The Golds and the Strange Case of the Strand Hotel
Chapter Two: The Awakened Psychic
Briiiiiiing. Briiiiiiing.
The shrill ringing cut through the fog in her mind, ripping open a path through the murky depths of unconsciousness long enough for Belle to flail and somehow manage to grab the offending telephone and pull the receiver over to press against her ear. She managed a garbled "Hello" in greeting, her eyes still closed against what she vaguely perceived to be a bright light.
"Good morning, madam," a pleasant male voice said, a slight static coming over the line. "This is your complimentary wake-up call. We at the Strand Hotel wish you the best of luck today."
Belle frowned and tried to force her body to sit up, but it wasn't cooperating, feeling like she'd just run a marathon and dropped in exhaustion. "Luck?" she questioned in confusion, opening her eyes and blinking repeatedly to get her vision to clear.
"Yes, madam. You're going to need it." There was a click and the line went dead.
The world finally focused enough for her to replace the elegantly old-fashioned white phone on its hook, still staring at the device without understanding what had just happened. Wake-up call? Best of luck? What was he talking about?
Glancing around the room, she found herself becoming even more puzzled by her surroundings. It appeared to be a luxurious hotel room, with crisp whites and soft creams accented by soft greens; the bed she was in was lush with its fluffy comforter and plump pillows, cozy enough to make her want to go right back to sleep. But it was wrong. It was all wrong. Why was she sleeping? Why was she in this room, in the bed and in… the clothes she'd worn the morning she went to investigate the Strand Hotel.
She threw the covers back and lunged from the bed, stumbling against the desk on the far wall and having to grab the back of the chair to stay upright. The room spun as she struggled to think. How had she gotten here? Who had put her in the bed? They'd even thought to take off her shoes… She tried to clutch at her head, as if that would help the spinning, and suddenly realized she was holding something in her left hand. How had she not noticed before? It was difficult to uncurl her fingers from around the ornate skeleton key with the number 407 inscribed on one side. This had to be the room she was in. So there was one question answered, only two hundred and twelve to go.
Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the desk, she smoothed down the hairs that had come loose from her side ponytail, and tried to tug out the wrinkles in her light blue dress, to very little avail. She gave up after a moment, deeming present circumstances much more pressing than her state of appearance, and instead went in search of her shoes. The bedroom turned out to be attached to a living area and sprawling bathroom, all decorated in the same rich style. Her shoes waited in the main room beside a door that she guessed would lead to the rest of the hotel; her small backpack rested on a chair there as well, the supple caramel-colored matching her tall, heeled boots – both had been custom made for her as gifts from her husband.
Rumple.
Just the thought of her sweet sorcerer sent a spike of pain through her chest. Oh, how she'd wished she'd listened to him.
She laced up the boots, grabbed her bag, and stepped out into the hall without another thought of how much she missed the love of her life and wished he were right there beside her. All thoughts of Rumplestiltskin would have fled her mind in the next second, regardless, as she drank in the dereliction that was blatantly apparent in this part of the hotel, despite having been completely missing from her room. She glanced back into the sparklingly clean room, then to the dusty, cobweb-covered hall; it was as stark a contrast as night and day, and made very little sense. In fact, just seeing them side by side was enough to make her head hurt, so Belle took a deep breath and turned away, pulling the door shut behind her. She could deal with room 407 later.
There were electric lights lining the walls in old-fashioned sconces, reflecting the hotel's décor that was a mix of early 20th and 21st century high society. Things that were supposed to be bright and shining and softly elegant were decaying from years of disuse. Everything here matched what she had seen in her initial exploration of the first level of the hotel; only her room seemed to be living in the past. She passed numbers 406, 405, 404… Each door was locked, and no amount of force could get them to budge. She even tried the key she still clutched in her left hand, but that avenue failed her as well.
Something had been bothering her since she left her assigned room (other than the obvious strange circumstances in which she presently found herself), something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but once she was standing in front of an elevator with a rusty call button, the realization nearly smacked her in the face. The electricity! When she'd first entered the hotel, she'd had to use flashlights and camping lamps just to see where to put her feet, the windows were so caked with dirt and grime. But here, in the middle of the expansive fourth floor, there were no windows in sight, but she could still see because of the lights on the walls and ceiling, even with the dust that clung to their surfaces. Belle could hear the buzz of the electricity running through the walls, the sound easily discernable in the otherwise silent building.
Another piece of the ever-growing puzzle.
And all of it was somehow related to magic. She honestly didn't know if this was the simple haunting she had originally assumed; too many things didn't add up, there was more here than psychological trickery and she could taste the magic on the air, the way Rumple had taught her to discern it from the rest of her surroundings. The inaudible hum of it tingled on her fingertips, and she had no doubt that were a magical anchor available, she would be able to watch the energy dance through the building with her Sight. But she was alone, and even with her high level of ability, she didn't dare take that risk – it would be akin to jumping off a diving board without making sure there was water in the pool below.
Belle would just have to rely on her investigative skills to unearth what was really going on here, and hope she was quick enough to avoid catastrophe. Her husband would be arriving soon, and he would bring the entire building down if that were what it took to find her.
III
This chapter is dedicated to beeeinyourbonnet and almostvivian over on tumblr, who have been really enthusiastic about this project. Thanks, you two. You've inspired me to keep this thing going!
