She’d been wondering the same thing. She wasn’t sure what floor Marilyn was on, but perhaps she’d offered to accompany Elspeth to her room too. If so, she couldn’t see the redhead refusing. She’d clung to the older woman as a child would to its mother. She also wondered what floor Tallula was on, just her luck if she were next door or opposite.
“We’re here,” David’s words brought her back to the moment.
“Already?”
Disappointingly, the elevator was suddenly all brisk efficiency.
“See you tomorrow at breakfast?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Same table?”
She nodded. “Same table.”
“Night.”
He ensured the elevator doors stayed open as she stepped over the threshold and into the endless corridor. “Night,” she replied, perhaps as half-heartedly as him.
Still he held the doors open, and she turned to say goodnight again, their gaze holding. Eventually she had no choice but to look away, to face the direction in which she needed to go, to actually get going, to reach her room.
“Sweet dreams,” he called out jovially.
“I hope so,” she called back, wondering if she’d dream of him.
Chapter Six
Sweet dreams. That’s what he’d said. But the dreams that plagued her were far from that. Instead, they were causing her breath to hitch in her throat and her hands to tightly clench the sheet that covered her, as her head thrashed from side to side.
She was in her room, she knew that much, her large, almost vault-like room. In some ways the dream she was having emulated reality, at least the beginning of it. To reach her room she’d had to take the elevator, and surprise, surprise, it was playing up again, chugging and spluttering its way to the eleventh floor, as if it were all such an effort. An aeon seemed to have passed, but then the doors opened and she drifted, Althea-like, along its corridor, one that stretched on and on, the carpet beneath her feet more frayed than ever, the skirting more chipped, the paper on the walls distinctly yellow; not bright and cheerful like sunshine but as faded as everything else. How long was this going to take? Shouldn’t she have reached 1106 by now? She’d passed so many doors, far more than there really were, but that was dreams for you – they distorted everything.
From behind each door she sensed movement of sorts: a shuffling backwards and forwards; the low murmur of the TV or a radio; a cry of anguish that was quickly stifled. The latter had caused her head to whip around. Was the cry coming from Elspeth’s room? Was she still upset after what had happened in the ballroom? If so, she should backtrack, go to her, comfort her as Marilyn had, but she couldn’t stop drifting, past her room, perhaps Marilyn’s, and Tallula’s too, if their rooms were here. Another shudder. There was something about Tallula; not Princess Perfect – Ice-Cold Tallula suited her better. The way she’d sat beside Elspeth, not lifting a finger to help her, as if amused by her plight, was awful. Especially after planting the idea of bones in her head. There were no bones. There were no bones. The words kept going round and round. But there were. She’d seen Elspeth choke one up. Tallula had been right after all. Why continue to doubt her?
The end of the corridor – the corner suite – was still some distance away. She’d never reach it in time. Again, she had to check her thoughts. In time for what? There was no time, the absence of the clock over the office door in the lobby proved that. In dreams, time was meaningless. Also, if she did reach Althea’s room, what did she expect to find there?
The dream fast-forwarded. She was in bed. There was a noise. Although silent outside, inside things were beginning to stir.
Things?
Thrown from her dream-like state, her eyes snapped open as she sat bolt upright.
What kind of things?
God, it was dark. She raised a hand and held it out in front, yet couldn’t see it at all.
My eyes will get used to the darkness. They’ll adjust.
But the more she stared, the thicker the darkness became, confusing her further.
Was she actually awake or was she still dreaming?
She had to do something constructive, switch on the table lamp perhaps. Her hand reaching out, she was met with nothing. Where was it? Where the hell was it?
Another sound!
What the—?
A choking.
“Elspeth?”
But Elspeth had been saved. John Cole, the balding man, the shaking man, had saved her.
There it was again, faint, not as dramatic as Elspeth’s choking had been, more of a cry.
“Who are you? Who’s there?”
Her voice sounded hollow, and alone… so alone.
But she wasn’t alone.
She knew that now.
“Who’s in the darkness?”
Her eyesight must be adjusting because, despite how black it was, she started to make out shapes in front of her bed, people of all heights and sizes. It was just their outline, nothing more, no clue as to what their gender might be, but all had one thing in common: they were holding their hands up as if pushing against something, an invisible barrier, their faces squashed to the side as those behind surged forwards.
Were they seeking release? Is that what they wanted? They seemed desperate – that emotion also engulfed her; making her feel desperate too.
She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and lowered her head, not wanting to see anymore.
“Get away from me! Get away!”
Those tortured souls; she didn’t want them anywhere near her.
“Get away, I said. Go on, go!”
Someone was whispering in her ear. “A special place… It’s such a special place…”
A male voice, the words smooth and unhurried, no desperation in them at all.
Releasing her legs, she batted furiously at the air.
What’s happening? Am I asleep? Am I awake?
Dammit, she couldn’t tell!
And then there was tinkling laughter. Familiar laughter.
“Mum?”
It was that that distressed her most of all.
Chapter Seven
“Christ!”
Caroline woke up. Properly woke up. And she wasn’t in darkness, far from it. A ray of light shone in between the curtains, dust motes dancing happily within it. It was morning. She’d made it. Had there been a break in the weather overnight? Although she didn’t leap out of bed, there was certainly a hopeful spring in her step as she crossed over to the window. Passing the point where there’d been a wall, of sorts, in her dreams, behind which so many were trapped, she almost faltered. It had seemed so real, that dream, the desperation of those trying to escape – an invisible barrier preventing them. But what if that barrier failed, and they rushed at her, grabbed at her, started tearing her apart…?
Enough with the imagination! The snow, remember?
Remember? How could she forget!
Hauling the curtain back, supposedly deep burgundy, but pinkish in places due to sun damage most likely, her heart sunk further. The snow had stopped falling, but the sky looked ominous, dark clouds hanging in the sky, biding their time before the next attack.
“Shit!”
There was no way she’d be leaving The Egress today, no way at all. Where were the snowplows? Where was anybody? The land below was deserted – no tracks in it at all.
Turning around, she had to blink several times. The brightness of the snow had temporarily blinded her, making the room seem dark again in contrast, the bed, the desk, and the wardrobe disguised within it. She sighed, fought against frustration, and remembered again to be thankful. She was stranded, but in a hotel, with plenty of food and drink, and people, including David, someone she’d already clicked with. She may as well make the most of it, get showered, dressed, and return to the ballroom where breakfast was being served right now. After all, what other choice was there?
* * *
It was late, almost ten thirty. Most pe
ople had eaten breakfast, Caroline presumed, and departed already – but gone where? To their rooms? Some had been milling about in the lobby, where she herself had lingered for a minute or two, noting Raquel still in position, filing her nails as she stared almost blindly towards the main entrance. Caroline too had stared in that direction; she was determined to catch a breath of fresh air, even if she only got a few yards. She simply couldn’t stay cooped up all day. She’d also taken the opportunity to check her phone to see if a return message from Violet had come through and was annoyed to find that the one she’d written hadn’t even sent. She really should have checked that, not been so slapdash. The Wi-Fi too was dreadful, a couple of times she’d tried to log onto Facebook but had given up when it had taken too long, that little round circle whirling away. Not that she went onto Facebook much anyway, so it hadn’t bothered her overly. But a text, that should get through easily enough. She pressed ‘try again’. No joy, that time or the next. About to give up, it seemed to deliver at last. Good.
Despite Raquel’s tendency to ignore her, Caroline had wished her good morning before entering the ballroom, the tables once again immaculately set, although the posies had been removed. David was the only guest she recognised and the smile he flashed at her told her he was glad to see her too. She walked over to him, to their table.
“Okay to sit here?” she asked, a tease in her voice.
“I’d be offended if you didn’t. Sleep well?”
Seating herself, she wondered whether to tell him the truth before deciding against it. She had an urge instead to keep their conversation as light-hearted as possible, offsetting everything that had happened since entering Pennsylvania. Seven days, that was all she had left of her holiday with her chances of achieving all on the agenda she’d created looking less and less likely. Pretty much done with family visits, she’d so much wanted to travel to Mount Pocono after a day or two in Williamsfield, before heading back to Boston and spending a couple of days there, following the Freedom Trail perhaps – something she’d done as a kid and had thoroughly enjoyed – as well as shopping at the Faneuil Hall Marketplace, with its arts and crafts stalls, promenade and restaurants. It was as well all family commitments had been scheduled for the first half of her journey – she’d have hated to miss out on any reunions – and a blessing again that the second leg was more flexible. David was staring at her, his head to one side, clearly waiting for an answer.
“I slept well, thanks, and you?”
“Not bad,” he replied. “Woke up a couple of times, you know, as you do when you’re in a strange place. Unfamiliar noises.”
“Yeah, I woke once or twice too.” Except she hadn’t, she was sure she hadn’t, she’d just thought she was awake, her exhausted brain fooling her. Glancing around, she stated the obvious. “There’s no Elspeth. I hope she’s okay.”
There was no Marilyn around either to check with. Looking back at David, she could see he was concerned too. “Maybe she ate earlier,” he suggested.
Or perhaps she hadn’t bothered to come down at all, thought Caroline.
Breakfast was impressive, consisting of plenty of hot items stored in covered silver serving dishes. Although in recent months grief had curbed her appetite, it reappeared with a vengeance, as the smell of maple bacon, sausage links, home fries, and French toast became nothing less than tantalising. She caught David’s amusement when she returned with her filled plate.
“I’m… erm… hungry,” she explained.
“No judgement here, honey. I like a girl with a good appetite. You carry on.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she murmured, unable to stop grinning too. The food was every bit as good as it looked and smelt, and she was ravenous, trying to eat as delicately as possible, but somehow suspecting she was failing dismally. Her appetite being on the mend heartened her in more ways than one. Whilst part of her suspected she’d never recover from the tragic early deaths of both her parents, whilst it angered her still to think of the unfairness of it, there was no doubt about it, wanting to eat again, enjoying food, rather than it simply being a mechanical process, was a good sign. She’d eaten the previous evening at dinner, of course, and the food had been of a good standard, but there was something different in her this morning, as if something had dislodged… Could it possibly be grief, that all-consuming stage of grief anyway? Was she moving on at last, and here of all places?
“Let’s go outside.” The words were out as soon as she’d finished her last mouthful.
“You wanna case the joint?”
God, how his eyes twinkled!
“I do, starting from the outside.”
He wrapped his arms around his body and shivered. “It’s gonna be cold out there.”
“Where’s your coat?”
“In my room.”
“Go and get it then and I’ll meet you back in the lobby in half an hour.”
“Lady, you’ve got yourself a date.”
It was actually less than half an hour when they met up again. He had on the same overcoat he’d arrived in – thick tweed, classic in style, well worn – plus a scarf and gloves.
He noted her grey woolly hat with a bobble on top. “Fetching,” he said.
“I’m glad you think so.”
As they turned towards the entrance, Raquel finally showed a spark of interest.
“Going somewhere?” she asked.
“No, honey, you just need to turn the heating up a little,” quipped David.
His joke failed to raise a smile. “Good luck,” was her only response.
“Thanks,” Caroline answered, not sure if Raquel’s wish was genuine or sarcastic.
David seemed to read her thoughts. As they walked, he leant across and murmured into her ear, his breath pleasantly warm. “She’s definitely being sarcastic.”
Caroline shrugged. In that moment she couldn’t care less.
Snow had drifted upwards to settle at the entrance and David had to push hard against the double doors in order to open them. As he did, the blast of air was icy – as expected. Earlier, whilst she was getting ready for breakfast, she’d had the TV on again in the background. Continuing reports predicted there’d be a break in proceedings – as was evident – but not to be fooled by it, that another weather front was hot (or rather cold) on the heels of the first, and looked set to be even heavier.
As Caroline stared ahead, she couldn’t help but sigh.
David noticed. “You’ll be on your way again soon, don’t worry.”
“Will I? I mean I know I’ve got a fair while before my flight home, but I’ve never experienced weather like this before.”
“You get snow in England, don’t you? I’ve seen the Charles Dickens Christmas movies.”
“Sure, we get snow, but more often than not it’s just a smattering. In Scotland it’s worse but… not on this scale.”
Gently he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Okay, let’s put this into some kind of perspective. If you miss your flight—”
“Miss my flight? Are you serious?”
“Just hear me out. If you miss your flight, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“Erm… I get into trouble with my boss?”
“But you won’t lose your job?”
“Lose it? No, of course not. But deadlines have to be met.”
He inclined his head to the side. “How much do you love what you do?”
“On a scale of one to ten?”
“If you like.”
She considered. “It used to be about seven but now I’d say four or five.”
“Why’s that?”
“What’s the point of making money for people who’ve already got more than enough?”
“Can’t take it with you, can you?”
“That’s my way of thinking lately.” If she didn’t have bills to pay, the mortgage on her flat, she’d look for something else, something a little more altruistic. Maybe she’d do that anyway, although she’d have to move out of Lo
ndon first, into the less expensive suburbs. What an upheaval that would be, her shoulders sagged just thinking about it.
Noticing, he sought again to reassure her. “Caroline, you made it to safety, and so did I, that’s the main thing. A couple of days from now and things could look very different, or,” he paused briefly, “it could look the same. If it’s the same surely your firm won’t hold that against you. What do they want you to do, kill yourself in the effort to make it to your desk? I don’t think so.”
She pulled a face. “You don’t know the kind of business I’m in, it’s cut-throat.”
“Maybe, but it’s also a world away. This is our reality, right here, right now.”
“It sure is. The heaviest snow Pennsylvania’s seen since the 1950s.”
“Kinda pretty though, ain’t it?”
She laughed, appreciating his ability to lighten the mood.
“And of course there’s something else you can do,” he added, “but nearer the time.”
“What’s that?”
“Change your flight.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” It really was that simple.
Removing his hands, he offered her his arm instead and together they ventured deeper into the snow, stopping briefly at the hillock that was her rental car, so she could wipe away the snow from the passenger-side window and peer inside. It proved a fruitless task – underneath the top layer it was thick ice, she’d need a tough scraper to penetrate it.
“What are you trying to do?” he asked.
Admitting defeat, she straightened up. “I don’t know actually. I suppose I just wanted to make sure it really is my car underneath all that.”
If she expected him to scoff, he didn’t. “It’s hard to believe in something you can’t see, isn’t it?”
She glanced at him. “I think it’s called having faith.”
“Yeah, right, of course it is.”
She was curious. “David, are you a religious man?”
“I…erm… I’ll tell you about it some time.”
His voice had an edge to it, something that hinted at a deeper person beneath the jovial exterior. She wanted him to tell her about it now, was suddenly impatient to know as much as she could about the tall, dark stranger, was about to probe further even when, in one swift movement, he gathered a handful of snow and threw it at her.
The Eleventh Floor Page 6
