by Amy Cross
"Who?" Rachel asks suddenly, squinting a little.
"Cole".
"Who?"
"The barman".
Rachel stares at me for a moment. "Oh," she says finally. "Yeah. I don't know him at all. Not really. He's not my kind of..." She pauses, as if she accidentally stumbled into the wrong sentence. "We're in different parts of the hotel," she says after a moment. "Our paths don't cross very much. It's not like I spend much time in the bar. I'm too busy doing actual work". She stares at me in a way that makes her distaste abundantly clear. "I guess you'd know more about that kind of thing," she adds eventually.
Forcing a polite smile, I can't help but notice that there seems to be a new bruise on the side of Rachel's face, almost as if she's had another 'fall' during the morning. Still, I figure it probably wouldn't be a good idea to ask, so I decide to stick to the subject of Cole, which I hope might prove to be marginally more productive. "He knew Elizabeth Bannister, right?"
Rachel frowns.
"I'm just asking, 'cause I mentioned Elizabeth earlier and he -"
"Why did you mention Elizabeth?" Rachel asks, squinting a little as she continues to shield her eyes from the midday sun.
"I was just talking to him about..." I pause, realizing that if it was a mistake to mention my 'dream' to Cole, it'd be a whole new level of calamity to breathe a word to Rachel. "She just came up while we were talking, and Cole kind of shut down immediately. It was like I'd pressed some kind of huge button that -"
"Well there's your lesson for today".
"My lesson?"
"Don't mention Elizabeth Bannister's name," Rachel says firmly. "Not to anyone. Not at any time, or in any context". She pauses to take another drag from her cigarette. "People are touchy. Some of them expect Elizabeth to come walking back through the door one day, and some of them think she'll be found buried somewhere in the grounds. Either way, they all think that one day they'll get to the bottom of the whole damn thing. Fucking idiots".
"People are still pretty touchy about her disappearance, huh?" I ask.
"No fucking kidding".
"What do you think?"
"Didn't you hear what I just told you?" she replies testily. "I told you not to talk about her!"
Sighing, I hold my hands up in mock surrender. "I have to get back to work," I mutter, turning to go inside. "I don't have time to sit around chatting anyway".
"I think no-one's ever gonna find out," Rachel says suddenly.
"Find out what happened to Elizabeth?" I ask, turning back to her.
She nods. "That's going to be the worst part of it for everyone. They'll never know. For the rest of their lives, they're going to be left wondering what really happened. Trust me, that little worm is already eating away at them all. It's driven the family half crazy. If someone truly wanted to torture them, this was the best way to do it".
"And you?" I ask. "What do you really think happened to her?"
"Me?" She pauses. "I don't want to get into that kind of guessing game. I know my place around here. Anyway, Elizabeth's old news. The sooner this place moves on from her, the better, and that includes lovestruck, moony-eyed barmen".
"At last we agree on something," I reply.
Rachel stares at her for a moment. "The side of my bedside table," she says suddenly.
I frown.
"That's how I hit my head," she continues. "I know you're still wondering. I was late for work, I was getting dressed in a hurry, and I tripped and fall. I was unlucky, that's all. I caught the side of my face on the edge of my bedside table. Damn near knocked myself out. I'm lucky I didn't hurt myself properly. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
I nod.
"If you start dragging out other people's secrets," she adds, getting up and walking past me as she heads inside, "you might find that your own are exposed. No-one's perfect, are they? We've all got things parts of our lives we'd rather not acknowledge. Or is your life completely blameless and perfect?"
"No," I reply, watching as she walks away. "Definitely not blameless, and definitely not perfect". Taking a deep breath, I can't help worrying for a moment that maybe Rachel knows something about my past. Then again, I guess I'm just being paranoid. After all, Rachel's just a small-time receptionist at an out-of-the-way hotel. How could she possibly know the truth about where I come from?
Elizabeth
Five years ago
"A word?"
Turning, I find to my immense relief that Luke has finally returned to my side.
"Where the hell have you been?" I ask. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"
"It's okay," he replies, seeming a little distracted. "I just need to have a word with you outside. Come on". Taking me by the arm, he leads me quickly across the bar, clearly keen to avoid bumping into anyone who might want to start up another awkward conversation.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, sensing a different tone in his voice.
Pushing the door open, Luke leads me through into the kitchen at the back of the bar.
"What?" I ask. "Did I do something wrong?"
"It's not that," Luke replies, "it's just..." He pauses for a moment, and it's clear that something's troubling him. "Okay, I don't want you to take this the wrong way," he continues eventually, "but a few people have mentioned that you seem to have..." He pauses again.
"What?" I ask.
"How many glasses of wine have you had?"
I stare at him. "Seriously?"
"How many?"
"This is my third. I'm not drunk".
"I know you're not," he replies, "but it's about perception. It's not about the amount you drink. I promise you, most of the old bastards out there are way more pickled than us. The problem is, people have seen you at the bar, which kind of looks bad".
"Why does it look bad?" I ask, genuinely confused.
"It makes you look too eager," he continues. "Also, you were seen talking to the barman. That's not really... Well, it makes it seem as if you're very comfortable in that kind of environment. I know it probably sounds crazy, but people notice that kind of thing and then they start talking, and then they start comparing notes, and before you know it they'll have decided that you drink too much". He pauses for a moment. "It hasn't got to that point yet, but I just wanted to warn you. The best thing is to wait and let me fetch your drinks for you. That way, no-one'll notice -"
"I haven't seen you all night!" I point out. "You vanished!"
"I thought you didn't need me. You seemed fine, so I figured -"
"If you'd been there, you could have fetched me a fresh glass," I continue, interrupting him. "That would have been fine. I'd have liked that. Instead, you went off and left me hanging out there. Edward did more to help me!"
"Fine," Luke says, "I'm sorry. I obviously misjudged the situation. But can we just try to get things back on track? This can still be a perfect evening". Stepping over to me, he places a finger under my chin and tilts her head up until I'm looking directly into his eyes. "I'm sorry. I should have told you about this kind of thing sooner. You're doing a brilliant job. Am I forgiven?"
"It's fine," I mutter.
"And don't take any more drinks from Edward," he adds.
"Is that what this is about?" I ask. "Am I not supposed to let Edward fetch me a drink?"
"People might talk," he replies.
"About what?"
"About you and..." He pauses. "Never mind. I'm sorry. I handled this badly. Can we reset for the night?"
"Sure," I say after a moment. "I just need five minutes to freshen up, though. Do you mind if I pop back to my room for a few seconds?"
"Do you have to?" he asks. "People are going to -"
"I know," I reply. "I get it. They'll notice. But they'll also notice if I have a nervous breakdown, so I really think it'd be a good idea if I go to my room for five minutes and get everything together again. I just need to focus and chill out for a minute or two. Like you said, maybe we need to reset the evening".
"Don'
t be too long," he says, having clearly decided that there's no point pushing back too hard. "People'll start to ask after you". With that, he leans closer and gives me a delicate kiss on the lips. "I'd better get back out there," he continues, "but promise me you won't be too long, okay?"
I nod, and then I watch as Luke hurries back out to join the guests. Standing alone in the kitchen, I realize that fitting in with life at the Heights is going to be harder than I'd imagined. There are so many rules, I feel as if I'm in an Edith Wharton novel. All I want to do right now is hide away and hope that the whole crowd will just sail straight past. Fortunately, I already have a place to hide.
Laura
Today
Room 105 looks like any other room in the building, and most guests probably trundle past and never give it another thought. The only unusual thing, the only thing anyone could possibly notice, is that the lock is different to the standard system fitted on all the other doors in the hotel, and that there's a small red light permanently shining just above the slot where the key-card is supposed to be swiped.
Checking over my shoulder, I make certain that there's no-one nearby, and then finally I pull the black, credit-card-sized piece of plastic from her pocket. Back in the old days, when I worked in various London hotels, I met a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy... who had a knack for providing things that no-one was supposed to own. On one occasion, he gave me this key-card and told me that it would open any door in any hotel or office suite in the country, with the possible exception of military bases. At the time, I laughed the idea off, although I've tried it once or twice over the years and always found that it works. Now, however, it's about to get its biggest test.
Slowly and carefully, I run the card through the slot, and to my surprise the red light blinks off and the lock buzzes. Reaching out, I quickly push the door open and realize that the card worked. Despite everything everyone else told me, despite all the warnings, I've managed to do something totally illicit: I've managed to gain access to Elizabeth Bannister's sealed-off room. I feel a tremor of excitement as I realize I might be on the verge of finding out what really happened to the missing woman. After all, if Edward refuses to let anyone into this room, maybe there's something in here that he really doesn't want anyone to see.
Taking a step forward, I immediately notice that the air in here is warm and stale. According to both Rachel and Cole, this room was sealed off as soon as Elizabeth vanished. Police officers took a look around, but other than that the place hasn't been disturbed at all. The windows are closed, the air-conditioning is off, and the radiator seems to have been continually keeping the place nice and ripe. If room 105 had been anything other than completely sterile, it would have been a perfect breeding ground for mold, fungus and germs. Fortunately, everything seems to be dry and immaculate, and I can't help thinking that it's like the room of a dead child, sealed off by grieving parents who couldn't bear to let time pass.
From what I've been able to tease from various other members of staff, it seems that Elizabeth Bannister had mostly lived with Luke in one of the small apartments at the other side of the building, but apparently she opted to retain a small room for her own personal use. It's not hard to understand why she might have wanted a little privacy, and there's something kind of sad about the fact that the poor woman evidently felt the need to retreat occasionally from the people who were supposed to be her new family. As I walk over to the bed, I try to imagine Elizabeth coming to this little sanctuary whenever her life with Luke, Edward and the others became too much. I can't help feeling a little sympathy for this woman who I've never even met, and I hope that maybe one day I'll get to meet her and we can share some gossip over a few drinks.
Walking over to the dresser, I take a seat and stare at my own reflection. While the whole hotel feels a little strange, this room seems much more normal, as if it's free of the tensions created by the Bannisters. With my eyes fixed on the mirror, I keep half-imagining that Elizabeth might suddenly appear somewhere in my field of vision.
"So, Elizabeth Bannister," I say quietly, "who were you really?"
Realizing that I need to get a move on, I start going through the dresser drawers. I don't really know what I'm looking for; I simply feel that there has to be something in the room that can give me a clue as to what really happened to Elizabeth all those years ago. When I first arrived at the Heights, I was determined to overhaul the hotel and make it a success, and I'm rapidly coming to realize that the biggest problem is the deathly thrall that has descended upon the place since Elizabeth Bannister's disappearance. While I have no particular desire to play detective, I can't help thinking that the best way to change the atmosphere at the Heights would be to resolve the mystery of what really happened. Otherwise, the Bannisters seem doomed to live in that woman's shadow forever.
Once I've checked all the drawers and come up empty, I spend a few minutes scouring the room before heading through to the bathroom. There's still nothing to be found, and I'm starting to feel as if I've been wasting my time. Making my way back to the main room, I start looking through the closets, which all turn out to be empty, and I'm just about to give up and head back to the admin office when I realize I can hear a set of footsteps in the corridor outside, coming closer to the room. I freeze for a moment, hoping against hope that I'm not about to be interrupted, but seconds later the footsteps stop right outside the room. Panicking, I step into the closet and pull the door shut, just in time to hear someone swipe a key-card in the lock; as the door is pushed open, I took a deep breath and peer out through the slatted closet door, and finally I watch as a familiar figure steps into the room.
Edward Bannister.
After a moment, I realize that there's something unusual about Edward this time. For one thing, as he pushes the door shut, it's clear that his usually immaculate clothes are a little torn and frayed; for another, there's a small amount of blood on one side of his face, although I can't make out any kind of injury. He also seems to have a limp, and his general demeanor seems very pained and tired.
"Hello?" he calls out, as if he's sensed that someone else is in the room.
I hold her breath. She can't help but realize that I've made a huge mistake by coming to the room. If I'm found hiding in the closet, I'll undoubtedly be fired immediately, and although I've been desperately keen to find some kind of clue as to Elizabeth Bannister's whereabouts, I figure that perhaps I've taken too big a risk.
"You're not here, huh?" Edward says, walking slowly past the closet and making his way over to the bed. "Still gone".
I breathe as quietly as possible. I'm fairly certain that Edward is talking to some imagined version of Elizabeth, and for now at least it seems as if he has no idea that he's not alone.
Slowly, Edward begins to remove his jacket and shirt, until finally he's standing topless in front of the mirror. I'm surprised to see that he's acquired several nasty-looking cuts and bruises on his impressive, toned body. He continues to strip until, finally, he's standing completely naked, staring at his own reflection. Still peering out from the closet, I can't help but let my eyes wander down to stare at Edward's large, flaccid penis, and I have to admit that he's a fine specimen of a man in every possible respect. He looks like the kind of guy who takes great pride in maintaining his body, and he certainly seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time just standing in front of the mirror and staring at himself.
Feeling myself starting to blush, I can't help but wonder why Edward has come to the room. At first, I was worried that he suspected someone had found a way inside, but now it's clear that he's come for some other reason. As I wait to see what might happen next, I realize that I'm just a sneeze or a cough away from total disaster. A strange kind of hush seems to have descended upon the room, and Edward appears to be locked into some kind of strange, self-regarding trance. It's almost as if he's completely unaware of the rest of the world.
"So that new bitch you hired is a total nightmare," says Rachel, suddenly
walking into the room and making her way over to the bed. "Are you ready to admit you made a mistake?" she continues, starting to unbutton her shirt. "I could do her job with my hands tied behind my back and my fucking eyes closed. You know that, right? I could fucking destroy her without even breaking a nail".
Still standing by the mirror, Edward shows no sign that he's even noticed Rachel's presence.
"Do you know what she did this morning?" Rachel adds, removing her bra to free her ample, rounded breasts before sitting on the end of the bed so she can pull off her shoes and stockings. "She went and sat in the fucking bar to do paperwork. I mean, can you imagine how fucking unprofessional she is? She wanted me to send guests in there to see her if they had any problems, but of course I didn't do anything so stupid. Where did you find her, anyway? She's a complete idiot!"
Edward continues to stare at himself.
Slipping out of her underwear, Rachel moves all the way onto the bed and sits back, baring her fully nude body. "Where have you been, anyway?" she continues, with a hint of concern in her voice. "It's not like you to take a day off. Is something wrong?"
Silence.
A hint of uncertainty seems to cross Rachel's face. "So how do you want it today?" she asks eventually.
Silence.
"Edward? Are you going to fuck me?"
Finally turning to her, Edward climbs onto the bed, grabs Rachel by the hips and roughly turns her onto her front. As if she knows what he wants, she gets onto all fours and stares straight ahead at the wall, while Edward gets into position behind her. It's an ugly, mechanical process, and I can't help but feel a little sorry for Rachel as she's manhandled.
"I can do her job," Rachel says again, as if she's trying to distract herself. "I know you know that, and I know you have to see it's just a matter of time before..." She pauses. "There's no need to play some kind of stupid game," she continues eventually. "I'm already hungry. I'm ready. I've been a fucking receptionist for too long. You know I'm better than all those other fucking morons, I need to -" She lets out a brief gasp as Edward begins to slide his erect penis inside her. "I need to keep developing," she mutters after a moment, evidently in a little physical discomfort. "If I don't have any chance of advancement at the Heights, I might have to start looking elsewhere. You understand that, right? Somewhere I don't get a broken nose every time I try to help out".
