The Haunting at Sebring Hotel (A Riveting Haunted House Mystery Series Book 13)

by J. S. Donovan

  The more he thought about it, the more he believed he witnessed a real murder. There were secret tunnels all around the hotel. The killer could’ve stashed the body inside and the police would be none the wiser. What if it was the killer that cut the power? Justin swallowed a glob of spit. If he’s here, this ends tonight.

  Full of fear and determination, he pushed open the door and entered the basement. His light beam only revealed twenty feet in front of him. The heavy door shut behind him, locking from the outside. He could still leave, but no one could enter without the key.

  As he walked, he felt a sudden wave of cold. The hairs on his arms stood. He heard a soft whisper, but the words were lost, indistinguishable.

  Mustering his courage, he shouted. “I hear you! Come out!”

  His voice reverberated through the dark corridor.

  He continued deeper. One hand stayed on his concealed pocket knife. The moment the killer or spirit got close, he’d cut them.

  He blinked, seeing a millisecond vision of a woman being beaten by a shadowy assailant.

  Justin trembled.

  He went eight more feet.

  His foot splashed in something. He shined the light down on the crimson puddle.

  He cursed and jolted back. His light shined over the walls that were now splattered with gallons of blood.

  The image disappeared a second later.

  He drew out the knife and held it in his shaking hand. He continued forward.

  Adrenaline raced through his veins.

  He felt something tugging at the back of his shirt. He twisted around and slashed. There was no one.

  Fighting the urge to flee, he forced himself to continue. He walked by the steaming boiler room, not noticing the silhouetted figure in the foggy steam.

  He reached the back closet and entered the generator room that had the breaker box.

  He heard something shivering in the corner.

  Justin turned that way. Nothing. He cursed loudly. “Just come out already!”

  Silence.

  Justin shouted, “I know you see me! Come on! Are you scared?”

  Annoyed by the lack of response, he marched over the breaker box and yanked open its door. All the switches were set to “on.” He toggled them off and then on again.

  Light returned to the basement.

  Justin sighed loudly.

  The generator hummed.

  Anna sent him a text. “All good up here. Thank you.”

  Justin pocketed his phone and knife. Perturbed, he hurried out of the basement. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he was crazy after all. He had blackouts during sex. That strange quirk was bleeding into the rest of his life. No one else saw the visions. No one cared. He returned upstairs.

  As he repositioned himself behind the lobby counter, the limber mechanic named Fritz exited the bar. He avoided eye contact and headed for the elevator. Justin searched his name on the guest database. He was staying in Suite 211. That was near the balcony. Justin didn’t trust him.

  The old man was the next to leave. Andrew Warren. He nodded curtly at Justin before heading upstairs. What is his angle? Justin asked. Why are you here? It dawned on Justin that he knew none of the guests. Any one of them could’ve been the killer. If they know about the secret passageways, they had to be a reoccurring visitor.

  The couple left two hours later. They laughed and stumbled, both drunk out of their mind. The young woman’s bracelet slipped from her wrist. The man picked it up. “You don’t want to lose that.”

  The woman put the bracelet on. “Yeah, my mom would kill me.”

  Unless they had split personalities, Justin was sure they weren’t the killers.

  Justin didn’t see the writer and creepy girl Asher liked exit the bar, but they weren’t there when he peeked inside. Cameron and Anna sat on stools next to each other. Anna laughed at one of his jokes. Justin wondered what sort of relationship they were cultivating. He knew his mother. He knew how manipulative she could be if she wanted.

  Over the next few days, Justin observed the guests. During the day while he cleaned, he’d take extra time in the room and look over their things. He never touched or moved any of their belongings. He still had some shred of kindness in him. The couple was the most interesting. They had moved most of the furniture against the wall and opened up the floor of their suite to dance. They had leotards hanging in their closet and ballet shoes they kept clean. They also had wetsuits to dive into the freezing Atlantic.

  Andrew Warren’s room was tidy and neat. There were a plethora of books he’d packed into the shelf and he had a small table with a tea kettle. The old man planned on staying at Club Blue for the long run. Maybe even until he died. Justin perused his bookshelf, seeing historical texts, books about symbols, and classic novels he had marked with hundreds of notes. Unlike most of the guests, Andrew was around the hotel most days. He’d spend much of the time in the woods behind Club Blue. There were benches and nice walking paths through the trees.

  Fritz owned little. He had a few changes of clothes, a TV he ran constantly, and a small work station at his desk. He’d whittle little birds out of wooden blocks. He had a brush set used to paint fine details on the figurines. Each was its own work of art. On his bathroom mirror, he’d taped a picture of a woman. She had large glasses and a slightly unattractive face. Creases were all across the photo. Fritz must’ve brought the picture everywhere. He was gone from 6 am to 9 pm almost every weeknight. He worked as a mechanic near one of the local shops. His minifridge was packed with beer and leftover food.

  The priest came and went randomly. He lived out of a single suitcase and may have only had one set of clothes outside the priestly garments. His room was bare. The TV remote and channel surfing guide collected dust. He had not touched them since he arrived. A Bible was open on the floor beside the window. The passage was about Jesus and the adulteress woman. It read, “Let anyone of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

  The priest also owned a Bluetooth speaker and nothing else.

  After replacing the bedsheets, Justin exited his room, confused. With so little, what did the man do all day?

  Agent Cameron was in his room when Justin brought new towels. The agent scrolled through the news on his laptop. A lot of open tabs cluttered his internet browser. Justin couldn’t read the title of any of them. Cameron acknowledged Justin with a brief “hello” but continued reading. The agent had packed his clothes into the dresser. He made his bed every morning. His closet door was shut. Justin didn’t have a chance to look inside. He had a few books on forensic sciences near his bed as well as books regarding surgery and construction. Justin left the room not knowing much about the agent.

  None of the guests did anything suspicious over the next few days and Justin had a lack of supernatural encounters. Halloween was coming up shortly. Anna had bought tons of decorations, nothing distasteful though. Asher helped hang spiderwebs and string orange and black banners through the ballroom. He isolated himself as he worked and didn’t speak to Justin. Justin suspected something was up with him but didn’t really care to investigate. At least his brother was doing something. It’s about time. The decorations for Halloween were a lot of work, but Anna aimed to make it perfect.

  The sun fell and darkness spilled over Sebring.

  At 1:30 am, Justin finished his shift at the lobby. He locked the doors but lingered by the entrance. He was still grounded, and though there wasn’t anything for him to do outside, the lack of freedom made him yearn to take a drive. He fought the urge. He needed to repair relations between him and his mother. His mission was to capture a spirit or killer on camera. Despite Mom’s wishes, he kept his gear. She was too caught up with other expenses to notice Justin hadn’t gotten the refund.

  Exhausted, Justin returned to his room. He crashed on the bed, though he didn’t sleep. His dreams had been horrible for the last few nights. He never remembered them, but he’d wake up in a cold sweat. Around 4 am, he sat up
. His eyes stung. His head throbbed. He felt hot and cold at the same time. He splashed his face in the bathroom sink. His face was haggard. As someone who prided himself on his good looks, he hated seeing himself turning pale and sickly. He thought someone would take notice, but no one did. Maybe it was just another aspect of his growing insanity. His father was insane. Not clinically, though. Just violent and paranoid. Perhaps it was genetic. Tired of staying cramped up in his room, he stepped out into the hallway. He kept his pocket knife and walked to the second-floor balcony. He rested his hands on the rails and peered down at the checkered ballroom floor.

  He walked to the wall next to him and rubbed his hand across it. The killer might’ve pulled the woman through a secret door. He studied the framed painting. He tried to move them, but they were attached to the wall. Strange, he thought. The portrait showed a few former Masons seated in a row. The eyes of one were black pits. They peered deep into Justin’s soul. He backed away and checked the floor. There was no breach in the carpet. He walked down the steps and returned to the post where he hid during the woman’s murder. He forced himself to remember. She had hazel hair and olive skin. She wore a pearl necklace and jade earrings. Her dress, from what little Justin saw from his vantage point, had shoulder stripes and was a glossy green.

  The revelation hit him like a bus. It was the same woman who had the slashed throat and bloody stomach. He hadn’t witnessed a recent murder. He saw a moving image from the past. No wonder why the police didn’t find anything. The murder could’ve been years ago.

  Justin’s mind raced. The gore must have blinded him to the woman’s beauty. She was trying to communicate with him. Maybe she wasn’t the threat after all. Maybe she was warning him. Justin charged up the stairs. It seemed so obvious now. The spirit wanted his help. Looking back, she never tried to hurt him. She tried speaking, but her cut throat destroyed her vocals. As he speed-walked by to his room, he heard a loud thump in one of the suites.

  Justin froze. He approached the suite where the couple was staying. He pressed his ear against the cold door.

  Silence.

  He waited.

  Nothing.

  He returned to his room and locked the upper latch on the door. He rested on his bed and locked his fingers behind his head. He needed a way to communicate with the dead woman. He needed to learn who she was.

  He got up the next morning, put on his work uniform, and headed down to the lobby. His mother was already at the counter, dressed nicely and wearing a push-up bra. She must’ve been trying to impress someone.

  “Morning,” she said as Justin approached.

  “Sup,” Justin said. “I think I learned something last night.”

  “Is it another one of your crackpot theories?” Anna asked.

  Justin’s shoulders tensed up. “Never mind.”

  Anna said, “Oh, the couple in Suite 204 checked out.”

  Justin was intrigued.

  Anna said, “Yeah. Their keys were on the counter when I got here this morning.”

  “But you didn’t see them though?” Justin asked.

  Anna shook her head. “Clean their room today.”

  Justin pushed his custodial cart to their room first thing. Their bed was tidy and their closet clean. Everything was spotless apart from the small dent in the wall. Justin vacuumed. Something got sucked up that made the vacuum make a grinding noise. Justin turned it off and opened the bag. He reached in and removed a bracelet. It belonged to the young blonde.

  Justin pocketed it.

  After cleaning the rest of the rooms, he returned to the lobby and asked Anna to tell the couple they forgot something.

  Anna scanned through the ledger and gave them a call. Justin kept the bracelet in his pocket. His fingers brushed against it.

  Anna said, “Hey, Rosy, this is Anna from Club Blue. My house cleaner found something of yours and wanted to know the best way to deliver it to you. Thank you. Call us back soon.”

  “Call them again,” Justin said.

  “Not right now. It wouldn’t be professional. If they don’t respond, we’ll try in a few more days,” Anna said. “What did you find anyway?”

  “It’s nothing,” Justin said. He returned upstairs and knocked on Agent Cameron’s door.

  The agent answered the door. He was dressed in a white shirt and cheap jeans. He eyed Justin, unsure why he was here.

  Justin pulled out the bracelet and showed it to him.

  Cameron asked, “What’s that?”

  “It belonged to Rosy. The blonde chick down on the second floor.”

  Cameron replied, “Are you wanting to give it to her or…”

  Justin glanced around. There was no one on the third floor. He said, “She checked out late last night and left this behind.”

  “Have you tried her callback number?”

  Justin shook his head. “I heard something in their room last night. It was a loud knocking sound. There was a dent in their wall too.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Cameron asked.

  Justin’s palm sweated. “I think something happened to them.”

  Cameron raised a brow.

  Justin handed him the bracelet. “She wouldn’t leave this behind.”

  Cameron studied the little gemstones.

  22

  Vanished

  After the teenager left, Cameron shut the door and returned to his desk. He set the bracelet beside his computer. He knew this would be the case that would get him back into the agency. He’d have to tread carefully, however. He didn’t have the proper authority to conduct formal interviews or search people’s homes. His former FBI director would lend him some assistance, but not until Cameron formed a compelling case. That meant he needed suspects. More specifically, a prime suspect with a strong motive.

  He clicked through his open internet tabs and stopped on the Swan Song Ballet Studio webpage. The front image showed Christophe Michaels gracefully leaping across the stage. He starred in over sixty percent of the photos. The rest were beautiful young women. Cameron called the number listed.

  A kind woman answered.

  Cameron inquired about Christophe and his return.

  “Hopefully next month. He tends to take prolonged vacations to travel. I can’t give you an exact date,” the woman apologized.

  Going over his social media, he had a picture with his teenage son, but no wife. He must’ve been divorced. His son’s profile was private, but the boy was eighteen and living in Florida. There was a chance no one would look for Christophe.

  Rosy Julian wasn’t as a loner like her partner. Much of her social feed consisted of night clubs, theaters, and other places she could dance. She appeared to love it all but was listed single under her profile description. Her tryst with her instructor must have been hush-hush. There was no link to her parents on any of her social media sites. Christophe might’ve been the only one to know about her stay at Club Blue. The police probably wouldn’t come looking for them for a while. It would be easy to say they checked out and were lost on the road. After all, Christophe’s dinged-up car was no longer in the parking lot.

  Justin texted Cameron the number Christophe listed on the ledger. Cameron called and went straight to voicemail.

  Late that night, Justin knocked on Cameron’s door.

  “I’ll show you the room,” Justin said anxiously.

  Cameron replied, “Thanks, but I can do it alone.”

  The seventeen-year-old looked annoyed. “I’m the one who told you about this.”

  “And I’m the professional,” Cameron replied. “Let me see the key.”

  The teenage boy sulked. He dropped the key in Cameron’s palm and said, “I want it back tomorrow.”

  “Let me ask you something, kid. If you think these people were killed, how come you haven’t called the police?” Cameron asked.

  Justin brushed his hair out of his face and replied, “I don’t trust them. Besides, one more scandal and this place will collapse. My mom can’t h
andle that. Not after what happened with James.”

  “James was your father, right?” Cameron asked.

  “In blood, yeah,” Justin said bitterly.

  “My dad wasn’t perfect either,” Cameron said, putting it mildly. “Yours died in the bathtub. I heard the police suspected foul play.”

  “Screw you, man,” Justin said.

  “I was just making a little conversation.”

  “Talking about James is off-limits,” Justin replied. “Now, can I help you investigate or what?”

  “No,” Cameron replied sternly. “I can’t have you tampering with evidence.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Justin replied, getting mad.

  “Then you’re smart enough to realize that one false move could derail this entire case. Fewer people. Fewer variables.”

  Justin crossed his arms. He set his jaw to one side. “Fine,” he finally conceded. “But you keep me involved.”

  “We’ll play it by ear,” Cameron said.

  Despite his frustrations, the boy left Cameron to his own devices.

  The FBI agent entered the room. It had been cleaned two times over. Cameron slipped on his own pair of leather gloves just to be safe. They were soft and fit snugly over his veiny hands. He saw the small dent Justin had mentioned when he first told him about the killings. It was a snug fit for a forehead. There were no blood or hair follicles. They’d been meticulously removed. The agent pulled a blacklight from his pocket. He turned off the light in the room and found bleach stains across the entire hardwood floor. A mop had been dragged across it too. It could’ve easily been a custodial practice to mix bleach and mop water.

  Cameron searched the bed and around the corners. The boy had found a bracelet somewhere out of sight. It remaining in the maliciously-cleaned room was an oversight. After exploring the room, Cameron exited into the hallway. He continued his search using the black light. He couldn’t turn off the power in the hallway, but the black light still worked up close. He followed the hallway in the trajectory that the hidden corridors led and eventually ended up in the stairwell beside the elevator. The black light highlighted a few droplets of blood trickling down the steps. It wasn’t much, but it was far more than a nosebleed. It must’ve leaked all the way out to the parking lot.