“Your job is insane.” The handyman stated matter-of-factly.
Chuckling, Roland stood up to stretch his arms over his head, “It is rarely boring though.”
“You make a fair point.” Devon stood as well, “If you want, you can borrow the laptop until nine p.m. to do whatever it was you wanted to do. Just make sure it’s back before then as the night guard will be pissed if he finds out a lowly maintenance man touched his fancy equipment.”
“Thank you!” Roland couldn’t believe his luck with simple, outdated video cameras, “Seriously, I owe you one.”
Devon chuckled and shrugged, “Well, according to these videos, I might need the services of a medium one of these days, who knows.” The man looked to the clock on the screens ahead, “Want to grab a drink before you get back to work?”
“Thank you, but I really shouldn’t. Drinking alcohol is bad for my psychic abilities. I’ve slipped up far too often since I started this job. If you’re hungry though, I was thinking about grabbing a bite to eat.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.” Devon ran a hand over his hair, “Maybe next time?”
“Sure.”
“Oh! I know it’s a little outdated but, if you ever need to contact me and can’t find me in my room,” he flipped out a folded up piece of paper, “you can page me.”
“You seriously still have a beeper?!” Roland was floored, “Do they even make those anymore?!”
“You’ve met Vanhousen. If it’s not broken, he’s not going to replace it.” Devon rolled his eyes playfully and chuckled, “I’ve considered intentionally dropping it down the elevator shaft for years.”
Roland shook his head and sent a pitying gaze to the handy-man, “That man is an unbelievable asshole.”
“You have no idea.”
~~~
Running his hand over his face in a frustrated manner, Roland spared one last glance to Lucille and decided she was a lost cause. Over the last hour, he had been following her around the hotel as he tried desperately to get her attention. After half an hour, he had started to believe she was an imprint instead of a conscious spirit. This had been confirmed as, on two different floors now, he had watched her perfectly recreate what he had watched on the CCTV feed earlier that day.
Now, walking down the stairs with a rapid gait, Roland hoped to bump into the semi-violent vending machine ghost. He wasn’t yet sure exactly what he was looking for, but he had high hopes that a conversation with one of the conscious spirits in the Moorsfield would be able to set him in the right direction.
On the first floor, Roland quietly bypassed the front desk and sauntered down the hallway, glad that basically everyone in the building was currently asleep. Reaching a hand into his pocket, the medium opened an audio recording app and turned it on just in case anything particularly interesting occurred.
Turning the corner, Roland noted that the little room with an ice machine on one side and a vending machine on the other was empty. The only sound in the poorly lit room was the buzzing of the ice machine which was interrupted every minute or so by the sound of newly formed ice dumping into the storage slot.
Looking up to the yellowed light overhead, Roland grimaced as he noted the incredible number of deceased flies that resided in the plastic covering over the actual bulbs. Shaking his head, Roland was just starting to wonder how dirty the inside of the ice machine was when an unmistakable feeling of a second presence in the area crept over him. Rubbing the goose-bumps that had arisen in a thick sheet over the majority of his skin, Roland moved as far back into the corner as he could get.
Mere seconds later, Roland watched as a thin, oily looking man stumbled into the room and up to the vending machine. He was dressed in tight leather pants and a stained, ribbed tank-top that were both half covered by a hideous red and black zebra-striped, velvet trench coat. His receding bleached hair was long, stringy, and unkempt. Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a black wallet and started shoving quarters into the coin slot on the machine. A strong smell of alcohol, sweat, and a pungent odor Roland couldn’t quite place filled the air; causing him to cough.
Snapping his head around to look, the man snarled at Roland, “Wot you doin’ standin’ in the corner like some kinda creep?!”
“Sorry.” Roland moved forward, “You startled me when you came around the corner. I didn’t expect anyone else to be awake so late.”
The man twitched and turned back to lift one of his trembling hands up to the keypad on the machine. Shaking his head, he started hitting random buttons as he tried to get something to eat. It was at this moment that Roland realized the man had no idea he was dead. Biting his lip-ring, he started to speak again.
“I’m sorry, but you look really familiar. Where have I seen you before?”
The man turned back to Roland as a cocky grin stretched over his yellowed teeth, “I’m the drumma for ‘da band MaDog.” He held out his hand, “Monty Spades.”
“Ah!” Roland passed a false look of recognition across his features, “Good to meet you in person!” Roland looked the man’s face over, “Are you ok though? You look like you might be coming down with something.”
The man released a high pitched, wheezy laugh, “Yeah, I come down wif a craving for some brown suga.”
Roland’s brow furrowed as he knew that was a reference to something else, but didn’t know what it was off the top of his head. Unsure of what to say next, Roland looked to the vending machine, “I think the machine ate your coins.”
Monty’s expression turned forlorn, “That was the last o me money…” Roland’s breath caught in his chest as he felt the man’s mood change, “Now wot will I eat?!” He started pounding his fist against the glass over the machine, “GIVE ME MY FOOD YE RIGHT BASTARD! GO ON! SPIT ‘ER OUT!”
Realizing where this was about to go, Roland pulled his own wallet out of his pocket, “Let me try. What did you want?!”
“All I wan’ is somethin’ sweet.”
The man was clearly at the end of his rope as he scratched at the crook of his elbow. Roland pulled a crisp dollar bill from his wallet as his mind tried desperately to remember what brown sugar meant as slang. As the bill was sucked into the machine, Roland’s eyes went wide and he spun around.
“You’re on heroin!”
“Well fookin’ deduced kid.” The man’s arms were crossed over his chest, “Now ye gon’ push the buttons or leave me hangin’?!”
“Oh!”
Roland was so intimidated by this particular spirit that he knew in an instant that he wasn’t going to get any real information out of him on that night. Deciding to look the man up later, he pressed A-17 and watched as a pack of pink snowball pastries dropped into the metal slot below. Pulling them out, Roland turned around to hand them to Monty, only to find that the spot was empty.
“Son of a bitch.”
Roland rested his face in his hands for a moment before deciding he needed to get some fresh air. Bypassing the front door as he remembered Jake’s offhanded warning about crime on the streets, Roland dragged his tired body up all thirteen flights of stairs to the roof. Lighting his cigarette as he pushed through the door, Roland didn’t notice that one of his new companions was already occupying the space until the other man spoke.
“You look like you’ve had a rough night.”
“What?” Roland looked up to see Jake gazing curiously over at him from the ledge of the building where he was sitting comfortably.
“You look like you’re about to have some sort of breakdown. Also, you’ve got a lit cigarette and a package of sugar filled, chemically enhanced pastries in the same hand.”
“Oh.” Roland moved over and sat next to Jake, but on the ground with his back against the ledge as he didn’t like the feeling that he might fall, “I tried to communicate with two spirits tonight. The first one was residual, which means that she’s just a visual echo of past events, so that was a lost cause from the get-go. The second one was conscious in mind but complet
ely unaware he was dead. Also,” Roland sharply exhaled a lungful of smoke, “he was so fucked up on heroin that I panicked and got nothing useful from the interaction.” He held up the pastries, “I don’t even like marshmallow.”
Leaning over, Jake plucked the cakes form Roland’s hands, “Thanks! I was starting to feel a bit peckish.” Jake slid to sit next to Roland as he opened the package, “Also, I’m sorry your night sucked so badly. If it helps, I’ve been around druggies before and I didn’t get out much better than you did.” He slowly peeled off a bit of the coconut encrusted marshmallow coating and popped it in his mouth, “At least you know that what we did last night worked and you have the opportunity to communicate with some of them now. That sounds like a step forward to me.”
“I guess.” Roland leaned his head back against the cement wall, “I’m just so accustomed to working in smaller places with more clear-cut disturbances that I feel like I’m getting nowhere here.”
“Why not organize a list of everyone that has died in this place and try to talk to each of them individually in a planned order?”
“I’m having trouble finding who even did die here. There have been a few names, but the details were all vague enough to be completely useless. It’s almost like there’s been some sort of mass cover-up.”
Jake covered his stuffed mouth with his hand so he could speak without being rude, “Well, with all of these secret rooms, hallways, and apparently some spooky occult parties, who’s to say that the deaths weren’t just kept a secret inside the walls like everything else you’ve stumbled across so far?”
Roland turned to Jake with his eyes wide open, “You are absolutely brilliant.” He wrapped an arm around Jake’s shoulders, “How about you take my job and I’ll try to spin a tale of whimsy in your place.”
“I’m starting to get extremely concerned about how much you know about my career as an author.” Jake’s tone was light as he started in on the second pastry.
“Yeah well,” Roland rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m curious by nature and it was you that sent me to the library after all so, while I was there I sort of… looked up your name… and rented a book.”
“Oh gods, which one?”
“The minotaur one.” Roland was so embarrassed about divulging this information that he could no longer form a complete sentence.
“Bless you for not going straight for the dragon one. It was my first, so it’s not very good and, frankly, there are so many unsung and interesting mythical creatures to write about.”
“I actually think vampires are in right now. Dragons are old-school.” Roland was trying desperately to come off as calm and casual.
“I haven’t touched on that as the market has been a bit… tainted by some less than excellent work; both on TV and in books.”
“Good.” Roland chuckled, “There’s too much of that and they always get it wrong anyhow. I love your work, by the way.”
Jake waved the man off and shoved the entire cream filled center of the treat into his mouth at once, “Thanks, but don’t think you can change the subject so easily. Do you think we could get into the basement?”
“Why do you want to go to the basement?”
“The creepy files are always in the basement,” Jake shrugged, “and any psycho who is doing a cover-up will have creepy files.”
“You really want to go down there this late at night?”
“I don’t see why not.” Jake stood up and offered a hand down to Roland, “We’re less likely to run into any staff asking questions if we go now.”
“It’s irritating how often you’re right.” Roland stomped out the butt of his cigarette and started walking back to the door.
“It’s a gift.”
Jake followed Roland down the stairs, complaining loudly the whole way, only to be met only with a wall of stubborn determination from his companion. Finally giving up around the third floor, Jake crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.
“We are not taking the stairs back up.”
“You can take the elevator if you want to, but you’ll never get me in one.”
“Why not?!” Jake whined.
“Haven’t you ever watched a horror movie? Bad things always happen to the protagonist in an elevator.”
“Well then, start being an antagonist! My legs are tired.”
Roland chuckled and stopped on the first floor landing, “You’re just a sidekick. You can take the elevator if you want.”
Jake stuck his tongue out at Roland, “You’re a jerk.” Jake stopped a few steps up from the basement door to watch as Roland became stumped as it, like the door upstairs, didn’t have a key-card reader, “Can you break into a door that needs a code?”
“Nah, but I have an app that will let me text Devon’s pager and he can give me the code.”
“Who?”
“He’s one of the maintenance guys.” Roland waved one hand in a vague gesture while texting with the other.
“They really should wear name-tags or something.”
“Good point.” Roland lowered his phone and waited for a reply, “Though, you not knowing his name is less weird than my being here for three days now and not once having seen a maid... not a living one at the very least.”
“Yeah, they’re grossly understaffed.” Jake was picking at his fingernails as Roland’s phone beeped, “Sal has been working here longer than I've lived in the building and I just met him for the first time a week ago.”
“Ah-hah!” Roland opened the text and shook his head, “You’re never going to guess this one.”
“One, two, three, four?”
“Nope.” Roland stepped up to the key pad, “Nine, nine, nine, nine.”
“Fancy.” Jake waited for Roland to pull the door open, “It is a little less obvious than my guess though.”
“Only slightly,” Roland nodded as he started feeling around for a light switch, “but not by much.”
Jake started running his hand over the walls in an attempt to help Roland out, “Don’t you find it weird that your maintenance buddy doesn’t want to escort you? You seem to have a lot of freedom here.”
“He mentioned awhile ago that,” Roland found the light switch and flicked it up, “the basement creeps him out. Vanhousen probably has no idea I’m down here unescorted.”
“Won’t you be caught on the CCTV tapes? I’ve noticed the cameras everywhere.”
“There aren’t any in the basement.”
“That’s weird, but okay.”
The two stopped to look around the room. Where they were now standing was clearly just the antechamber to the basement as the room felt more like a storage closet. Shelves full of cleaning chemicals, spare parts, and assorted tools lined the walls that led back about fifteen feet to yet another door.
“Great!” Roland rubbed his hands together nervously, “This is the labyrinth of basements. I hope you didn’t have any more plans for your life as we’re never going to get out of here.”
Jake snickered, “You’re a bright little ray of sunshine tonight.”
Pulling out his cell phone, Jake grabbed Roland’s out of his hand and typed a number into it. After waiting for a few moments, the phones synced up and Jake handed Roland’s back to him and hid his own on the top shelf to his left.
“Now your phone can find mine. If we get lost, just open that app and follow it back to this room.”
Roland was stunned, “You’re hired.”
“Maybe.” Jake led the way through the second door, “We’ll need to talk about wage and benefits first. I really can’t leave the ever-so-lucrative and fulfilling job of lying to gullible people in the newspaper every single day of the week.”
“Writing horoscopes does sound like a dream job. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to leave. They don’t give that job to just anyone.”
“Nope! It’s going to take an incredible offer to sway my loyalty.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Roland was looking around a cement hallw
ay that had a series of unmarked, solid metal doors in it, “Do you want to pick one?”
“Can’t you use your psychic powers to vibe out which one will be the most useful to us?”
“Jake, I’m a medium, not a diviner.”
“Oh.” Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a penny, “I’ve got this one then.”
“But there are six doors in he-.” Roland was cut off as Jake held up a finger.
He pointed to the first door on their left, “Heads…” He pointed to the next door down, “Tails.”
Flipping and catching the coin, Jake nodded, “Okay, tails, so we’re not going through the first door. He then moved and pointed to the door that had not been taken out and the third one on that side of the hallway. Pointing to the middle one he stated, “Heads…” And then to the one on the end, “Tails.”
“Oh!” Roland nodded and waved Jake on; somehow more comfortable in the idea that, if the door they chose ended up badly, neither of them would technically be to blame.
Less than a minute later, the two were standing at the third door back on the right side of the hallway. Roland was chewing on his lip ring as he jiggled the knob and hoped nothing too insane was behind the door. Pushing forward before Jake could give him any grief, Roland was surprised to see that the single light bulb hanging from a free-swinging wire on the ceiling was already lit.
“Water heaters. Fantastic!” Jake stated in a sarcastically over-exuberant tone, “One again, my divination steers me away from danger!”
“Unless there’s a carbon leak, of course.”
“That’s furnaces, dear.” Jake patted the top of Roland’s head as he did a quick sweep around the room, “There isn’t even a bit of graffiti scratched into the wall by a handy-man. Bummer.”
“On to the next room then?”
“Yeah.” Jake walked out and looked at the coin, “Heads for clockwise, tails for counterclockwise.” He flipped the coin, took a step to the right, and pulled the door open, “Oh, this is so much better!”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.” Roland followed Jake into a room that was packed floor to ceiling with broken bits of furniture, “Someone could definitely hide something in here pretty easily.”
The Moorsfield Hotel Page 4
