Chapter Forty-Two:
"Stairway to Hell"

It happened again, just like before. Everything changed.

It wasn't nearly as dramatic as the transformation I witnessed in Brookhaven, nor did the results seem to be as virulent, but the overall effect was undeniably similar. Again I was visited by the distinct notion that time was a factor, although what I saw and felt now wasn't merely the results of age and neglect. Something took place, some event, that caused the change I now witnessed. In the hospital, it looked like the place had been left to rot for decades. The hotel didn't show that kind of decay, at least, not in the same fashion.

Unlike in Brookhaven, however, the shift was very obvious right away. The walls, the carpet, the ceiling, everything was drenched with water. It leaked from the ceiling in rather amazing amounts, making me feel like I was standing in the middle of a light rain shower. On top of that, all up and down the hallway I could see signs of very heavy damage. The wallpaper was pocked with ashy gray scars. The carpet was blackened and destroyed in many places. The source of such damage was obvious, and I knew what it was without even looking, for my nose made it clear. A thick, gagging odor hung in the air, burning my windpipe and my lungs even though the source seemed to be eliminated.

It was smoke, the heavy, acrid smoke that only comes from a building fire. It seemed to have been extinguished, or so I fervently hoped, and the underlying scent of moldering ash seemed to suggest as much, but it hadn't happened long ago, not if water were still leaking through the rafters. Not that time was a concept with much meaning in this place. I knew better. Sometime in the past three years, the Lakeview Hotel had apparently been gutted in some cataclysmic fire, most likely within the past year, if I could trust the schedule board I had found in the manager's office. Yet, the room I had been in three minutes ago showed not the least sign of any damage. Maybe it would now, if I turned around and went back in. Maybe it wouldn't. It didn't matter. Here, all times were as one. The video I saw made that clear to me, among other things.

I flicked the flashlight on as I started down the hallway, or at least I tried. Toggling the switch did nothing. I pulled it out of my pocket and examined it. The battery cover was gone, lost long ago. The battery itself was still in place, but it had finally given up the ghost, it seemed. That didn't matter, either. It wasn't pitch-dark in here. Some ambient light made visibility possible, if not exactly easy. I dropped the light back into my pocket and started for the stairs. I didn't know where I was headed, but this time, it didn't seem to make any difference. I would go, because ever since I heard her voice on the radio moments before, I had a feeling that things were going to come to a head very soon. I had made this entire trek expecting that to happen here in the hotel, and in that room once I got here. No doubt that what I saw was earth-shattering, and I was even now only really realizing and coming to terms with the memories that were once again free within me. Yet, there was a strange sort of calmness in me, as crazy as it sounds. It was as if the simple act of breaking through my delusions was a salve on my many wounds, not exactly doing much to heal them, but definitely dulling the pain. I knew that Mary was calling me. Yes, she was dead. Yes, she died at my hand. Yet, I could not ignore what I heard. I had to go, I had to see what I would see, no matter what it was.

The carpet squished beneath my feet as I took the stairs down to the second floor. The smoke and fire seemed to do more damage down here than upstairs. The hallway was filled with a dusky gray haze. I had to breathe through the fabric of my shirt to keep from choking, and I blinked my eyes rapidly, for the smoke was making them red and dry. The lobby doors were sealed shut, and when I tried going down the stairs to the first floor, I was met halfway with a massive metal firewall. It was locked in place, and no amount of jerking even made it budge. I went back up.

There were only two options left, and neither seemed likely. There was the cloak rooms and reading room to the left, but all were dead-ends. There was also the door leading to the west wing guest rooms. I was pretty sure that was a dead end too, but the lack of certainty is what made the decision for me. I crossed over and went through the double-door.

The smell and haze weren't quite as thick in the west wing. I was able to breathe without using my shirt as a filter, though I kept doing so anyway. Smoke inhalation kills more than actual fires do, any adult and even most kids know that. So, I held my shirt-neck around my mouth with one hand while I tried opening doors with the other. None of them did, except for one at the very end, and that one I didn't even have to fight with, for it was already wide open and inviting. I ignored the remaining doors and went straight to it.

And now I knew things were good and fucked-up.

Instead of peering into a burned out guest room as I expected, I instead looked back into the same hallway I was standing in. Only… no, it wasn't the same. I found that out the moment I stepped through. What I found made it no less strange, however. The first thing I saw was another sooty guest room door, only on this one, the brass plaque told me that behind it lie Room 220. Somehow, the door to Room 204 opened into a small rift across the hotel, or something like that, and now I found myself standing in the east wing. The physics were mostly lost upon me, and what wasn't didn't seem even remotely possible anyway.

Even without the room numbers to give it away, there was no mistaking this new hallway for the one I just left. None at all. The evidence was all over the place. The west wing was in pretty sorry shape with the smoke and all. The east wing was an absolute shambles. Without a doubt, the fire broke out somewhere very close by, because the damage was exponentially more drastic over here. The walls, once covered in nothing but creamy-white wallpaper, were now hideously scarred. Scabrous black patches marred the entire hallway where the wallpaper had seared and roasted. What little of the wallpaper remained bubbled and crisped, likely as the glue beneath melted and boiled from the heat. Some of the doors seemed more or less intact, but others looked like they had been flash-fried, one of them looking like nothing more than a deformed black slab. The doorknob sagged limply from the jamb, as if it had lost the will to live. It was devastating, and what's more, it was personally saddening to see. Our most special of special places was nothing but a burned-out husk, a corpse of the subtle beauty we remembered. It served to remind me of what I had done to myself in order to hide from my crime. Now that I cast that aside, I was seeing things in a truer form, maybe. I didn't know, really. I wasn't in that much of a philosophical mood at that moment. I don't think I could be blamed for that.

I ignored the guest rooms in the east wing entirely, making right for the adjacent hall. For some reason, I felt that the lobby was where I was supposed to be. I felt drawn there, by something both beyond my ability to recognize and beyond my will to resist. It was damn near magnetic, this feeling, and I went towards it obediently.

The double-doors at the end were razed near to cinders. When I pushed, the door didn't open so much as it fell off of its warped hinge, banging against the wall and coming to a rest at a very odd angle. It looked like a loose tooth made of mahogany. The fire did a hell of a number in this hallway, too. The damage was as bad as the guest room hall, easily. The walls, ceiling, carpet, all of it looked dead and defeated. The carpeting here was burned almost completely away, revealing naked floorboards blackened with char and soot. I made right for the lobby doors, almost having a heart attack along the way when I stepped on a part of the floor that apparently had more than it could take. The boards made a loud, dangerous crack when I placed my weight upon them, and I could almost feel them giving way beneath me. I quickly leapt forward, onto more solid footing. The weakened section didn't collapse, but maybe it would have if I hadn't hauled ass the way I did. Either way, I had no desire to further experiment. I had a lobby to find.

And I wasn't going to find it here. These doors, like those in the west wing, were similarly sealed. They were locked, but there was more to it than that. I pushed on them, and even a locked door will give slightly if pushed. This one did not budge, not even a fraction of a millimeter. It was as if they weren't meant to open, that perhaps they were fake doors, built into the wall. It sounded crazy, but there was little I was inclined to dismiss out of hand anymore. With all the strange shit going on, what wasn't possible? After all, did I not just walk directly from one wing of the hotel into the other, even though they were several dozen feet apart? I did, and if I could do that and accept it as possible, then a fake door where once a real door stood was, by comparison, easy to realize. Yet, coming to grips with this didn't solve my problem. I had to get to the lobby, and as far as I could tell, every option seemed to be unavailable. If…

Ding!

I turned at the sound, and while I can't say I was positively shocked, I can say that I certainly did not expect to see what I was seeing. The elevator behind me was operational. I had no idea how that could be. As horribly damaged as the place was, how on earth could the elevator's mechanisms not be in a state of fatal disrepair?

The doors opened with a quiet whoosh, as if to openly disregard such silly notions. They revealed an empty car. It sat there as I stared at it, open and inviting, showing none of the ravages of the room around it. No way was I even going to think to pass this off as mere coincidence. It was here because it was supposed to be here. No question about it. I stepped inside, curious as to where I might find myself. Certainly, there was a good logical chance that the mechanism would find this a perfect time to fail and send me plummeting to the basement. I was no expert on elevator crashes, and I had no idea whether or not I would survive such a drop. Yet, that same magnetic attraction I felt towards the lobby also served to reassure me here. The elevator would not break, it would not send me crashing to my death. It was just a feeling. No, not even that, really. It was intuition. Gut instinct.

I turned to the panel and pressed the button for the first floor. Nothing happened. I pressed it several more times, each getting no response. What was this, some kind of joke?

No. Just think a little harder.

The third floor was out, there was no way to access the lobby from up there. But, the basement, now that might do the trick. If it worked, and I prayed that it would, I'd find myself right next to Venus Tears. Short jog up the stairs and around the corner and I'd be in business.

I pushed the button marked B, and I let loose a sigh of relief as the elevator shuddered and came to life. I felt the dip of the floor as the car began its steady, controlled descent to the basement.

A few seconds later, I felt the descent slow. Not a split second later, the lights inside the elevator suddenly died, and it was filled with the shriek of complaining machinery. There was a loud CRACK, and I knew the cable snapped. For a moment, my feeling of immediate destiny was shaken badly, and fear took hold of me again.

It was only for a moment, though.

The car hit the bottom with squeal and a crash. I lost my footing and fell backwards, striking the wall. The railing hit me right in the hip, where I had a sore spot. A lance of pain shot through me, leaving me momentarily stunned. My feet fell out from below me and I went down.

I quickly regained myself and stood. The door was open just a crack, and a very dim light poked through. I jammed the open button, but it was as useless as I thought it would be. I'd have to pull the doors open myself.

That's when I felt something cold on my feet, both of them. I was as good as blind in the elevator car and I had only my imagination to help me guess what was happening. At first, said imagination went right for the most fantastic answer, something along the lines of a new monster of some sort, perhaps waiting at the bottom of this elevator shaft for some idiot to happen into an elevator and fall right into its embrace. I leapt backwards, again colliding with the rear wall of the car. When my feet came down again, they made a splash, and then the cold enveloped them again. I was this close to laughing with relief. It wasn't a monster at all. It was water. Just water.

Relief did not last long, though. The water wasn't just up to my feet any longer. This time, it came halfway up my calves, and I could feel it creeping up, inch by inch. The elevator car was sinking. One kind of terror was replaced by a new kind, the kind involving drowning, and I've never heard anyone describe death by drowning in any sort of positive way.

I pushed away from the rear wall and jammed my hands through the small opening. It was perhaps an inch, but it was enough. I grunted as I pried the doors open. For a moment, they didn't. They merely stayed in place, mocking my every effort. It was a terrible moment of déjà vu, remembering myself in this same situation hours ago, and how utterly hopeless I felt then.

Not this time.

I thought at the time that the experience on that elevator in the hospital was the worst of my entire life. I had since been disabused of that belief, but it had to rank a close second or third, and I think that's what gave me the extra strength. I attacked the door now, letting adrenaline take command. Inch by excruciating inch. The door was opening, but it was so slow. The chilly embrace climbed ever higher now. I shuddered as it closed over the sensitive nerves of my crotch, and fear struggled within for control. I did not allow it. I fought it with my mind as I fought the door with my body. Inch by inch, the door opened and I retained control. Inch by inch. Enough now to fit my head through, but that wasn't enough. Inch by inch. Up past my belt now. Inch by inch. Almost. Almost enough. Another three, another two. Over my navel. Inch by inch. Another one and…

Finally!

The car had been sinking, and me along with it. The floor of the basement level was flooded too. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it, about a foot or so beneath the surface. The bottom was solid, but soft to the touch. Carpet.

I tensed for a moment, and then jumped, angling myself so that I at least got my upper body above the floor line. I heaved forward, and then I was completely submerged. The pressure against my chest almost made me blow my breath out, but I kept control. I shot my arms out and pushed against the elevator door and wall, at the same time lifting my right leg. I missed, and was an ass-hair away from losing balance and falling back into the elevator car. I didn't, but it felt like I kept up by the sheer force of my will. To fall back in again was to die. I would not have a second chance to escape.

I whipped my head up to the surface to catch a sharp breath, then plunged back underneath. Again I kicked my leg up and pushed with my arms. Inch by inch, I got enough leverage and I felt my shoe touch the elevator's door frame.

Shit!

It slipped. Immediately I shot forward again, and this time I got a foothold. I again let adrenaline go and thrust my right leg, as if I were trying to kick something. I used my arms to aid, and I propelled forward through the stinking little pool. I kicked, again and again. I felt my left leg clear the floor, and now I used my knees along with my arms to get free of the doomed elevator.

Once I was sure I had enough leeway, I turned and fell, near exhaustion. Then, I propped myself back on my arms and watched the top of the elevator car sink beneath the surface and out of site, wondering just where it was going to come to its final rest, and glad that I wouldn't get the opportunity to find out firsthand.

If I ever get out of here, I'll take the stairs for the rest of my life.

A big if, that was for certain.

I stood, taking stock of where I was. The only light was coming through the door to the bar. I went towards it, hoping that it would be enough for me to at least make it to the stairs.

As it turned out, it wouldn't be, though it was enough to show me that I wouldn't be taking the stairs. This hallway was blocked by a wall that shouldn't be there, sort of like the firewall I had seen upstairs, but only in the manner of its effect. The wall I was seeing here was definitely not a safety measure mandated by any building inspector.

It was made of brick. Wall to wall, carpet to ceiling, someone or something had erected a brick wall across the entire hall, blocking access to the first floor stairs. Or, perhaps no one erected it. All times were one, of course. Who knew where and when it came from? And, who cared? It was here, and I had to get around it. I liked how I was thinking, how I had seemed to regain a focus I thought I had long lost, but all of these strange new obstacles were putting a strain on my fortitude.

I turned back and splashed through to the bar. The door opened without a hitch. The bar seemed to be spared in the way of fire damage, but the flooding took care of whatever the fire didn't. Stools and loose chairs bobbed and floated, along with other kinds of debris. As I waded around the bar and to the kitchen, I passed a couple of nearly-empty bottles, an ashtray or two, papers, and even a few of the lures from the display case near the door. The sorrow I felt seeing the destruction upstairs was compounded here, because I liked this little bar. I didn't know if this was what things were really like, and I was quite convinced by now that I wasn't in what I knew as reality. I remembered back to a memo I found in the hospital, the one that had a doctor describing what he called the "Otherside". I read it and didn't think much of it then, but the concept had slowly come to have meaning for me. Maybe that's where I really was, in a sort of Otherside, though the doctor said his patient was happy in his Otherside. I could definitely say that wasn't the case for me.

The kitchen was more of the same, except there was more debris in here. I didn't take much time to look around, though. I made right for the maintenance corridor door and went through it. There was a lot less debris in here, but there was little light, and navigating was very tricky. It was also a little creepy, because I kept remembering the mannequin I left down here when I passed through. I had not seen a single monster since leaving our hotel room, but that didn't mean they weren't here. Now more than ever I wish I had my flashlight. At least I had the radio. Or did I?

Shit, when I was underwater…

I reached in and pulled it out, noting with considerable dismay that it was soaking wet. I turned the knobs, hoping against hope that I would beat the odds and get a response. I got nothing but silence. It was dead, killed by the water. My flashlight and my radio were both gone now. I felt a stab of despair, and it was not inconsiderable. I had relied so heavily on them through this entire misadventure that losing both was like having my eyes and my ears taken away from me. I kept having the feeling since leaving the room that things were about to come to some kind of climax. I hoped now more than ever that the feeling was correct, because if not, my life was about to get significantly more dangerous.

I took the radio in both hands and lowered beneath the surface of the water, almost as if in ceremony. And why not? It had served me well. I would sorely hate not having it, no matter how near my journey was to its end. I didn't stay to pay respects or anything, but I would miss it. I continued down the twisted corridor until I found the stairs to the first floor. By God, I would reach the lobby. Unless, of course, the door was locked or jammed, or if it were perhaps a fake, as the one upstairs appeared to be.

It was not. It opened, and I stepped through.

Suddenly, there was no water on the floor. I looked down in alarm, and then behind me. The blue steel door was gone, replaced by a wooden one closer in appearance to those found upstairs in the guest areas, though nowhere near as fancy.

In front of me was something far more fascinating. Heat. Fire. Was I now seeing what devastated the Lakeview Hotel? Why here and nowhere else? Because all times were as one, of course. But that wasn't the case here. I wasn't in the hotel now. I was in a house. The wallpaper was different. Simpler. Cheaper. It bubbled and seared from the heat just as the expensive stuff upstairs did, though.

There were stairs leading up, far up, so far that I couldn't see what was at the top. They were not carpeted, but they were strange. They seemed far steeper than they should, as if someone designed them with the sole purpose of making ascension difficult.

On the wall to my left was a large picture frame, and the picture was something quite grotesque. It in fact wasn't a picture at all, it was more like a relief of some kind, a nasty kind. A pale pinkish material was pinned overtop of some sort of mass. It was very large and vaguely star-shaped. I could see dark patches all over the covering. They were either dark red or black, in the light of the fire I couldn't tell, but I knew what it was when I realized what the covering was.

It was blood, and it was covered in human skin. I could tell by the edges, themselves encrusted with gore, ragged from a deep, imprecise slash. It was hideous, the sort of thing no sane human being would ever hang on a wall.

There was someone else here, though, and she was also examining the macabre objet d'art. She was familiar to me, and it would be a hell of a stretch for me to call her sane.

"Angela?" I called.

She ignored me completely for a moment, keeping her gaze on the ugly thing on the wall. Then, her head snapped back, as if coming out of some sort of trance, and she turned to me. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and she took a step towards me. I took a step back. I couldn't help it. It was her eyes. Surprise wasn't all I was seeing in those eyes. There was something else, too.

Something like insanity.

"Mama!" she exclaimed, and she sounded very happy, either not realizing or not caring that I most certainly was not her mother. "Mama, I've been looking everywhere for you!" She took another step towards me, and I took another one backwards. I didn't know what to think. Nor did I know what to do.

"Everywhere!" she repeated. "But you're here now. You're the only one left. I don't have to go all over the place anymore. Now I can rest, finally."

I backed away again, because I couldn't stand up to her gaze. It was nothing short of terrifying. She was completely off her fucking rocker, she was seven cans shy of a six pack now, if she wasn't before. She looked at a hideous monstrosity and called it Daddy, and now those terrible eyes looked at me and saw her mother. I didn't like that look, not one bit.

Then, her gaze suddenly softened. Those wide brown eyes seemed to grow moist, in spite of the heat and fire all around us.

"Mama!" she said, and there was a definite tone of distress in her voice. "Mama! Why are you going? Why are you running away?"

Because I'm not your mama, maybe?

I didn't say that out loud, though. I couldn't. Here I was, facing a woman, a girl, who was a good six inches shorter than me and easily fifty pounds lighter, but she advanced and I retreated, because the difference in bulk didn't make up for what I saw in those eyes of hers. They were as bad as Eddie's when he went berserk. No, maybe worse. Maybe much worse.

She reached forward and touched my face with both hands. They were ice cold. That should be impossible, what with the fire all around. It was so hot. How could her hands be this icy? That they were was undeniable, however it worked. Her very touch chilled me right to my spine, and I stiffened as she moved them over my face. I didn't know what she was going to do, what she could do, but there were too many possibilities for me to feel even a little safe.

Suddenly, she jerked her hands away, as if touching electricity. She tilted her head as if confused.

"You're not my mama," she said, and then her eyes went wide again as recognizance finally made itself home in her mind. Now she backed up a step. "It's you!" she almost shrieked, and then she calmed down a little. Her terrible, piercing gaze disappeared as she lowered her eyes. Now, the visage of the lunatic was gone, replaced by a look of utter defeat, a look of shame. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a mutter.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she said, her eyes trained on her feet, "I thought for a moment you were…"

I felt awful for some reason. I did nothing to make her believe I was her mother, but the crashing look of despair on her face, well, damned if I didn't feel guilty. I don't think that was her intent, but it was the case just the same.

"Angela, I…"

"Thank you for saving me," she said, "but I wish you didn't. Because, even Mama said so, you know. She said I deserved what happened."

Suddenly, my mind went back to the newspaper article I found in the labyrinth, right before I fought off Daddy, the one soaked in blood and telling of the gruesome death of Tom Orosco. Poor bastard was cut up pretty bad, but I remember the article also making him out to be an overbearing, abusive bear of a man. I was dead certain Thomas Orosco was this girl's father, that she saw that monster where I saw one with no face. Suddenly, I understood Angela. If what she had said earlier was true, her father had absolutely terrorized her, and from the article, I deduced that she finally had enough. She slew her monster. But, she found that she could not escape him, even through death. She was still haunted. It was all over her. It explained so much.

I felt awful. Not as awful as she did, though.

"You don't deserve that," I said, "Not if…"

"Don't pity me," she interrupted. There was little force behind it. "Please, don't. I don't deserve it. I'm not worth it."

She looked at me again, and instantly, the sadness was gone. In its place was the insanity, the hard-edged lunatic Angela, the one who stared you down but looked through you rather than at you.

"Or maybe you think you can save me?" she said, and her voice was as different as her eyes. Harsh, edgy, challenging. "Is that it? Will you save me? Will you take me away from all my pain and love me? Heal me? Cure me of all my pain?" She looked at me, as if expecting a response. I had none to give. I had no idea what to say, because anything I said would sound hollow.

"That's what I thought," she finally said. Suddenly, she held out her hand. I looked at it, then back at her.
"The knife, James," she said. "I want it back."

It was still hooked to my belt in the back, in such a way that it would not injure me in a fall, or get in my way when reaching. Since she gave it to me, I forgot about it altogether, pretty much, except for right after our last encounter. I reached back for it, and then stopped myself. I realized what she was doing, why she wanted it back. I remember what she was about to do when I took it from her originally. I wasn't going to give it back so she could finally complete the task. I would not be a party to her suicide. I told her as much.

Mirth flashed across her stony features, for a split second. "I see. You're keeping it for yourself, is that it?"
"What?" That was unexpected. "No, of course not. I would never kill myself." Was that the case, though? Was that really true? Did I not have the barrel of my gun in my mouth just minutes ago, upstairs in our room? Would I have pulled that trigger? Would I have blown my brains out, if not for the sound of my wife's voice coming in over the radio like that? I didn't know. I wasn't sure either way. I honestly wasn't.

She saw it, too. She saw it, but said nothing.

"It's hot as hell in here," I said, hoping to get the train of this conversation on a different track. It was, too. It was roasting in here. No smoke, though. That was odd.

To my surprise, she turned around, and took a step up, then another. She stopped there, and turned to look at me. "For me," she said, "it's always like this." Then, she took another step, and another, and another, into the fire and the unknown.

I took a step too. I wanted to stop her. I didn't know what she was doing or where she was going, but I didn't want her to go. I wanted to apologize. I did want to save her, I think. I don't know why. Pity, I guess. I didn't have any feelings for her, none except that. Pity. She didn't want that from me, though. I don't think she wanted anything from me.

The fires suddenly raged, flashing across the stairs and making me stumble backward. It was as though they responded to her thoughts, her desire to not be saved. She had a deathwish after all. I stood there for a long time and watched her carry it out, one step at a time, until finally she was out of sight. Would she die from the fire? Would she die at all? Or was her doom of a different kind? Was her fate to climb those endless stairs for the rest of eternity?

I had no way of knowing. I didn't want to know. All I could do was hope that wherever she ended up, it was better than where she came from.

Angela…

She was gone. I was alone here now, alone with the flames and a strange sense of defeat. Even though I could barely keep from drowning in my own sorrows, watching this made me feel rotten for her.

I did, however, have my own demons. That was still very apparent to me, and suddenly, I wanted to face them finally, the way Angela seemingly never did. Maybe that was I why I was in such a hurry to leave. Or maybe it was just a desire to get as far away from this place of empty life as quickly as possible. Either way, I wasted no time in getting away from this stairway to hell.

After all, I had the distinct feeling I'd be climbing my own soon enough.

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