“Someone has to sign for them,” the deliveryman said.
Anna agreed to do so. She put the bouquet on the countertop. She opened the guest registry on her laptop. The only guest that had a name that started with the letter L was Lance. Perhaps the flowers were for him? If so, what special services?
A while later, Lance exited the elevator and started toward the lobby’s front doors. “Nice flowers.”
Anna asked, “Thank you. Did you send these?”
“Maybe you have a secret admirer.” Lance winked.
Anna laughed politely. “Thank you, but is it you?”
Lance shrugged playfully and pushed out the front doors.
He had to be the sender. Anna felt uncomfortable. She’d have to find a way to tactfully decline.
Around 4 pm, Asher came home from school.
“How was it?” Anna asked as he approached the front desk.
“Alright, I guess,” Asher said. “Everyone is asking about Justin. They think he was arrested.”
“Where did they get that idea?”
“He’s not coming to school anymore,” Asher explained. “How is he anyway?”
“Good, he’ll be taking over the night shift so we can stay open later,” Anna explained. “I’ve also started building a website, but I need some creative input.”
“You should market it as creepy,” Asher said.
Anna laughed. “Not in a million years.”
“You’d get a lot of people like Raven and her dad,” Asher said.
“Who?” Anna asked.
“Raven. She’s staying in Suite 212,” Asher said.
“Huh,” Anna replied, “I’m not sure I met her. Is she into some creepy stuff?”
Asher nodded. “She knows all about weird rituals. I thought she was super weird, and she is, but…”
Anna said, “Sounds like you have a crush.”
“No!” Asher said. “That’s, that’s gross. She’s not my type.”
“Uh-huh.”
“For real,” Asher said.
Anna said, “Well, just don’t get too attached. No one stays here forever.”
13
Blood, Sweat, and Tears
The wheels made a thunderous noise as the skateboard raced down the third-floor hall. Justin kicked faster. The glass cleaner and bleach spray fit in his tool belt. The hip-hop’s heavy bass rumbled in his headphones.
He thought back to his York house. He used to climb out his window and sit on the slanted roof to light up a joint. He’d spend a lot of late nights up there where no one could see him and the wind would take the smell away. No longer part of the school here, he couldn’t score any more weed. Not that he cared. He enjoyed drinking more and his mom hadn’t changed the lock on the bar’s booze cabinet. Thinking of home reminded him of Dad. Justin came home late one night and his father was waiting up for him in the living room. The old man’s glassy eyes and gentle swaying were signs he’d been drinking. The antique lamp cast a glow on half his face. The other side was drowned in darkness like the rest of the living room.
Justin headed for the stairs.
“Come over here,” Father said.
Hesitant, Justin walked to him.
“You been drinking?” Father asked.
“No, sir,” Justin replied.
Father replied, “Don’t lie to me. You think I don’t know you’re still hanging out with those skater punks?”
“We just went the park,” Justin said.
“That’s all?”
“Yes, sir.”
Father picked up a book from the lampstand. He mindlessly flipped through it, a sullen expression on his face.
Justin said, “I’m going to go to bed…”
Father launched the book at him. It hit Justin in the nose. The fourteen-year-old staggered back. Father jolted out of his seat and grabbed the neck of Justin’s shirt. His bloodshot eyes locked on Justin, who was terrified. “You’re not going to amount to anything just like your loser friends. They’re all ungrateful deadbeats.”
Justin’s eyes watered. “That’s not true.”
Father raised his fist.
Justin recoiled.
“Did I say you could talk?” Father shook his head in spiteful shame. “You’re worse than your mother. I oughta belt you too. Maybe that will knock some sense into you.”
Justin yanked off his headphones, enraged by the memory. It was almost as bad as finding his mother naked and weeping on the bathroom floor. Bloody welts painted her back.
The thought infuriated Justin. He felt disgusted, sad, and ready to explode. He opened up the door to one of the rooms and stepped inside. Justin’s father had only gotten worse toward the end.
He shut the door behind him. Putting his skateboard on the floor, he pulled out his window cleaner and the rag from his backpack. He turned to the corner of the room.
Standing on the bed, the Hispanic woman held her stomach. Her glossy, tight green dress hugged her skinny body. Like blossoming flowers, blotches of blood on her belly expanded from the half-dozen stab wounds. Both her eyes were partly rolled backward. She tilted back her head ever so slightly. The long cut on her neck yawned, releasing a waterfall of blood down her breasts. She screamed, shaking the room.
The cloth and cleaner dropped from Justin’s hands as he darted in the opposite direction. The door stood in front of him. His foot landed on the skateboard and slipped. The board launched behind him while Justin flung forward. His head smacked against the door. Thud!
Limp, he slid to the floor, leaving behind a thin crimson streak on the door’s face and on his busted forehead. He lay on the floor, unmoving.
The woman turned, her feet bowed in like a cripple and her movements twitchy. The sound like a creaking door escaped her parted lips. She stopped a foot away from Justin’s body, her eyes fixed in the same upward and cocked position. Her hand, sticky with blood, reached for Justin’s collar.
Justin awoke.
Sucking air through his teeth, Justin swiftly rolled to his back.
The ceiling fans whirled softly.
The little hall into the suite’s living room was empty. Justin’s heart raced. A throbbing pain surged on his forehead. He carefully got to his feet. The world around him tilted. He blinked. The walls returned to normal. His skateboard rested against the wall away from him. The only way to get it was around the blind corner. Justin twisted around and bolted out of the room.
He sprinted to the elevator, violently jamming his finger against the button.
Ding!
He rushed inside. The elevator door stayed open.
A tear of blood trickled down Justin’s forehead and rolled along his nose. He breathed rapidly. He waited, expecting something to step out of the faraway suite.
The elevator door started to close. For a brief second, Justin saw the woman take a step out of the suite.
Trapped in the elevator, Justin wiped away the blood on his face. The pain worsened. He arrived in the lobby. Anna stood behind the counter, her attention locked on her phone screen.
Moving briskly, Justin neared her. He glanced back, paranoid.
Anna looked up momentarily. “One second.”
She did a double-take, and her jaw dropped.
Fear had flushed all the color from Justin’s face. Blood leaked from his swelling gash.
“Oh my—” Anna rushed around the counter and grabbed his upper arms. “What--what happened?”
“Woman,” Justin said. “She was… and blood. And…”
“Shh, it's okay. One sentence at a time,” Anna said, struggling to keep her composure.
Justin said, “There’s a dead woman upstairs.”
He watched dread sink his mother’s horrified expression. Hand trembling, she dialed 9… 1…
Justin caught her hand and yanked away her cellphone. “No.”
“But—”
“She was dead,” Justin explained.
“We need to contact the police,” Anna said.
“You don’t understand. She tried to—”
Ding!
The elevator door opened.
Justin and Anna stood completely still. Not even the smallest breath escaped their lungs.
The elevator was empty.
The door shut.
Anna tried to snatch her phone back. Justin pulled his arm away from her and held it behind him. He had the height advantage over her.
“Give it,” Anna hissed.
“The woman’s not real,” Justin said.
“You’re not making any sense.” She tried to grab for the phone again.
“She was dead, but she was standing! She screamed at me!”
Anna stopped trying to reach for her phone. “Is this… is this some kind of joke? I swear, Justin, if you’re playing me--”
“I swear on my life,” Justin interrupted. “There was someone in Suite 309. Her throat was cut open. Her stomach--” A tear fell down Justin’s cheek. He wiped it away. He whimpered a curse and cried more.
Anna wrapped her arms around her boy. She held him, just as terrified. “Wait here, okay.”
“You can’t go up there,” Justin said.
“I’ll just be gone for a moment,” Anna said.
“Mom, please,” Justin pleaded.
“Stay put,” Anna hurried toward the elevator.
Justin watched her vanish inside. His teeth chattered. A cold rush shook him. He held the phone so tight his knuckles turned white.
It was nightfall outside the glass doors.
Ding!
The elevator door opened.
Justin’s pulse pounded.
Anna stepped out. Her expression was unreadable as she approached.
“Well?” Justin asked anxiously.
“How hard did you hit your head?”
“I don’t know. Did you see her?” Justin asked.
“There’s no one up there, Justin,” Anna said. “Not even Agent Cameron is around.”
“But the woman.”
“What woman?”
“With the—” He rubbed his neck.
“Justin,” Anna said as if speaking to a child. “You got hit. That’s all.”
“No, no, no. She was there, Mom.”
“It was a dream,” Anna said.
“It wasn’t!” Justin wanted to tear his hair out. “What about that do you not understand?!”
Anna sighed. “Justin, don’t believe me. See for yourself.”
“Screw that!” Justin slammed her phone on the counter. “And screw this place. I’m done. Okay?”
He headed toward the front doors.
Anna yelled. “Where are you going? Your work is not done. What about your head?”
Justin pushed out of the double doors and raced into the darkness.
14
The Kindness of a Stranger
Thunder crackled.
Heavy rain pelted the glass doors.
The power flickered.
The chandelier lights in the lobby hummed as they returned to life.
Anna stood behind the lobby counter, her thoughts on her runaway son. He’ll come back, she told herself. Thinking that he was out in the rain worried her. He was a capable boy, but to be scared like that wasn’t normal. She hoped that he wouldn’t have to get stitches.
Her mouse cursor hovered over her most recent blog post. The article chronicled her journey as a single mom and hotel manager. She wrote about the pitfalls, stresses, challenges, and rewards, trying to inject humor where she could. If the blog got enough hits, it would be an invaluable marketing tool. Everyone loves a fixer-upper story. She’d leave out the part about the skeleton in the wall, McKenzie’s breakdown, and the injury that knocked Harry the handyman into a coma. She kept the blog relatable and friendly.
Despite working long hours, she had a lot of downtime between check-ins. She got a few new residents over the last few days. They only stayed for a night. Anna hardly noticed them. She plucked away at her blog, talking about raising a rebellious son. She kept herself vulnerable. It would be more real that way.
She’d tossed a few other irons in her marketing oven. There was a billboard right off the highway ready to be rented. She’d also been reviewing social media advertising services. On her various social media pages, she had posted detailed pictures of the hotel’s light fixtures, the beautiful artwork on the walls, the strange star-shaped symbols above the entrance, and the more appealing features that made Club Blue exciting and different. Having Justin doing most of the manual labor freed her up for this. His position was unpaid until the five thousand given to McKenzie’s parents was paid in full.
Anna typed the end of her post. The soft clack of her fingers echoed through the large room.
Lighting flashed outside.
Thunder followed right after.
Anna stared at the front door. She anxiously chewed the inside of her cheek. She texted Justin, asking him to come back so they could talk. What if what he saw was real? Impossible. Anna didn’t believe in the supernatural.
The corded phone on the counter rang. Anna put aside her worrying for a moment and answered. “Club Blue, this is Anna speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hey,” the man said with a friendly tone.
“Who is this?”
“Lance from Suite 207.”
“Hey, Lance. How can I help you?”
“One of my lights burnt out. I think the bulb is fried,” Lance said.
“That might be from the storm. I’ll come up and take a look,” Anna said.
“Thanks… is your boy around?” Lance asked.
“Not at the moment. Is there something you need from him?” Anna asked.
“It’s not right he left you all alone,” Lance said.
Anna faked a kind laugh. “You don’t need to worry about me, Lance. I can handle myself.”
“Still…” Lance’s voice drifted.
The conversation quickly turned stale. Anna said, “Okay, well, I’ll be up shortly.”
“I look forward to it, Anna.”
“Bye now.”
Click.
Anna put her “Be Back Shortly” sign on the counter and grabbed the short ladder and a few bulbs from the supply closet. She wore a pencil skirt, a suit jacket, a windowpane bodice top with a leather stretch belt at her bellybutton, and monochrome snake-cut high heels. Needless to say, it wasn’t the best outfit for the job.
She knocked on Suite 207.
Lance quickly answered. The lamp on the side of his bed was the only source of light. The storm raged outside. Large raindrops pelted the window. Lance stepped aside and gestured for Anna to enter.
She set the three-step ladder under the ceiling light and took off her heels.
Lance glanced out into the hallway before shutting the door.
She felt the cold rungs through her socks as she reached the second to last. “When did they start giving you problems?”
Lance lingered behind her. “Like you said, it was probably the storm.”
Anna made a mental note to check the other rooms.
Lance asked, “How long were you married?”
Anna replied, “Nineteen years.”
Lance whistled, “That’s a long time to stay with someone.”
“Tell me about it,” Anna replied. “I had some good years sprinkled in there, though.”
Anna grabbed the ceiling bulb and gave it a spin. The light flickered on, momentarily blinding Anna. “Huh?”
“What?”
“It was loose,” Anna said.
Anna backed down the step.
She felt Lance’s hand on her hips.
“Hey,” she said but wasn’t in a position to pull away from him.
“Careful,” Lance said.
“I can get down by myself,” Anna said.
Lance let go.
Anna kept an eye on him as she pulled the ladder below the next burnt-out light.
Lance said, “I like your skirt.”
�
�Thank you,” Anna said awkwardly, hiking the steps.
“Makes you look hot.”
Anna looked over her shoulder at him. “It might be easier if you wait in the hall while I finish this.”
“Whoa,” Lance said, getting offended. “No need to get aggressive.”
“I’m not,” Anna replied. She grabbed the bulb. “I would prefer some space, that’s all.”
Lance said, “You like the flowers?”
Anna tightened the lightbulb in its socket. It worked. Loosened again.
Lance asked, “You still offer the special services?”
Still on the ladder, Anna turned back to him. “Please, sir. I’m a professional.”
“You never answered my question,” Lance said.
Anna descended the ladder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Pop-Tarts,” Lance said. “I haven’t seen any around here. None but you.” He took a step closer.
Anna stood her ground. “Sir. Leave the room. I don’t want to call the police, but I will.”
A wicked smile grew on Lance’s oily face. The ceiling light reflected on his shiny, spiked blond hair. “How long do you think it will take them to get here? Six minutes? Seven?” He took another step closer.
Anna backed up. The man guarded the way out. Her heart raced. “I will scream.”
Lance replied, “How fast?”
Anna opened her mouth when Lance lunged at her.
She moved back, but Lance was quicker. He grabbed her throat and slammed her against the window. Her back broke the glass pane. Anna screamed, tumbling into the freezing rain and howling wind. Lance fell with her, losing his grip on her throat.
Like falling into a spike pit, Anna crashed through a tree, through leaves and branches. The pointed ends slashed at her skin and clothes. The thick branches smacked her like clubs, breaking the momentum of her initial fall and rolling her in the air. She landed face-first on the muddy grass.
Lance landed a second later. Cursing, he rolled to his side, clenching his elbow and gritting his teeth.
Anna tasted grass and dirt. Sharp lines stung across her body from the hundreds of little cuts. She struggled to breathe. Mud clung to half her face. The storm raged around her. The raindrops hit like small stones. Anna trembled. Her shock masked most of the pain. Above her, the tempest burst through the busted window. A beacon of golden light shined out.
The Haunting at Sebring Hotel (A Riveting Haunted House Mystery Series Book 13) Page 9
