by Amy Cross
"Sorry," I mutter, as much to herself as to the people I'm leaving behind. For a fraction of a second, I allow myself to imagine Cole's disappointment when he finds that I've split, but I quickly force myself to stop dwelling on such things. It's that spark of affection, that hint of interest in Cole's attitude, that has scared me more than anything.
Sometimes, I feel as if I'm cracking up completely.
Again.
As the car rounds the next corner, I spot a small, heavily-loaded yellow car tootling slowly along up ahead. Cursing under my breath, I veer out into the other lane and zoom past the dawdlers, which looks to be packed full with a family heading away from the Heights after their holiday.
"Sorry about that," I say as I accelerate away from them. It feels good to be going fast, even if I know that I'm technically breaking the speed limit.
Reaching out to the car radio, I quickly find a classic rock station and turn the volume up. Staring straight ahead, I try to work out where the hell I'm going to go. I have nowhere and no-one, but then again, I was in the same situation when I left Folkestone and London, and... well, that had gone very badly, but I'm sure I'll be able to find another job somewhere. I figure that I certainly can't find anywhere worse than the Heights. Hell, I doubt there's anywhere in the world that's so completely messed up and -
"Fuck!" I shout suddenly, slamming my foot on the brake pedal as I see what's up ahead. The car screeches as the tires lock up, skidding to a halt several meters later and leaving me to stare, shocked, out the window. It takes me a few seconds to realize what I'm looking at, and at the back of my mind there's a voice wondering whether I might, in fact, have gone insane. Rock music is still blaring from the radio, although the signal seems to be getting a little washy here and there.
Slowly, with my mouth hanging open in shock and wonder, I open the door and step out of her car. I take a couple of steps forward, expecting reality to kick in, but...
But...
This is impossible...
Yesterday, I drove along this road on my way to the Heights. It was a long, mostly flat and featureless road with a few bends and kinks. It had felt as if I was out in the middle of nowhere, and I'd jokingly thought to myself that I was in danger of getting lost in such a dull and unremarkable landscape.
But...
Now...
The...
I take a deep breath.
Where there was a long road yesterday, today there's a huge chasm. It's as if the land has been ripped away, and the end of the road now stops suddenly at the edge of a steep vertical precipice, high above a vast plain. There's no way forward, no possible way to get to the other side. A languid mist floats in the air as I try to make sense of what has happened here. How the hell could a huge expanse of road and land have just been scooped up overnight and replaced by a valley that looks to be several miles deep?
Hearing a car horn behind me, I turn and see that the tourist family's yellow car has caught up. Realizing that they aren't slowing down, I try to signal for them to stop, but they speed happily past me, waving and smiling as their car shoots off the edge of the broken road. Slack-jawed and utterly mesmerized, I turn and watch as the little yellow car plummets through the air and finally smashes against the rocks far below, rolling several times before exploding.
Stepping back from the edge, and starting to worry that I'm coming down with some kind of neurological condition, I climb back into her car and put my trembling hands on the steering wheel. With the rock music still pumping from the radio, I slowly reverse a little way from the precipice, and then I turn the car around. I have no idea what to do next, but I figure I have to get back to the hotel and warn someone. No sooner have I driven a couple of hundred meters, however, than I'm suddenly overtaken by a small white car. A family of tourists wave happily at me as they speed off toward the hotel.
A couple of minutes later, I get back to the Heights car park and pull up, just as the family are unpacking their luggage. Sitting and watching them for a moment, I feel as if my mind is going completely blank.
"Hope the weather picks up soon," says the man, smiling at me as I eventually step out of my car.
"Where did you come from?" I ask, stunned by the fact that they seem to have had no trouble with the fact that the road no longer exists.
"Southend," the man says, before turning and walking with his family over to the hotel entrance.
"Southend?" I reply, staring blankly at them.
After a moment, I realize that there's no way I can keep standing out here in the car park forever. I'm not sure what just happened, but right now I have no desire to go back and take another look at the missing road. I've been seeing guests arriving and departing all day, and if the road really no longer existed, how were the police able to get through earlier to check on the blood-filled pipes? There's only one possible explanation. The road must be intact, and I've suffered some kind of mental 'episode'. Taking a deep breath, I realize this must be my brain's way of telling me that I have to stay. For now, at least.
Grabbing my suitcase, I start walking across the car park, and I tell myself that not only can I pretend that everything's okay, but I can also pretend that I don't have any feelings for Cole. After all, I barely know him, so it's ludicrous to think that this is anything more than a simple case of infatuation. The new Laura can be just as strong as the old Laura, and if I have another little wobble, I'll just have to force myself to get on with things. Hell, this is probably a good thing. I have to stop running from my problems some time, right?
Five minutes later, I'm back in my room, unpacking. I've always been good at pretending that nothing's wrong.
Elizabeth
Five years ago
"Have fun, okay?" I say, as I walk with Juliet to the taxi that's waiting to take her back to boarding school. "Don't stress about it, but just try to fit in with some of the other girls. Deal?"
"I'll try," she says, sounding a little downbeat.
"Maybe you can even make a friend and bring her here for a visit?" I continue, hoping to give her something to aim for. "Wouldn't you like to do that?"
"Yeah," she says noncommittally.
"It'll happen," I tell her as we reach the taxi. Glancing back at the entrance to the hotel, I can't help but notice that no-one else has come to wave her off. They wished her luck in the breakfast room, but everyone seemed to be too busy to come and say goodbye properly. I guess it's no wonder that Juliet has trouble relating to other people, since her family seem content to just let her get on with things by herself.
"I'll see you at Christmas," she says, opening the taxi door and climbing inside. "If you're still here".
"That's the plan," I tell her.
She stares at me for a moment, frowning a little. "Maybe," she says eventually, almost as if she's worried about something.
Once she's gone, I start walking slowly back to the main building. The Heights is an overwhelming place at times, despite its undoubted natural beauty, and I still haven't quite got used to the idea that I'm going to be living here once Luke and I have got married. Still, I suppose any new life is daunting, and I'm grateful that I've been given this chance to start again. I know my marriage isn't going to be easy, but I'm ready to work at it. After all, the Heights is far from the worst place to live. In fact, right now, with the sun shining in a clear sky, and the sound water lapping against a nearby beach, it feels almost like paradise.
Epilogue
Today
As usual, Edward Bannister worked late. He sat alone in his office, meticulously going over the day's reports until finally he felt satisfied that the hotel was in order. He checked every line of every piece of paperwork on his desk. Even the slightest error, by anyone at the hotel, could cause friction. For Edward, the most important thing was to ensure that the hotel ran like clockwork. He refused to tolerate errors, and he had a history of firing anyone who made a mistake. He expected his employees to work to the highest possible standards, and even then
he was never satisfied.
Edward Bannister demanded perfection, but he'd never achieved it, never even glimpsed it for a second in his life.
Closing the final folder, Edward glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 1am. He wasn't tired, not in the slightest, and once again he was facing the prospect of a long, mostly sleepless night. He'd long ago got used to surviving on just a couple of hours' sleep each night, and he felt a little pity for any lazy soul who required longer. It helped, of course, that he had no social life, no friends, no hobbies; he simply worked, and slept every day. He had no ambitions beyond the hotel, no thought for the world beyond the horizon. It had never even occurred to him that he might not sit in this chair and do this job forever. The future, to Edward, was a blank white world that offered the tantalizing prospect, however remote, of achieving the perfection he sought.
Then again, he did have certain ways to relax.
After switching off his computer, he stood up and got ready to leave his office for the night. At the last moment, he noticed that his name-ledger was slightly at an angle; he reached down and put it straight, making sure that it was exactly parallel to the edge of the desk. Satisfied, he grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door. He made his way to reception, stopping briefly to chat to the man on the night desk. This was part of Edward's ritual. He'd always felt an obsessive urge to know what was happening at the hotel all the time. The employees all understood by now that there was no point trying to hide anything from him. Fortunately, tonight was one of those perfect nights when nothing seemed to be amiss. The hotel was only half full, but at least those guests were all sleeping soundly.
Why, Edward wondered, did stupid people find it so easy to sleep? Were they so satisfied with their pathetic, docile lives that they felt there was nothing else to do with their time?
Edward walked along the corridor, but instead of going to his room, he stopped outside a door that led down to the basement. He glanced back to make sure no-one was around, and then he unlocked the door and slipped inside. He made sure to lock the door again, before walking carefully down the rickety steps. He felt utterly calm and ordered; he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was untroubled by doubt. As far as he was concerned, this was the right thing to do, although he understood that most people who be aghast. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he felt a flicker of excitement in his heart.
He had a routine, of course. Placing his briefcase on a table over by the wall, he carefully removed his clothes, taking care to fold them neatly before placing them in a large bag. Once he was completely naked, he walked through to a small chamber where he took a shower. The water was freezing cold, which was how he liked it: he wanted his senses to be finely tuned. As soon as he'd finished cleaning himself, he dried off and paused to examine himself in the full-length mirror at the far end of the room. He was pleased with his body, but there was always room for improvement. It was a big change from the old days, though, and he winced as he remembered how he'd once been so chubby and undisciplined. He'd been a slob, a worthless piece of crap, but somehow he'd found the strength to crawl from his pit of misery and become a better man. A perfect man.
Well, almost perfect.
Standing in perfect silence, he waited. He knew he had to find the perfect moment to get started. He had to wait until every atom in his body was aligned and ready to move in unison. This was not a process he could hurry; rather, it was something that he felt came to him from the gods, who recognized him as one of their own. Fortunately, he possessed infinite patience, so he was willing to stand here all night if necessary until the right moment arrived.
Eventually, he felt the perfect peace and calm that he knew signified his readiness. Walking through to the next room, he opened a cabinet on the wall and stared at his collection of whips and straps. He felt that it was always important to choose the right items, since he considered these sessions to be something of a symphony. Noticing that one of the whips was at an angle, he carefully re-arranged it so that it was perfectly parallel with the rest. Eventually, he took a medium-length leather whip, inspected it for a moment, and then carried it over to the small, arched door that led into the main part of the basement. He flicked a switch on the wall, and a single light-bulb flickered into life.
"Are you ready?" he asked as he stepped through the doorway and marveled at the vision before him. He had dreamed of this moment for so long; he'd imagined how it would feel, and he'd spent hours and hours sketching out the arrangements and going over and over his plans. Nothing had been left to chance. He'd always known that this was what he wanted, but he'd also known that he would only get one opportunity. The slightest mistake would have been enough to bring everything crashing down. But no. It was done. It was complete. After all this time, after all those dreams, he'd done it.
On the other side of the room, hanging naked from a set of chains that had been wrapped around his wrists, Luke was finally conscious. There was a thick piece of silver tape over his mouth, and his eyes stared wildly at his tormentor.
Man to man.
Brother to brother.
It was almost Biblical in its simplicity.
"You looked so scared this morning," Edward said, walking across the room. "I could see it in your eyes. The great soldier, all decked up in his finery, but unable to hide the fear in his soul. The eyes give so much away, don't they? We can control every inch of our body, but never our eyes. I wanted to reach out and tell you not to worry. I wanted to let you know that you wouldn't be making it to Afghanistan, that I wouldn't let you be taken off to that barbarian place. Unfortunately, I had to bite my tongue. Still, everything has worked out for the best. You might not see it that way right now, but you will soon. I've got a lot of plans for us tonight, and into the future. I could explain the whole thing to you, but I think it'd be more fun if I surprise you".
Luke tried to speak, but the bandage prevented him from making any noise other than a terrified murmur. He strained against the binds that held him to the wall, but he already knew that there'd be no way to escape.
"You're quite right," Edward said, taking a step back. "We should get started. I doubt you're really in the mood for listening to me, and I'm certainly not in the mood for explaining my reasoning. Anyway, you'd never understand". He checked his grip on the whip's handle, and then he took a moment to judge his first strike. He felt like an artist, assessing the canvas before making his first brush-stroke, and he was fully aware that the very first mark would define the entirety of the work to come. "First impressions are so important," he said, staring intently at Luke's bare chest. "Just as the first touch of a lover's hand can tell us everything we ever need to know about them, so too must my first touch tell you everything you need to know about me. I know I'm your brother, Luke, but I've always kept myself from you. My real self. Until tonight".
Luke struggled, desperately trying to get free.
"There," Edward said, his eyes fixed on the precise inch of skin that he intended to strike first. He reached forward and ran a finger over the bare patch in the center of Luke's chest. "It's taken thirty years," he continued, as he turned and took a few steps away, before looking back at his brother, "but now you're finally going to know who I really am. Not through words, but through actions. Feel the pain as the leather cuts your skin, and try to understand the message it delivers".
With that, he raised his arm and checked his aim, and finally he cracked the whip across his brother's chest, splitting the skin apart as both men - one bound and gagged, the other free - screamed with rage.
Part Three
Perfection
Laura
Today
"What?" I ask, sitting up in bed suddenly.
Looking across my small bedroom, I see that I'm alone. Still, I can't shake the distinct impression that there's someone nearby. I've been dreaming, and although the details of the dream have already floated away in the first few seconds of wakefulness, I can't shake the feeling that someone has bee
n watching me sleep. No matter how hard I triy to tell myself that I was imagining the whole thing, I can't stop staring across the room, as if I'm expecting a dark figure to suddenly take form from the unfamiliar shadows.
"Bullshit," I whisper finally, trying to force myself to calm down.
The truth is, I feel totally alone in this tiny little room down in the bowels of the hotel. For one thing, the rest of the rooms in this part of the building are unoccupied; for another, the Heights is out in the middle of nowhere, which meant that the entire landscape is completely still and quiet at night. I'm used to living in London and Bristol and Manchester, big cities where there are always cars driving past and plans flying over. Here in the south, everything's so peaceful, and the loudest thing is the gentle silence in the room. Besides, everyone knows that silence is never completely silent. There's always something to hear.
Reaching over and grabbing my phone, I see that it's barely 3am, which means I've got four hours left until it's time to get up. There's a part of me that just wants to take a shower and start work early, but I figure I need to get used to my new bedroom eventually. I've never suffered from claustrophobia, but I can't help feeling that the tightness of my room is perhaps playing tricks on me. Slowly, I roll onto her my and tell myself that I have no option but to get back to sleep. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and try to think of something, anything, that might help to lull me back to sleep. It's not easy, and my mind is soon racing with questions about the hotel and, in particular, about the missing Elizabeth Bannister.
Seconds later, there's a loud thumping sound on the door, like a body slamming into the frame.
Sitting bolt upright, I stare wide-eyed into the darkness. My heart is racing, and this time I'm certain that I didn't imagine a damn thing. I pause, waiting for some continuation of the disturbance, but there's nothing. Still, I'm absolutely sure that something, or more likely someone, just hit my door, and this time there's no chance that I'll ever be able to persuade myself that it was all in my mind. This wasn't a vague, indistinct noise; it was something firm and definite, and I don't have a shadow of doubt that it was real.
