The Life of the Mind

Ch. 3: Origins

A/n: Can you find the Miller's Crossing reference?

"Wuh—what are you?" Barton asked. Chet flashed a cannibalistic grin at him. He pulled a heavily singed but readable newspaper out of thin air in reply. The bellhop then placed the straight razor in his pocket, putting a hand to Barton's throat. Fink let out a cry of pain as his raw and bloody throat became cauterized from the inside.

"Feel better?" Chet inquired. His voice was satirically compassionate. He freed Barton from the leather straps binding him to the bed. Fink picked up the newspaper the demon bellhop had magically summoned. It was dated July 17, 1939.

Man Killed in Hotel Fire, the headline proclaimed. A worker at the Hotel Earle met a grisly fate when he was trapped in the hotel's basement when the building mysteriously burst into flame. Chet LaRouie, 33, died when the upper floor collapsed on top of him while he was working…

Barton looked at the article, gazing at the photograph of the charred remains of the Hotel Earle that was printed alongside the story.

"Hasn't the Earle been rebuilt?" he asked. "It's been almost two years."

"No," replied Chet, seemingly interested with the nails on his right hand. "You thought you were in a hotel, but it was really the charred remains."

"How does that explain Charlie? Audrey? Hell, even you?"

Chet's hellish eyes flickered slightly.

"Charlie…" he started. Barton was surprised to see that the demonic desk clerk looked afraid. "Charlie's a hard taskmaster. He's, well, the Devil in all honesty. I don't know jack about the dead girl."

"What was your death like?" Barton asked. "Do you remember it?"

The bellhop's eyes flickered from black to blue as he spoke.

"It's not exactly something you can forget," he said. "But yeah, I remember. I was down below, shining shoes when it happened. By the time I smelled the smoke it was too late. One of the rafters had fallen on the trap door. I couldn't get out. There was this crashing sound and before I knew it, I was buried alive."

"The paper said you died after the place caved in," rebuked Barton.

"It wasn't instantaneous," Chet snapped. "I died after—" he winced as though in pain and continued. "I died after my ribcage collapsed. It couldn't have been more than five or ten minutes."

"How does Charlie come inta all this?" Fink asked.

"God, SHUT UP!" Chet roared, burns and lacerations covering his face and hands. Barton could literally see the bellhop's heart beat increase. Chet turned his attention back to Ben Geisler.

"What the hell is going on?" Ben asked. He turned his head in Barton's direction. "Fink? What are you doin' here? You dead too?"

"You're not dead, Mr. Geisler," said Barton. Chet fought to hide a wolfish smile.

"Damn, I thought I was. The pain was so bad, I was sure I was gone," Ben muttered, straining at his bonds.

"You thought those cat-scratches were painful?" Chet asked quietly, pointing at the bandages around Geisler's slit wrists. "How 'bout this?" He snapped his fingers and Ben's body tensed in pain. Chet snapped his fingers over and over several times. Each time, Ben was subjugated to an increasingly higher level of physical pain.

"Chet, stop!" Barton said.

"NO MORE!" Ben screamed, his body writhing in agony. "PLEASE! NO MORE!"

"You want me to stop? All right, if you're sure…"

"YES!"

Chet snapped his fingers one last time. Ben's rib cage exploded, shards of bone jutting through the bandages wrapped around his torso. Barton was frozen in horror and splashed with blood. He felt his legs collapse under him and knew no more.