread. We were trapped here, in a haunted hotel, with a detective, a dead body, and a murderer, not to mention whatever being had visited me in the hallway last night. I opened the door to the suite and dumped my luggage in a pile.

  “You’ll die too.”

  My body exploded with pins and needles, sending me into a violent spasm. I collapsed on the kitchen floor, heaving for breath as I tried to regain control of my body. Every nerve in my body itched and prickled. The muscles around my spine contracted and let go. Shuddering from head to toe, I caught a glimpse of the living room out of the corner of my eye and pulled myself behind the cover of the kitchen counter. Something stood upright in front of the balcony doors. I gathered what little courage I had left and edged around the corner of the counter, just enough to get a look at what waited for me.

  It was a little girl. At first, I thought it was Riley before I remembered I’d left her with Jazmin. This girl was around the same age. She was a pretty child with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes, but there was something off about her. For one, a soft glow hovered around the perimeter of her being that had nothing to do with the sun outside. She flickered in and out of focus like a poorly-tuned antique television set. And two, I had no doubt that she was the root cause of my partial paralysis.

  “You’ll die too,” she said again. Her voice was as pretty as her perfect, heart-shaped face. “You’ll all die.”

  “W-who are you?” I managed to croak out.

  She smiled. A priceless porcelain doll. “My name is Odette.”

  Chapter 9

  Tyler Watson was used to handcuffs. He’d been arrested and restrained more times than he could count in his nineteen years of life. More often than not, his last name or his father’s money bailed him out of any long-lasting charges. It was petty stuff—a stolen bottle of rum from the local corner store, a few strokes of spray paint on the wall of the corner store afterward since the owner called the cops the first time. Crimson Basin was so damn boring. If you weren’t a snobby skier or a stoned snowboarder, you fell into the category of nobody, and the last thing Tyler Watson wanted was to be a nobody. He wanted thrills. Adrenaline. Things that made his blood pump like river rapids through his veins. Dangling his twelve-year-old sister by the ankles over the mezzanine railing in the restaurant lounge of his father’s hotel was about as exciting as it got at King and Queen’s Ski Lodge and Resort. He was in complete control, swinging her twenty feet above the ground as that bitchy psychic and her friends pulled the most hilarious faces. God, it felt good to see those slack jaws and terrified eyes, to hear Riley scream for safety. It was all in his hands. He could mold each and every one of them like putty. The detective—the moron who moped at the bar every night over a glass of water instead of ordering whiskey or gin like a real man—was the first person to move. Everyone else stood transfixed, watching with bated breath as Tyler swung Riley as easily as a flag. The detective raced for the stairs. Tyler figured he had another twenty seconds to play before the jig was up.

  “Tyler,” Riley sobbed, tears dotting the carpet below. “Please, I didn’t do anything to you. Put me down.”

  He lifted her up as if contemplating her request, but he said, “You were born, Riley. That was enough.”

  Each person attempted to dissuade him. Madame Lucia—what a stupid name—threatened him. Her friend Jazmin, too sexy for any career that didn’t involve a pole, reasoned with him. Nick Porter, who owned the rival ski lodge on the other side of the mountain, addressed Tyler as “young man,” as if his firm tone would prevent Tyler from dropping Riley. Jazmin and Lucia whispered, hiding their mouths behind their hands to keep Tyler from listening. It made his blood boil. He felt it simmer and pop in his veins. He squeezed Riley’s ankles tighter as Detective Hawkins made it to the top of the mezzanine stairs.

  “It’s over, Tyler,” he panted. “Let her go.”

  “Let her go? Okay.”

  A rush of endorphins hit Tyler as soon as he released his sister’s ankles. She plummeted to the floor, but Tyl
er didn’t see where she landed. He sprinted along the mezzanine, running as fast as his long legs would move. Though Detective Hawkins was older and full of the restaurant’s exquisite desserts, he was quick. Tyler ran down the steps and into the lobby and almost made it to the first floor hallway when the detective lunged at him and caught him around the shins. Tyler slammed to the floor. Too slow to put his hands up, his chin caught the rug. He grimaced as Daniel climbed onto his back, handcuffed him, and yanked him to his feet.

  “You told me to let her go,” Tyler said matter-of-factly.

  The detective jostled the handcuffs so they raked against Tyler’s wrists. “Shut up.”

  Riley was okay, but she’d run off before anyone could examine her properly. Nick Porter had performed a swoon-worthy dive to catch her before she hit the floor. Tyler didn’t care. The drop wouldn’t have killed his little sister. A broken arm or leg maybe, but nothing that time wouldn’t heal. It was all fun and games, even the handcuffs, but Tyler’s father, Oliver, managed to wipe the smirk off of his son’s face. When the others informed Oliver of Tyler’s misdeed, he seized his son’s face in one hand, a gesture so jarring that everyone in the room took a step away from the father-son duo. Detective Hawkins stepped between the two of them, ending the confrontation once and for all.

  Tyler’s arrest was a joke too. Since the storm had snowed all of them in at the resort, there was nowhere for Detective Hawkins to take Tyler except back to his own room on the first floor.

  “I should shove you in a broom closet,” the detective declared as he escorted Tyler out of the Eagle’s View. “Your dad told me I can put you wherever I like, so you should be thanking me for letting you go back to your own room.”

  “Is this how you speak to your wife, Detective Danny?” Tyler asked. “Because I can understand why she wanted a divorce. You probably can’t get it up anymore either, right? I’ve heard that can happen for alcoholics—”