Jameson Hotel: The Complete Series Box Set (Parts 1-6)

by Aven Jayce

  “The average teen would’ve started college that year, but I was cut off from the world and confined inside Paul’s mansion. Everything happening was punishment for turning traitor and attempting to go to the cops... it was Paul’s control, his retaliation, and it lasted for months. On the drive to Reno, he said it was the end. He assured me I’d be on a plane back to St. Louis from there, which I knew was bullshit. How many times had I heard that? When we got there, he checked on business first, met with a few men, dragging me along for show... his handsome product. By evening, I was in the basement with Sam... And Sam returned after I had spent hours on the icy table, my vision stolen and movements confined.”

  He rubs the back of his ear, reluctant to carry on.

  “That’s more than enough. We get the gist if the rest is too difficult to talk about.”

  Jules remains silent. It’s an unfamiliar behavior I’m unable to read.

  “It wasn’t until Sam returned that I learned he was heartless like the rest of Paul’s crew. He wasn’t the type to be incited by Paul’s sexual razzing, and he struggled with the request to kill me, but he sure as fuck didn’t mind formulating a sick plan to save his own ass. I’d been tormented before, but never experienced anything more chilling than my night with him. And although I couldn’t see, I sure as fuck could feel what he was doing. He placed hard pieces of either metal or wood along the length of my body and wrapped more of the cellophane material around me so I couldn’t bend or twist any of my limbs. He wrapped my head too, right over the blindfold and my mouth and nose. I thought I was going to suffocate, but after a minute of not having any air, a sharp pain grew under my nose. He sliced a tiny hole through the wrap, nicking my skin. It was enough air to keep me alive.”

  “My dad wouldn’t treat a man so horribly. He has respect for his profession and would never abuse his license. He’s not like that.”

  Her words are faint and behavior vacant.

  “He might say the same about you if he knew the things you’ve done.” I’m a jerk for saying that, but its something she should be thinking about while we’re immersed in this situation. “Cove, keep going if you can.”

  “Yeah, I can... the fucker stuck me in a coffin with the dead, like Paul wanted. I was wheeled upstairs and a second later found myself being rolled inside a tight space. Even without my sight, I knew I was with a body by the shape next to mine. Sam told me not to move, not to make a sound, no crying, pissing, or puking. He said the man next to me had his face blown off so no one would be opening the coffin, said he’d do his best to get me out after Paul checked in the morning to see if I was inside. He apologized, yet added, no promises kid. If Paul shows up and the funeral’s already on it’s way, you’re shit out of luck. Then he lifted my head and put a cord, or rope, or something around my neck.”

  He clears his throat, replying to a text before recounting the rest. “It’s Soph,” he whispers. “I told her I’m admiring the holiday lights.”

  “Uncuff me,” Jules interrupts, her voice dim and weak. I release her and attempt to wipe her tears, but my hand’s shoved away. Rubbing her wrists she utters, “tell me the end so I can leave.”

  “Alright... so... he closed the lid and I was confined for the rest of the night... and the cord pressed into my neck whenever I tried to move. It must’ve been attached to the coffin. I was certain I’d be strangled if I stirred. The drug Paul gave me was slowly wearing off, and the more alert I became, the more I panicked.” He stops, swallows, leans back, and takes a full breath. “With the cellophane covering my face, the cord now pressing into my neck, and being scared shitless, it was impossible to even grunt. Trying to make the smallest noise was enough of a movement to tighten the cord. I spent hours in agony. All I could think about was what would kill me first. Would I suffocate? Was the cord going to cut off my airway? Was I going to vomit again and choke to death? Or would I be buried alive next to a man with a missing face? I’d been confined inside of boxes, trunks, and closets before, but being placed in a coffin with a dead person was gruesome beyond what I can describe. Paul was fucked up, and Sam was just like all the others who worked for him. He only thought of himself... although, I suppose everyone in this world’s that way.”

  “No,” I say, prohibiting him to fall into a state of depression. “Not you. You don’t always think of yourself, and Jules doesn’t either.”

  She walks to the window, turning her back on me. All of her expressions, words, actions... she didn’t know. She honestly didn’t know. What the fuck was I thinking, cuffing her to the chair?

  “He came back for me. Paul did. The coffin opened and I heard his wicked laugh. After I was unwrapped and the blindfold was removed, I saw his smirk... fuck, he was an expert at turning me into a passive bitch. I worshipped him for weeks after that night. If he wanted me on my knees, I dropped. I didn’t give a shit... and Sam? Paul knew the type... he was certain he wouldn’t have the balls to kill me, said he waited in the lot all night, kept watch, made sure I wasn’t released... he always tested his new guys. I just happened to be the bait. Lucky me.”

  “Did you see my dad again after that day?” Jules asks.

  “No. I never went back to Reno, not until Mark moved here and I had no choice except to fly into that city. It’s the closest airport to this hotel. And although your dad didn’t physically harm me, he did fuck me up emotionally. He must not have known Paul all that well either, thinking he’d be able to trick him into believing I was dead, then set me free. I wouldn’t doubt if he got a fist in the face for that stunt. Paul was brilliant, nothing got past him, not until the end... and Sam... that bastard knew I could’ve died from all the shit he did to me. He’s far from innocent.”

  Jules disappears inside our closet, coming out wearing a pair of jeans and a grey sweater. She pulls her hair into a ponytail, takes her purse, and grabs the blade from my hand.

  “Don’t you dare think about killing my dad, I’ll take care of this. And don’t follow me.”

  There’s no eye contact and she doesn’t say another word, leaving with a determined stride. She’s out the door before I can make it to the stairs, incapable of catching her when I’m stoned.

  “Fffffuck.”

  “I could’ve told you this wasn’t going to end well.”

  “Damn it.” I head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, more because of Cove’s troubling story than her plans, whatever they are. “Damn it. Damn it.” The towel slides down my face, dragging my skin along. I can’t bear to view my reflection. “Fuck you all over again.”

  He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms and feet. “Fuck me? Fuck you asswipe. You’re the one who wanted to hear it.”

  “No, that’s not...” I lean forward; placing my hands flat on the counter and watching my fingers ripple from my high. I can feel him staring at me, waiting for an apology. “I was talking to Paul, not you. And Jules is right... she said not to think about killing her dad. She knows me too well. But I am. I want to beat his ass into the ground. Motherfucker did that to you and now he has the nerve to come to my home and put on a show? Acting all innocent like he never knew about my family? That’s fucked up... and I could tell Jules didn’t know about any of this.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “She’s wounded by it. When she cries and stays silent, I know she’s troubled. And fuckin’ A, I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry for everything I’ve done to you.” My head shakes in disappointment. I want to hug him, but I know he detests being touched.

  “I’ve heard that before and it’s not what I need.”

  “Well, it sucks I can’t figure out what anyone needs. And you should beat the shit out of me for all the times I’ve been an ass to you.”

  “It’s in your nature. You’re his son.”

  “Stop saying that!” I rage, seeing him take a step back. And there it is, my goddamn lack of control bursting out again. “Oh fuck,” I exhale, gazing at the ceiling. “Fuck, fuck,
fuck.”

  “Chill the hell out for once and figure out what you’re going to do, if anything.”

  “What do you mean, if anything?”

  “Maybe you should let it slide.”

  “Wait a sec, you were the one who said I was being set up and I needed to call it off with Jules. You got me all worked up and now you’re saying I should let it go?”

  “That was before I saw her reaction. This has nothing to do with her. I’m just paranoid about these things.”

  “What things?”

  “Arranged relationships.”

  “Jesus. Just because Paul played matchmaker with you and Sophia, doesn’t mean the same thing’s happening here. I’m not that dumb.”

  “Excuse me? I’m not an idiot either.”

  “I mean, she didn’t come knocking on my door and fall into my arms. I had to work for months just to get her to spread her legs. This wasn’t planned. Plus, there’s no rhyme or reason to why it would be.”

  “Money. Revenge.”

  “And he waited an entire year for that? I doubt it. And if you hadn’t recognized him, I still wouldn’t know. He’s terrified his daughter’s with me and he doesn’t want her to find out about his past. That’s why he was such a douche yesterday. He wants me out of her life because he’s afraid.”

  “See. That’s the reason I said you should let it slide. Too fucking bad you didn’t work this through before you cuffed her. It’s a simple case of a father wanting to protect his baby girl. He doesn’t know how different you are from Paul—” He halts. “I didn’t say that.”

  I grin and match his crossed arms. “Yes you did. And I loved it. Say it again.”

  He glances at his cell and mumbles that he has to go.

  “Wait!”

  He heads out and I follow two steps behind, down the stairs and to my entryway, stopping when he reaches the door. The new sober man before me is fascinating. He’s being forthright, with little paranoid hesitation like I usually get from him.

  “You’re almost as irresistible as me.” My smile goes unseen, unlike his extended middle finger, scratching the back of his head.

  “Yeah, almost.” We stand in silence for a short time, and I know he’s debating whether he should reveal what’s on his mind.

  Say it, Cove. Throw in the towel and say it.

  After shuffling his feet and a few passes of his fingers through his thick dark hair, he continues... “I’ve always mentioned you’re like your dad because I know how livid it makes you. You’re not the only one who’s good at tormenting his brother-in-law.”

  “Yep, but my badgering is all in good fun because I adore you. We differ in that regard.”

  He sighs and peers over his shoulder, making sure I’m paying close attention to his words. “I meant what I said about him... there’s no resemblance between you two, no connection other than your last name. And don’t take offense, but you became someone he would’ve hated. I know you struggle with that, and you shouldn’t. Screw him. Pretend you’re the milkman’s son.” He throws in a timeless joke to lighten the mood, one with more meaning than he realizes. “Was there a blue-eyed blonde delivery man in your neighborhood?” He faces the door, scratching a spot in front of him that looks like dried pizza sauce; likely from one of his sons’ grimy hands... or, it’s Abram’s blood. “I can think clearer now that I’m sober. It’s much easier to talk to you when I’m not always angry.” He licks his finger and rubs the spot, causing it to smear into a wider blotch on my light grey door. “Is this blood?”

  “Cove... I’m not Paul’s son.”

  FORGIVE ME

  MVT. IT DOESN’T STAND for the “Mean Value Theorem” I learned way back in calculus class, and it’s not “Modern Vintage Today” or “Mesa Valley Transit.”

  It’s “Mark’s Vigilante Transformation.”

  Jules put that shit about the change in my head and now I’m jinxed. It’s all a plot to turn me into a pussy. That’s my bet. Subconsciously, she wants me to kick the devil off my shoulder. And damn her because it’s working. I know it is because I told Cove about Abram.

  His words touched me and I wanted to give him something in return—a reward for being forthcoming. I showed him the paperwork from Abram’s suitcase and passed along the story. His eyes were wet with sadness to learn about the twisted bastard and shocked that I’m not Paul’s son. He couldn’t wait to tell Soph. Fuck, I didn’t think that far ahead. With persistence and a few warnings that I could make his life miserable over the next two days, he was convinced to keep it to himself, at least for now. Besides, I’m not supposed to know he’s at the hotel until they renew their vows. We are still playing up the surprise wedding, and the lie that his drunkenness compelled her to flee their home...

  ... and the secrets continue to grow.

  The next time I decide to spill my guts to him about something that could disturb my sister, I need to make sure I have a fake foot on hand to cram down my throat.

  The upside is, a few hours ago my nephews came knocking at my door and gifted me a plate of penis cookies—decorated with pink and white icing and a small cinnamon candy on the tip. They insisted it was fire, but I assured them I’m keen on how eleven-year-old boys’ minds work—there was no debating it was a plate of dicks, not rocket ships. They called me a bastard, handed me their Santa Mark X-mas Wish Lists, full of overly expensive things they want for the holiday, like go-karts and video games, then took off in a race down my corridor. I called out after them, asking where they were going to ride a go-kart in the middle of St. Louis, only to get a simultaneous, “we love you Uncle Mark... buy us lots of presents!” shouted back.

  Christ, they always do this to me at the last minute. Little asshats. It sucks they’re old enough to know Santa isn’t real. I’d love to be the one to tell them I killed him.

  That was six hours ago, and yeah, the cookie bribe was the upside.

  The downside? Jules hasn’t returned. She hasn’t answered my texts or calls and I’m worried sick. The only thing racing through my mind is she no longer considers this her home.

  It’s clear by Cove’s story her dad wouldn’t hurt her, I mean, the guy sounds like a tool. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about her emotional state and our relationship.

  And I know I’m in the doghouse. I might as well place the leather hood back over my head and get down on all fours, waiting for her to come in and chain me outside for the night. However she chooses to punish me, I deserve it, although her not coming home or responding to my messages is punishment enough.

  Why’d she take her knife? Was that out of habit, or is she using it?

  I’ve been checking the security cams every fifteen minutes and I know she entered her parents’ room, but I haven’t seen anyone come out. I doubt they’d take off in the middle of the night on these icy roads. They have to be in that room, only there’s no sound whatsoever when I stroll past. No voices, movement, or even a whisper. Damn, why didn’t I install a camera in every room?

  Reclining on the sofa with crumbs on my robe, feet on the coffee table in front of the glowing fireplace, and cell phone in hand, I text her for the twentieth time.

  Forgive me.

  I wait, but there’s no answer. Nothing.

  “Come on, Jules. What the fuck?” I toss the cell on the coffee table. “At least call me a shithead or tell me to go to hell.”

  “Dad?” Jack questions my whereabouts, standing outside my bedroom door.

  “Yeah, I’m downstairs, buddy.”

  He leans over the landing with the iPad and asks, “Why are you awake?”

  “I have a lot on my mind, you?”

  “Did you kill someone?”

  “Not tonight. You doing okay? Why are you up at four in the morning?”

  “Can I help next time you do? I know I’d be good at it, you just have to let me try.” He ignores my question.

  Come down here so we can talk.

&
nbsp; His slippered feet shuffle down the stairs and he takes a seat in front of the fireplace, raising his hands before the flames. The iPad glows in his lap, open to some online site.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing,” his voice cracks, always a sign he’s been crying. “Mindless searches. Looking at stuff I want. Thinking about mom... you know... stuff like that.” He pauses and looks at the screen while stroking his scabby ears. “She would’ve asked me a month ago what I wanted for Christmas... it’s a few days away and you still haven’t asked.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be left empty-handed on Christmas morning.”

  “You didn’t talk to me about it, Dad.” He leans forward with his palms covering his face. “Jules did, but you didn’t.”

  He hasn’t a clue I’ve been viewing his search history. I know exactly what he wants... and unfortunately, I also know he’s researched Paul and Abram, and he watches a shitload of porn.

  “Mom knows what I want. I told her.” He hands me the iPad and returns to the fire. The screen displays his mother’s Facebook account. It’s her final message before she died.

  I love you forever and always, Jacky Bear... think of me. Know I can always hear you. Talk to me and I’ll be listening. I’ll follow you through life until we’re together again. You’re my baby. When you view my words years from now, you’ll still be my little boy, always in my heart, no matter your age. I love you so very much. Please, be strong for me. Be brave. Love hard. Live joyfully. Have no regrets... ~ Mom

  I’ve seen it before. He views her digital afterlife multiple times a day.

  “She loved me,” he says softly with his back turned. “I’m fucking stressed out by her death. Why can’t we have control over these things? You seem to have a say when people live and when they die, why not with mom? I c-can’t... can’t push the memories of her aside. I have no choice but to think about her and deal with it the best I can... it-it’s hard... when the lights are off and the room’s silent, I can’t get her out of my head,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “What do you think about when you can’t sleep? Is it me, or am I not important enough?”