by Hamill, Ike
“Well it might not be the exact same room, but at least it seems like that video was probably shot here somewhere,” said Jack.
“So how do we get on the other side of this wall?” asked Stephen. Despite the peep-hole, the walls looked very solid.
“Let’s keep going, I’m sure we’ll find a way,” said Jack.
They found no more peep-holes on that stretch, and soon the passage turned left.
“I bet the portraits in the red room are on the other side of that wall.” Jack pointed to the wall on their right. “And there must be another hallway somewhere that way,” he pointed back to their left.
“If you say so. I’ve given up trying to make sense of this place,” said Stephen.
Ahead the passage turned left again and they saw a brighter light. Through a rectangular opening, the light spilled down at a steep angle.
They could fit through the hole, but a piece of big wooden furniture blocked the way. Getting low to the ground, Jack saw the source of the light: a lamp on top of the piece.
Jack tried to push the obstruction. “Give me a hand,” he whispered to Stephen. Joining Jack on the floor, Stephen pushed and they managed to slide the heavy piece a few inches away from the wall.
“That thing must weigh a ton,” said Stephen softly. “Wait, did you hear something?”
“No, why?” hissed Jack.
“Then why are we whispering?” asked Stephen.
“I don’t know—because we can’t see inside this room?” replied Jack.
“But we’re moving the furniture. If we’re worried about someone being in there, don’t you think he would notice the dresser moving around?” whispered Stephen.
Jack snickered under his breath, but the situation didn't amuse Stephen at all. Stephen was mostly frightened, and a little exhilarated, but not at all amused.
“Let’s just push,” said Jack in a low voice.
On the next couple of pushes, they managed to synchronize their efforts and slid the furniture away from the hole enough to squeeze through. Jack went first, leaving his backpack and flashlight behind, and then moved the dresser away from the wall enough so that Stephen could hand them back. Stephen emerged and found himself in a room that looked identical to the first hotel room they had entered. The only major difference was the blank back wall—instead of hasty brick covered by a curtain, this was just white with a painting of the ocean in the middle.
Jack crossed the room, taking inventory. He poked his head in the bathroom and then came back to Stephen. “Looks empty,” he said.
“Want to check the TV?” asked Stephen.
“Yeah, okay,” said Jack.
Stephen turned on the TV and scanned the channels. This room didn't get the channel with the boy strapped to the chair.
Jack was distracted—not watching to see what happened with the television. He wandered into the bathroom and came out holding a towel. “Someone’s staying here,” he said.
Still flipping channels, Stephen had settled to the edge of the bed. It took him a few seconds to process what Jack was saying. “Wait, what?” he jumped up. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Jesus, don’t freak out,” said Jack. “He’s not here now.”
“Fuck that,” Stephen objected. “He could be back at any second.” He crossed around the bed and then doubled back to turn the television off. He thought about it and then used the tail of his t-shirt to wipe his fingerprints off the remote. “Come on!”
“Let’s keep going,” said Jack. “Just to check out the hall at least. We’re only like two doors down from where that video was shot—we have to go check that out.”
Stephen couldn't fathom continuing on. He started to shake and feel naseuous at even the thought that the killer might walk through the door. “Look, we have to go. That guy could open that door and catch us. Who knows what he did to your neighbor kid, but I don’t want to find out.”
Jack began to protest, but Stephen ducked behind the bureau and moved back into the secret passage. He had almost rounded the corner when Jack poked his head through the hole.
“Hey, can you at least help me move this dresser back?” Jack asked.
“If you’re leaving right now,” answered Stephen. “Otherwise, I’m going without you.”
“Okay, okay,” said Jack. “Let me just put this towel back so he won’t know we were here.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Stephen.
Stephen crossed his arms and waited. After a minute passed, Stephen prepared to leave. He walked over to the hole in the wall and knelt down to look to see if Jack was coming. When he drew close to the hole, Jack popped up on the other side and grabbed Stephen's shirt, startling him.
“You ass,” Stephen said.
Jack giggled and crawled through the hole. Together they slid the dresser back in front of the hole without tipping anything over. Satisfied, they made their way out of the hotel.
Crawling through the small vents, Stephen finally thought to ask about the delay—“What did you do after hanging up the towel? You were gone forever.”
“Oh, I had to know if the other room was open, so I ran down the hall and tried a couple of the doors—they were all locked,” replied Jack.
“Oh shit—get going—faster!” Stephen ordered.
“What?” Jack looked back over his shoulder.
“What if that guy was in one of those rooms? He would have heard you trying all the doors and now he knows we’re in here. Let’s get the hell out.”
“Why would he lock the door to one of the rooms in his own hotel?” asked Jack. “I bet he’s like gone for the day or something.”
Their last few minutes in the hotel that day, crawling through vents, tortured Stephen. He imagined a hand closing around his ankle and dragging him backwards through the tight passages and into the red lights of the portrait room, or into the tile-floored room from the video. He wished Jack would move faster, but realized that there was nothing he could say to speed his friend along. He decided then to never return to the hotel. He knew it would be difficult to convince Jack, but he didn’t give it too much thought. Stephen made a promise that he would never put himself in that situation again.
They got back to the chimney with the rope-ladder and Jack climbed down a few rungs instead of up.
“Where are you going?” asked Stephen.
“I’m going to go get your pack from that vent,” Jack answered. “You go back to the house and cover for me.”
“What am I supposed to say? This is a terrible idea.” said Stephen.
“Just go in through the garage and then run upstairs. Turn on the fan and light in the bathroom, close the door, and then just hang out in my room,” said Jack. “Easy, cheesy. Chances are she won’t even look for me, and if she does just say that you saw me go into the bathroom and that’s it.”
“We’ll get the pack later. Why bother now?” asked Stephen.
Jack stopped Stephen’s argument with a startling insight—“Because I know you’re not coming back, Stephen, and I know that pack has your name in it somewhere. If there is a crazy guy here, you don’t want him to know your name, so I’m going to go get your pack.”
Stephen studied Jack's face before he relented.
“Fine,” said Stephen. He climbed out of the vent and scaled the rope ladder. He wondered briefly how Jack would manage putting away both ladders, but then decided that he didn’t really care. Maybe Jack would just take two trips.
Outside, the sun had finally come out and burned off most of the morning fog. It was getting pretty warm out, but Stephen still felt a chill as he retreated from the hotel. He had to slide down the post of the porch roof so he could leave the stepladder for Jack, and as soon as his feet touched the ground he slinked away, down the gully. Even after making it to the cover of the woods, Stephen still felt the presence of the hotel behind him, and wondered where Jack was at that moment.
He had stood in that thing’s den—where it slept; the thought made him shudder. Stephen
hunched his shoulders and quickened his pace.
Back at the house he almost broke from the woods into the yard where Jack’s mom stood, hanging laundry. He dropped down and made himself still, hoping she hadn’t heard his jogging approach. She seemed oblivious, and Stephen quickly realized why: she was talking on the phone using a headset. Cautious of her peripheral vision, Stephen looped wide around Jack’s mom and found his way into the garage. He let himself in and carried out Jack’s plan.
Stephen stretched out on Jack’s bed and tried to look casual. He found a book and spent five minutes skimming the same page. He looked at the words, but nothing sank in—he kept thinking about what could have happened if they hadn’t made it out of that hotel room, and how easy it would be for that crazy guy to follow them to Jack’s house.
Footsteps rushed up the stairs and Stephen relaxed a bit. He closed his book on his finger and waited for his friend to come through the door. He heard the footsteps slow as they approached, but then nobody entered—they kept walking. Puzzled for a second, Stephen bent his head and returned to skimming the pages. Looking up at the clock, he tried to calculate how much time had passed, and when he should expect Jack. In truth, he really didn’t have a good guess as to how long it would take Jack to navigate back to the bag he had left behind.
After another few minutes, a terrible realization dawned on him—Jack had to get up the five-foot ledges on his own. They had only gone through the big maze a couple of times before finding the shortcut, and although Jack had pioneered the technique of jumping up those ledges alone, it still seemed a risky proposition. Stephen imagined Jack missing on his first attempt, and then slipping on his second, and then not having enough energy to get up at all. Every minute that passed convinced Stephen that Jack was now stuck deep inside the hotel. The last thing he wanted to do was navigate those traps alone to try to find Jack.
He heard footsteps pass down the hall again and figured it must be Jack’s mom. The clock changed to twelve twenty-eight as he stared at the digits. He had first looked at the clock seventeen minutes earlier. Jack’s mom kept strict deadlines, and she had asked them to be back for lunch. He wondered how much time he had left until she came looking for Jack; until he had to admit to her that Jack might be stuck in a hotel owned by a kidnapper. He decided, right then, that he wouldn't search that creepy hotel on his own. Jack would get mad, but Stephen would tell Jack’s mom everything that had happened.
Stephen put his book down on Jack’s bed and rose to go find Ms. Randolph. He took a deep breath—he felt a little light-headed and nervous. When he had composed himself, he crossed the room and exited to the hall. The bathroom door was still closed with the light and fan on. Stephen opened the bathroom door and flicked off the switches.
“Hey!” said Jack from the dark bathroom. “Don’t you knock?”
“Oh, sorry,” said Stephen. He fumbled the switches back on and closed the door. He was excited that Jack was okay, but also a bit deflated after working up his nerve. He went back to Jack’s room to wait.
A couple minutes later, Jack strode through the open door.
“Hey—your bag is downstairs,” said Jack.
“Cool—thanks,” said Stephen. “I thought you’d never get here.”
“Yeah, took me longer than I thought,” said Jack. He looked at his elbow where a small scrape was still oozing. “Plus I scraped my arm.”
“I think you’ll live,” said Stephen. He regretted his words immediately as an image of the boy strapped to the chair jumped into his head. Based on the cloud that passed over Jack’s expression, he thought Jack might have had the same thought. “Anything else happen?” asked Stephen, attempting to change the subject.
“Nope, just normal stuff,” said Jack. “Hey, it’s going to rain tomorrow and my dad will probably be around all day, so I think we should wait until Monday to go back. Plus I’m way too tired to go back tonight.”
“I’m totally on-board with that,” said Stephen. “We can hang out here for a while and then get some rest.”
“So you changed your mind about going back?” asked Jack. Stephen mused that Jack suddenly didn’t look tired at all; he looked really intense.
“I never said, that,” Stephen said. “You said that.”
“Yeah, but you were thinking it,” said Jack.
Stephen couldn’t argue that point, but didn't want to admit that to Jack. Ben had made a stand about the hotel, and Jack turned on him. Alone with Jack, Stephen felt safer not arguing about going to the hotel.
Neither boy said anything for several seconds. Stephen broke the silence—“Hey, let’s get some lunch.”
**********
Stephen didn't do much on Saturday afternoon and Sunday. As far as Jack’s parents knew, both boys spent the day in the basement, reading, watching television, and playing video games. In reality, Stephen did those things but Jack disappeared for substantial stretches. One minute, they both watched a program about sharks, and then the next, Jack wandered off. An hour or so later, Jack reappeared and settled back down on the couch. He timed his absences when his parents were otherwise engaged, so they were never the wiser.
During one of Jack’s recesses from the television, Stephen headed up to the second floor to pretend to get something out of the guest room. As he expected, he spotted Jack sitting in his room, looking at the computer. When he came back out of the guest room to go back downstairs, Jack had moved on—neither at his computer, nor in the basement. It remained a mystery for Stephen, and Jack walked in twenty minutes later as if nothing had happened.
“Where do you keep running off to?” Stephen asked him.
“Nowhere. Just reading about something on the computer,” said Jack. That was the closest Stephen would get to a direct answer all day.
**********
Jack’s luck ran out midway through Sunday afternoon. Stephen sat alone, watching television when Jack’s mom came down the stairs.
“Jack?” she called when she was still about halfway down the stairs.
“Uh, he’s upstairs I think,” said Stephen.
She paused, one step from the bottom. “Huh. I just came from there. I didn’t see him.”
Stephen smiled and shrugged. “Was he in the bathroom?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said as she turned. “Tell him to come up when you see him.”
“Okay,” said Stephen.
Jack came in from the back of the basement a few minutes later. His shirt looked slightly wet—drops of rain stained his shoulders and chest.
“Your mom is looking for you,” said Stephen. His tone was clipped—annoyed at being left out of Jack’s activities.
“Okay, thanks,” said Jack. He dug through the cabinet and pulled out one of the spare shirts hidden there after the dye incident. The wet shirt went in the dryer and he pulled on the dry shirt as he walked up the stairs. “Be right back,” he said. Stephen flipped through the channels and tried to stop guessing at what Jack had been up to. He wanted to be aloof, and he suspected that curiosity about Jack’s activities and the hotel would only lead him to danger.
A program about snakes had almost captured his full attention when Jack came dashing back down the stairs and flopped down next to him.
“Hey,” said Jack.
“Hey,” Stephen replied.
“My mom wants me to visit my grandparents at the beginning of August,” said Jack.
“Oh yeah?” asked Stephen.
“Yeah, they live down your way kinda—western Mass,” said Jack.
“You’ll have to come to the city,” said Stephen, politely but without much enthusiasm.
“I’m not going down there,” said Jack. “I’ll come up with a reason to not go.”
“How come?” asked Stephen, secretly relieved. The feeling surprised him a little, but he had grown a little scared of Jack since Ben had left.
“I’ve got too much to do here before the school year starts,” said Jack. “I can’t waste any tim
e.”
He opened his mouth to question Jack’s itinerary, but then decided against it. “Huh,” Stephen said instead.
“I’ll tell you someday,” Jack replied to the question that Stephen hadn’t asked.
**********
Stephen tossed and turned that night, his sleep troubled by disturbing dreams. He woke in the middle of the night wondering if he was coming down with a cold. When getting a bad cold he would always have the same dream over and over again, like he was stuck in a loop until his fever broke.
In the worst dream he rode a bicycle down hill and couldn’t find the brakes. The bike had curved handlbars, like his touring bike, but where his bike had levers, this one had nothing but white grip-tape. He spun his feet backwards thinking maybe the bike had coaster brakes like his dad’s antique bicycle. Looking down, he couldn’t see any mechanism to slow himself, and the ground kept streaking by faster and faster.
To make matters worse, the smooth asphalt road gave way to gravel and eventually to hard-packed dirt. He would wake up from the dream just as he steered the bike into a tree or over a cliff. About two AM he woke from this dream and sat straight up in bed. Something besides the dream had woken him up, but he didn’t know what was wrong.
Through the window he saw a thin moon shining between the maple leaves. He thought he saw a shadow move near the foot of his bed, but as soon as he blinked twice, the shadow disappeared. Closing his eyes tight, Stephen slid down in his bed until just the top of his head poked out from under the covers. There might be something in his room, but he decided to ignore it and wait for morning.
Despite his fear, he fell asleep again within ten minutes and returned to the same terrible dream.
**********
Stephen slid halfway out of bed before completely waking up. His cell phone, perched on the end table and plugged into its charger, was ringing its alarm.
He planted a hand on the floor and pulled himself the rest of the way out of bed. His feet hit the floor and he straightened up to grab his phone. Pulling out the charging cord, he flipped it open to read the alarm.
