Hotel de Strange, Pt 2

[WP] This hotel is strange, to say the least. Few ever check in or out, and those guests you see stay for long periods of time. There is no pool, but when asked you are supposed to direct people to the third floor. You are not to make eye contact with the cleaning staff. The pay is nice.

*****

"I NEED that towel. Now. Oh, don't cover your nose like that. You're fine."

You can't do things like that. You can't trip someone's leg. That's a crime. "W-Why did you do that?"

Jessica crosses her arms. "Maybe if you were carrying a towel it would've broken your fall."

That's not very nice of her. We've known each other for ten years. And now she's treating me like dirt over a simple towel? "I'll get you the towel. But if you do that one more time—"

She bends down and licks my ear. "Then what?" she says. I'm terrified. I don't move. She scoffs. "Thought so."

I can't find the owner or the maid anywhere. They must be on the third floor. The forbidden floor. The floor you can't use no more.

"There's no use," says Gene. I hadn't noticed him. "I've searched everywhere."

"You have?"

He nods gravely. "There's not a single alien to be found in this hotel."

"Alien? Oh."

"Yes," says Gene. "I saw you running around, looking for them."

I smile. "I think they're on the third floor."

I thought he'd laugh, but he doesn't. Instead a serious expression arrives on his old, familiar face. "Someone went to the third floor? They're retiring?"

Retiring? For the night? I don't understand what Gene is trying to say. I never understand what Gene is trying to say. But now he does seem to know something about a conspiracy, and for once I'm interested. "What do you mean?"

Gene clicks his teeth. "Thought I'd be the next to go. You've seen all the guests, haven't you? None of them look more tired, more fatigued, than me, do they? If someone's retiring, it ought to be me."

For a moment I consider the possibility that the third floor is a nursing home. No, that's ridiculous. Is it, though? Yes. It is.

"Actually, this guy Cornelius—he claimed to be the owner—and he—"

Suddenly Gene grabs my collar and he shakes me as if I'm some government agent tasked with hiding the truth about UFOs. "Cornelius!? He's here? He's retiring?"

Oh, that loud mouth of his. Doors open and guests stream out.

"What? Mr Hafst?"

"I thought he retired a long time ago."

"What's all this commotion for?"

They all seem to know who the owner is and like Gene they're using that expression, 'retiring', in a way I can't make sense of. They're just guests. How come they know all this stuff? I've worked here for a decade.

"He's here!" cries Gene and their hands cover their mouths and there are gasps and squeals and I suddenly understand that this Cornelius must be something of a celebrity. "Let's go watch him retire!"

The ecstasy is infectious. Well, I guess the owner was charismatic. I don't know how they all know him. Wait. Are they all related to him? Perhaps he's filthy rich and by 'retirement' they're talking about some sort of inheritance. That's why they're so excited.

They're all streaming out of corridors and hallways and somehow one of them has a key to the door on the third floor, the door that wasn't supposed to be opened no more.

They run inside, but I'm hesitant. Then I turn around and I see Jessica. "Towel," she says and I know I am about to die. "Wait. What's all this about? Someone's retiring?"

"C-Cornelius," Gene wheezes.

"Oh, I don't care about that old fart," she says. "Jürgen. Do you know how far the heel of my shoe can reach into your frontal lobe via your eye socket?"

"N-No."

"Well. I guess you're about to find out."

I run with the mob of guests as if we're a school of fish escaping a shark. Well, a shark wouldn't be quite as disturbing as Jessica.

The third floor looks like any other floor, except there's a red door. At the end of the hallway. And it's open. Light is flashing through the crack. Is he having a retirement party?

A guest tears the door open and that's when I see the giant floating orb.

My podcasts did not prepare me for this.

It looks like a mix between a soap bubble and a mutilated jellyfish. It makes a noise and there's light emanating from within, white with heat.

"Hey! Don't just barge in here like that!" cries Cornelius. "Oh! Jürgen. What are you doing here? This place is not for you." He looks over my shoulder. "Jessica, put that thing down at once."

I look behind me and there's Jessica holding a hot-pink shoe. She grins. "Oh, come on. We're all bored beyond belief, right? That's why we're here. So I'm having some fun messing with this guy and that's all gauche all of a sudden? Give me a break." She leans in and whispers, "Towel."

Cornelius sighs. "I suppose, Jürgen, that after ten years you deserve to be introduced to the Grand Nova."

The guests all look at me with hesitant glances. "Isn't he ..." says one of them.

Cornelius nods his head. "Yes. It's true. But today is the day of my retirement. Let's bend some rules."

They're all screaming, pulling at their hair. All except Jessica. "Took you long enough," she says.

"Don't you dare insult him!" cries the cleaning lady.

"Now now," says Cornelius. "There's no seniority among friends. We are all here for the same purpose, are we not?"

She crosses her arms, but I can tell that she's sweating. Is that why she needs a towel?

Gene starts clapping his hands. No one joins him. He looks around and his cheeks turn red.

The sheer size of the room. Wait. This doesn't make any sense. It's twice the size of the lobby. The dimensions are all wrong. It's like the inside of a magician's hat.

"Jürgen," says Cornelius, "you do not look scared."

Somehow a giant floating alien orb wasn't half as scary as Jessica, but now that I'm catching my breath it occurs to me that it's actually right there in front of me. And it's glowing.

"Oh, now he looks a bit scared, actually," says a guest.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Gene. "Not aliens," he says and my heart nearly stops. For some reason, I was happy thinking this was some sort of extraterrestrial orb. If it's not from outer space ...

"He's fainting!"

"No, he's just standing there."

"Was he always that pale?"

I want to go back to the reception. I want to stand there, bored, listening to a podcast about some obscure historical figure. It's fine. I don't have to have some fancy future. I just want to live a little bit longer.

*****

TO BE CONCLUDED