For All the Evers

by Debra Anastasia

  “Oh wait, you had the camera removed,” she continued. “You’re a stalker and a creeper, and I don’t want to date you or marry you or anything else!”

  He lowered his voice and advanced on her, pulling her against him in the hall. “I removed the camera so there wouldn’t be evidence of what I’m going to do with you in there.”

  She searched his face, his crazy, out of control face. Fighting with him was like trying to fly a kite in a tornado. It would end poorly.

  “Let go of me.” She pushed him away and stomped on his foot.

  “How much, Fallen? Every woman has a panty-dropping price. Tell me yours.” He leaned close to her mouth like he wanted a kiss.

  She looked down, and when he kissed her forehead the way Thomas liked to do, she snapped. Fallen kicked her boss’s boss’s boss in the shin, then made a fist and hit him as hard as she could right in the nuts.

  The guest room door to their left opened and a man stepped into the hallway. Mr. Orbit was like a wasp’s nest Fallen had run over with a lawn mower—lit up with anger and fury.

  He grabbed her and maintained his hold, despite the obvious pain she had caused him. She turned to the man and said the only word she needed to: “Help.”

  The hotel guest moved like holding people who were out of their minds was perfectly normal. His soothing speech made Fallen wonder if he did so for a living.

  He wedged himself between her and Orbit, and in an instant she was out of his grasp, finally. Then began Orbit’s protests that he owned the hotel and the man was about to get kicked out. The guest agreed that that sounded like an option, but he explained that he couldn’t watch a man hold a woman against her will.

  A woman came out of the man’s room to survey the commotion. “Check on her,” he told her. “He was roughing her up.”

  If the man was calm, his wife was fire. “Oh no he didn’t!” she snapped.

  She came immediately to Fallen. “Are you okay, sweetness? How about we go downstairs and get some water. Let my husband handle your man. He’s really good at it.”

  Fallen shook her head. “He’s not my man. I don’t want your husband to get hurt.”

  “No worries. He’s trained. It’s part of his job.” The woman steered Fallen to the elevator and then out into the lobby.

  “You’re so kind. To open your door when you hear yelling? That’s brave.” Fallen felt like she wanted to cry, but she was too numb now. “I guess I’m fired…”

  “Do you live around here?” The woman offered Fallen a lobby couch like it was her own living room.

  “I work at this hotel. I was at my friend’s funeral. She used to work here too.” Fallen realized she probably wasn’t making sense.

  “Does that man you were with upstairs get this angry often?” The woman handed her a cup of water from the hotel’s welcome table.

  Fallen accepted it with thanks and tried to figure out how to answer the question. Finally she offered, “He’s my boss’s boss’s boss. I work for him, that’s all.”

  “Really?” The woman looked as if she could see the truth of Fallen’s situation. “Sweetheart, I think you’re in a little bit of shock. Has today been tough?”

  “What’s your name? You’re such a brave person.” Fallen felt like this woman’s kindness might break her. She was good at taking care of everyone else, but someone taking care of her might be her undoing.

  “I’m Trisha. And I think you need a nice hot shower and a long rest. Do you live nearby?” Trisha started looking things up on her phone.

  “Yes. I should walk home. You’re right.” Fallen took a sip of the water and discovered she was so incredibly thirsty she had to chug the whole thing.

  “Can I get your address? Or the address of where you’re going? I’ve already ordered a car service.” Trisha held up her phone and showed Fallen the app.

  “I can’t take a car service. I can afford to walk. That’s my price point right now.” Fallen realized she’d left her purse in room 514 with her jacket. “Crap. I left my stuff up there.”

  “Can you get into your house? Is anyone home?” Trisha guided her out the front doors. “The car is almost here. The driver must have been right in the area already.”

  “Yeah. My brother is home. I can get him to let me in.” Fallen tossed her paper cup in the recycle bin.

  “Well, my husband just texted me that your boss is getting in the elevator now. Let’s move you out of here before this escalates. Okay? I’ve got your ride, don’t worry. I have an account with this company. Let me do this for you—from one lady to another.” Trisha waved at a fancy black car that pulled up.

  Trisha had such a warm way about her, Fallen just had to trust her. She almost stumbled when she thought again of her last moments with Thomas, and Trisha put her arm on her shoulder.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Fallen nodded. “It’s been—how did you put it? A really tough day. Maybe the toughest yet.”

  Trisha opened the car’s back door. “Hurry now.”

  She gave the address to the driver and insisted that the fare go on her card. Then she closed the door and patted the side of the car.

  The driver took off, and after a moment Fallen looked out the back window to see Mr. Orbit standing in the parking lot. He looked around wildly, but didn’t seem to see her.

  Fallen turned back and slumped in the seat. Trisha had bought her time, but Orbit wasn’t done with her by a long shot.

  ···

  With vigorous knocking Fallen was able to rouse Fenn from bed. When he opened the door, she shoved him back inside and had it locked behind her before she saw any hint of Orbit’s fancy car.

  Seeing Fenn’s face made her want to just give up. He could obviously tell she was a goddamn wreck.

  “What’s going on? Did someone hurt you?” His eyes bugged out a bit.

  Fallen shook her head, but slid down the door and sat on the floor. “I think I’ve ruined everything.”

  Fenn sat across from her. “What’s wrong?”

  Ironically, it was the stubble on her brother’s jaw that made her tell him. He wasn’t a kid anymore. And she would never be able to make it so his mother wasn’t an alcoholic. All she could offer was herself.

  It came out in a torrent. She edited the parts about the dream world, but she told him the essence of what had her torn: she didn’t know where her boyfriend was, her friend’s funeral was sad, and her second job was also sad, not to mention now over. And, her boss’s boss’s boss kept trying to push her into being with him and had even mentioned marriage.

  Her brother listened in a way that made her think he would be a great husband someday. He absorbed what she told him with his whole body, but didn’t judge her on any of it.

  “The worst part is, he’s your not-so-anonymous sponsor, and he’s really mad at me now. I should just date him. He’s rich as sin.” She trailed off and played with the hem of her dress.

  That wasn’t the worst part. She’d told Thomas when he was going to die. That was the worst part.

  Fenn couldn’t have been sweeter. He went on and on about how they could work together, and he could get a job. She smiled at him, but in her heart she just wanted him to have a regular, happy life.

  And then she had a thought that made her stand up straight. She hugged Fenn, thanked him for the talk, and zipped up the stairs.

  If her warning to Thomas had worked, the papers in her closet should be different. If she’d affected the past, the newspapers proclaiming his death wouldn’t have that information anymore.

  She closed her bedroom door and yanked open the closet. As supportive and amazing as Fenn had been, she needed to see this alone.

  After pulling out the documents, her eyes scanned the pages as she felt her hopes crash to her feet. The clippings were all the same. Thomas F. McHugh died on May 7, 1945.

  Fallen crawled into bed with her favorite picture of him. He had his hands on his hips, wearing a bathing suit. She refused to believe he wa
s some sort of manifestation of the room. Thomas was real—his eyes, the sparkle in them when he was bringing her to orgasm, the shouting when he got to his own, the way his fingers felt as they traced her collarbone around to her shoulder and down her spine.

  Fallen fell asleep looking at his picture and wishing she knew his fate.

  ···

  The weekend was a slow blur of torture. Fallen called in sick on Friday, too fearful to face Mr. Orbit since he’d officially acknowledged his dream self and officially started acting really crazy. On Saturday morning, her purse, cell phone, and coat were in a package on her doorstep with Trisha Vandella written in the return address. That was enough to persuade her she’d be best served spending her Saturday away from the hotel as well.

  She took a long time writing out the thank you. After her phone had charged, she was shocked to find she had no voicemail firing the hell out of her. No texts from Lad, no drive bys. Nothing.

  On Sunday, since she was off anyway, she went shopping for groceries but bought sparingly. She had no idea how much longer she could hold on to this steady paycheck, so she needed to make what she had last.

  On Monday, she knew she dared not hide any longer, so she steeled herself for whatever lay ahead at work. She arrived to find the parking lot nearly empty—only staff cars filled a few spots. But the morning meeting was packed with every employee. Even the essential people that ran the front desk had left their posts.

  8 and 9 welcomed her back and asked how she was feeling, but they shrugged when Fallen asked what was up with the hotel. No one knew.

  Mr. Orbit walked into the meeting ten minutes late and wearing the most expensive suit Fallen had ever seen. He also wore aviator glasses and didn’t remove them as he addressed the employees.

  Fallen couldn’t see his eyes assessing her, but she could certainly feel them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please take this as the hotel’s two-week notice. Except I’m closing this location effective immediately.”

  The shock was a wave through the room. Fallen felt her mouth drop open but closed it quickly when she saw him smirking.

  “You’ll all receive one month’s pay—which is more than generous—to support you as you find alternate employment. In the lobby I have some specialists to assist those of you with medical benefits and retirement plans. Any questions?”

  No one moved or breathed. They were shocked. Fallen knew she was in a staring contest with Mr. Orbit.

  She raised her hand.

  “Ms. Billow?”

  “Is the hotel going to be sold? Hasn’t it been in your family for years?”

  “We built it in the 1920s, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s mine to do with as I choose. And no, I don’t plan to sell it. Any other questions?”

  Fallen straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You couldn’t even wait until Desta was cold in the grave to destroy what she loved?”

  The other employees murmured and gasped, and there were a few muttered curses.

  Orbit ripped off his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes. He pointed at her. “Don’t you dare talk to me about her, you slut.”

  8 and 9 were ready to go. “Oh no. That’s too far, you stuffy rich—”

  He put up his hand. “Go into the hall.” He delivered this order to Fallen like he was the president on a TV show.

  8 and 9 locked eyes with her as she left. She nodded, trying to reassure them. Nothing could really hurt her now. Fallen pulled her hair out of its ponytail as she walked through the crowd to the hall. Defiant.

  Orbit slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall with her.

  She turned and faced him.

  “How dare you say that to me? To me? You of all people know what she meant to me.”

  “So to honor her you’re putting everyone out of work? How does that even make sense?” Fallen crossed her arms in front of her.

  He tried to move closer, and she backed up. She wasn’t letting him touch her again.

  “Come here to me, Fallen. I’ll open the hotel right back up if you come up to room 514 and make love to me.” Lad opened his suit jacket dramatically.

  “No. You don’t put this on me. You don’t give me impossible choices. You’ve held my brother against me, my poverty against me. But I’m not playing your games now. I don’t screw for money. Or for jobs.” Fallen took another step backward when he tried to advance.

  “Have it your way. I’m tearing this hotel to the ground. And I think I’ll make sure it goes down on a Thursday. How’d you like that, Fallen?” His shaking hands were in fists.

  “I need one more week,” she said, keeping her voice even. “That’s it.”

  “What will you do to get that week, Fallen? How low will you go? What’s rock bottom? You certainly aren’t trying to be my friend.”

  There was no use telling him he wouldn’t know a friend if one hit him in the balls.

  Fallen looked at her feet. Thomas had one more Thursday, maybe. It was a crapshoot. What time was he killed? What time could he sleep? She had just a few days left to find out anything else she could about his actual death.

  “I’m not having sex with you,” she told him.

  “Save these people’s jobs, Fallen. Say yes—and get in my car.” He tented his fingers and tilted his head.

  She considered it longer than she should have. But then she pictured Thomas. He would hate that she’d compromised herself to get more time. She would find another way. Becoming a concubine for this man was not the answer.

  She shook her head and took another step back. “I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

  “Fallen, you’ll regret this.” Orbit narrowed his eyes.

  “No, I won’t.” She considered him one more time. “I hope you find peace. Don’t punish others because you didn’t get your way.”

  She kept her arms around herself and made her way through the front lobby, past the stations set up to help employees make sense of the sudden change in their lives.

  She didn’t turn when she heard him raging behind her. Her walk home was a sad one. She noted how crisp the sky was. Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe that’s what all of this was. How could something as mundane as a housekeeping job turn into time-traveling love? Or the manifestation of a malevolent room as a person—which she still didn’t believe.

  Orbit’s Jaguar roared past her when she was a few blocks from home, but she refused to look at him, and thankfully he didn’t stop.

  When she entered her empty house, she went upstairs to look at pictures of Thomas and cry a little. Or maybe a lot.

  ···

  On Tuesday, Fallen spent all her time at the library, jumping from computer to computer to extend her research time as much as possible.

  The research was eye opening and heartbreaking. The Pacific theater included thousands of islands. She found accounts from men who should have crossed paths with Thomas, and perhaps even known him, and she scoured their words for any trace of her tall, dark-haired dream man. The day of his death had been 24 hours before the Allies accepted Germany's surrender, and six days after Hitler’s suicide. Could he have known the war was almost over, even though the focus of his fighting was on a different enemy?

  Her heart cried when she got home and double-checked the dates on the telegrams announcing his death. The one to Thomas’ mother had not been sent until May 29. She must have celebrated the war’s end with the rest of America and imagined having all three of her sons home soon. The note from John had come on June 9.

  She rocked herself to sleep that night, still with no plan to save him.

  On Wednesday, she went back to the library and ransacked the shelves of books on World War II. She took pictures of some passages, but the truth was, none of them gave her any idea when on May 7 Thomas had been lost. Would he sleep? Would she get one more chance to try to warn him? Try to beg him?

  That evening, after ravioli with Fenn, she finally told her brother that she’d been fired f
rom the hotel—well, actually that the hotel had closed as a way to fire her, along with everyone else. Fenn was concerned for her, and for her boss’s boss’s boss’s state of mind, but assured her she would find a better job soon. He even joked that without her paychecks, they might never see their mother again. Fallen wondered whether deep down he believed that to be a blessing or a curse.

  She didn’t sleep on Wednesday night, her room littered with the priceless evidence that Thomas had lived and died seventy years before. In the morning, she knew she had to go to the hotel and try to get into 514. The building was still standing, and Fallen didn’t want to regret not trying for the rest of her life.

  After Fenn went off to school, she arrived to find locked front doors and lots of no trespassing signs. She still had her master key, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be just that easy to open the back door anymore. In her tote she had her broken fork and a hammer. It seemed like a crude way to break a lock, but it also seemed the most effective.

  Fallen scoped out the area and then circled around to the back door. She saw no one around, so she started whacking away at the lock. Her efforts were loud, but she didn’t stop.

  She was yelling at the damn padlock by the time she found the sweet spot and it finally gave up. She slipped off the chain threaded through the handle on the back door and then used her master key.

  Inside, she pulled off her hood. She’d borrowed her brother’s black hoodie and paired it with leggings and black boots. It was as close to a ninja as she could get. She took the stairs, because although the place seemed like a ghost town, she had no idea where Mr. Orbit might be—in the building or watching his cameras. She couldn’t dwell on it because breaking and entering a hotel was probably punishable with jail time. And Orbit was watching today; he had to be. He knew Thursdays were special.

  Just the backup generator lights came on when she flipped the switches. Fallen was still a little amazed that Lad had gone this far—was it just to spite her? What was he going to do with this place? Thinking of all the canceled reservations and people out of work made her sick to her stomach all over again.