"Back again?"
"Er…yeah." Shinji rubbed the back of head in a gesture of embarrassment. "Is it okay?"
Chris lazily waved a hand. "Relax, dude. It's fine. Besides, I like having company," he grinned.
In a complete contrast to the previous day, Wednesday morning had dawned stale and gray. The air was quiet and still, as if preparing for a storm. The Hotel, Shinji decided, looked even more imposing set against this dreary backdrop.
He and Sabrina had returned to the Hotel, hoping to begin their investigation of the sub-levels. And with any luck, the two of them would stumble upon some sort of clue. At least, Shinji hoped that was what would happen. If not, it would only lead to a gigantic headache at the end…and a rather unhappy Drell.
Shinji winced at the thought of what punishment the Head of the Witches' Council might dig up. We'd better start looking now…isn't she done yet? He sighed impatiently, leaning against the body of the car that Chris was attempting to coax into life. Sabrina had told him to go on ahead, while she attempted to find a better hiding place for Salem that wouldn't lead to his discovery by the hotel maid.
He aimlessly traced a pattern in the dust with his foot, waiting.
"Man!" groaned Chris, thumping his hand against the car, "I can't even get a spark!" He eyed the petulant vehicle with a mixture of annoyance and frustration.
"Why don't you try connecting the battery?" Sabrina's voice floated to them from the front gate. She slipped between the gates carefully, making sure not to catch the hem of her light jacket as they closed. The blonde offered them a smile as she walked closer, shifting the weight of the backpack she carried.
Chris blinked, as if the idea had never occurred to him before. Snapping his fingers, he slowly nodded at her. "You are good, chief. Very good."
Sabrina chuckled at that, before noticing Shinji's impatient body language. "Sorry I made you wait," she apologized.
He shook his head as she finally reached the two men, setting down her backpack. "Don't worry about it." Even though I'm afraid of upsetting Drell…this hotel unnerves me even more than he does…
Sabrina began pulling supplies out of the backpack—flashlights, a map, and a set of walkie-talkies. "So," she began casually, while unloading, "what do these ghosts look like, Chris?"
The older man shrugged as he reached for his toolbox, and pulled out a bag of shelled walnuts. "Dunno. Never saw one." He tore open the bag and began crunching a few of them.
Shinji frowned, tilting his head back slightly. "But you said that the hotel was haunted."
Chris nodded energetically. "It is," he assured the teens, around a mouthful. "I've never been inside."
Sabrina nearly dropped the flashlight she was holding. "You've never…been inside," she repeated, disbelief evident. So wait a minute…then how can he assure us that anything we've heard about the hotel's interior—about the ghosts—is true?
The mechanic shook his head, seemingly frightened by the notion. "No way, man. It's haunted."
Sabrina sighed in frustration, unsure whether she wanted to beat herself in the head with the flashlight, or the frustrating mechanic who was supposed to be their guide. She handed over a flashlight and walkie-talkie to her partner. "C'mon, Shinji, we should go already."
Still munching on a handful of walnuts, Chris waved at their retreating backs. "Call me if you need anything, chief!"
Rolling her eyes, Sabrina unlocked the door with the key Chris had loaned her earlier, pretending that she didn't hear a sizzle and startled yelp as the mechanic attempted to (and most likely botched) reconnect the battery. Shinji merely shrugged.
"Should we split up?" Sabrina offered once they were inside, handing her partner a flashlight. Unlike the previous day, the still and cloudy sky did not offer even partial illumination in the lobby and foyer. The air hung thick with the smell of dust and decay, and the girl wrinkled her nose.
Shinji considered this for a moment, and nodded. "That's a good idea. We can cover more ground." He switched his flashlight on, sweeping it across the room. The beam caught on the glass eyes of the stuffed owl set on top of the planter. The illumination gave it a cold, predatory glare, and Sabrina shivered in spite of herself.
"Cold?" Shinji moved as if to remove his own blazer to hand to her.
The teenage witch shook her hand. "No. It's not the temperature, it's…" she struggled to name the source of her apprehension. "…the building," she finished, somewhat lamely. "But thank you anyway," she quickly added.
Shinji nodded, the faint glimpse of apprehension that he'd caught in her eyes enough to convince him. He paused for a moment. "Are you sure you want to split up?" he asked quietly. "Would you feel more comfortable if we went together?"
Sabrina shook her head. "No. I'll be fine. Thank you for offering, though." I just need to get a grip on myself. I have to stop being so frightened. I am perfectly capable of handling whatever may or may not be in here.
Her partner nodded, before pulling out the hotel's floor plans from his blazer pocket. "I'll search the basement and boiler room," he informed her.
"Good. And I'll search the luggage here and hopefully get to look in some of the rooms." Shinji nodded, before turning to head towards the back of the hotel. Sighing, Sabrina eyed the mountain of dusty luggage before her, unsure of where to start.
"Oh…Sabrina?"
She turned from the luggage cart to see Shinji, pausing with his hand on the doorway. "If there's trouble…or you don't want to be alone…call me, okay?"
Smiling, she nodded.
The flashlight flickered across the hallways of the basement sublevel. The soft light revealed nothing of interest—only dull gray walls, concrete floors, and assorted boxes and wheeled carts strewn about. Shinji had been searching here for nearly half an hour, and as of yet, had found nothing.
The Hotel's sublevels were dead quiet and dark; the only sounds Shinji could hear were his own breathing, and the soft fall of his footsteps against the dusty floor.
There was nothing of real interest or value—a laundry room, various storage rooms for food, linens, and other supplies—but he kept searching. There had to be something here, some clue that could help explain this mystery. And the darkest, most eerie place in the entire building was just as well the most likely.
Shinji bit his lip, slowly waving the flashlight's beam across the hallway as he walked. Now, if only I could just find something… The light caught on a set of double doors, marked in large white letters, "Hotel Staff ONLY." Shrugging, the Japanese warlock stepped forward to push the doors open.
He found himself in a medium-sized room that seemed to serve as both a storage area and a carpenter's workshop. This room had been used by the maintenance crew when the hotel was still running, Shinji guessed as he scanned the room's contents with the flashlight. Nothing very interesting. Tools, shelves crammed with boxes and cans of paint, something white…
Stopping, Shinji turned the flashlight back to the white object. It was a tattered, moth-eaten curtain, hanging at the back of the room. His curiosity piqued, he stepped closer. "What's back there?" Shinji murmured, slowly reaching out his hand. And in one swift movement, he yanked the curtain away.
The room that was now revealed to his eyes was small, lined with shelves, and was crammed with boxes. One long table filled the middle of the room. But this room, it appeared, had seen much use.
If he had to guess, it seemed that this room had been used as a sort of hideaway—like a child's secret playing spot. A small niche had been formed between two metal filing cabinets; draped with moth-eaten, faded blankets, and lumpy cushions, it would have been a cozy spot (once upon a time, though) for a child to sit and read. Some of the lower shelves of the metal shelving units had been cleared of their boxes and mechanical apparatus. In their place were "treasures," much like a child would collect: some pretty rocks, a faded hair ribbon, a scrap of lace, a dried flower in a handkerchief…
Shinji scanned the corner of the room with the flashlight again, stopping it when it illuminated a small carved chest and a stack of books. Curious, he inched towards them. Maybe there will be something useful in here…
Carefully squatting in front of the pile, Shinji cautiously wiped a layer of dust off the top of the stack of books. "What is this?" he murmured softly. "Weird…Tales?" It was not a book on the top of the stack, but a magazine. Glancing behind the stack of books, he noticed a smaller stack, presumably of magazines, as well. Carefully, he reached over to wipe the dust of this stack as well. "More Weird Tales," he murmured to himself, "United Am…amat…hmm, don't know this word. The dates on all of these vary, though. Some are as old as 1916…"
The Japanese warlock then turned his attention to the stack of books. These were all equally as old as the magazine stack, and the majority of the books were written by an "H.P. Lovecraft," whom he had never heard of before. There were a few written by Edgar Allen Poe, who he did remember from his World Literature class. The other authors he had never heard of.
There was one book in the stack that did not seem to fit with the rest, though. It was a handsome, slim, leather-bound volume, with one line of faded gilt lettering on the front. Maybe it's a journal or diary of some sorts…could this be it? A clue? Eagerly, he fumbled with the flashlight, trying to lift it up to provide better light, while opening the book with one hand.
The first page was blank, but for two sentences running slightly slanted across the page. The handwriting was done in faded blue ink, its clumsy scrawl proclaiming it to be that of a child's.
"That is not dead which can eternal lie…and with strange aeons, even death may die…" Shinji slowly read out loud. He frowned. "Death may die? What is that supposed to mean? This is such a headache," he groaned. He flipped through the book quickly, noting that they were filled with the same crooked, cramped writing.
"I don't have the time to sit here and read this all…I might as well take it along for Sabrina to look at," he decided, snapping the book shut. "With any luck, it may have a clue." Wrinkling his nose at the dust-smeared cover, he used the corner of one of the blankets to wipe it clean before sticking the book under his arm. Slowly rising out of his uncomfortable squatting position, he trained the flashlight on the other object inhabiting the corner…the trunk.
It was rather inconspicuous amongst the rest of the junk in the room: two feet long and of a dark green. He guessed the covering was made of leather. Carefully, Shinji put the flashlight down and attempted to raise the lid. No good. The trunk had been locked.
"And no key in sight," Shinji muttered to himself. "This day just keeps getting better and better."
Sabrina blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face, concentrating on picking the lock of the suitcase in front of her. Who would have thought that Salem could actually teach me something useful, for once? The teenage witch thought wryly, as she heard a satisfying click, and pulled the lock open.
She had been spending the better part of—was it an hour or two that had passed?—in the lobby, at the abandoned luggage trolley, systematically picking the locks of each and every suitcase, valise, briefcase, and trunk. There had to be something here, she reasoned, that belonged to one of the victims. And if not, then she could always go through the register, collect the keys to their rooms, and snoop around in there.
It was a lot of work, but there had to be some benefit to it, Sabrina thought. After all, by leaving no stone unturned, there was bound to be even the smallest scrap of information.
Although if that ESP of mine was working, we could be done in no time, she thought sourly. The teenage witch was simultaneously sifting through the contents of decades-old suitcases and pondering the disappearance of the strange powers she had gained in her previous case.
Aunt Zelda said that it wasn't unheard of for some witches to develop psychic powers…but those are the prodigies that become superstars in the Other Realm's academia and government. The development of psychic powers is charted in people with amazing magical skills…and mine have been charted as average at best. So what was all that? Some sort of fluke? No one's ever heard of randomly developing and losing psychic powers.
Although the better question, she slowly mused, reaching up to tuck the errant wisp of hair behind her ear, is probably "What prompted those powers in the first place?" It couldn't be exposure to magic—if so, then every witch alive would have them. It had to have been some sort of change… Was it exposure to Thorne's dark magic? Maybe…but I can't see dark magic having any sort of "positive" affect on the portion of the brain that controls psychic powers. It has to be something else. But what?
Sighing, Sabrina focusing her attention on the trunk she was currently rummaging through. "Carolyn Crosset," she read off of the luggage tag. "Maybe you have some clue hiding in here, eh?" she feebly joked, opening the lock. Hefting the lid open, Sabrina quickly rummaged through the contents, poking through glossy cocktail gowns and brightly patterned sundresses. Her fingers hit upon a small red oblong case, which the teenage girl pulled out.
"What could be in here?" she mumbled. "Makeup, maybe?" It turned out, in fact, to be a small jewelry case. Sabrina emptied the contents on her lap and admiringly held each piece up to the light to admire it. A pearl necklace…lots of gold earrings…a really lovely sapphire pendant…a gold locket… "I wonder if it still opens," she murmured aloud, holding the locket in her left hand while scooping the rest of the jewelry back into the case with her right. Carefully, Sabrina managed to pry open the locket and look at the contents.
She held the flashlight up to the locket to better see the picture inside. She nearly dropped it once she saw the picture inside. "It…it couldn't be," the Spirit Detective frowned. "That's…it's…"
Quickly standing up, she strode to the lobby desk and shoved the register book to the side to make room for her backpack. Unceremoniously dropping it to the counter, she dug out the manila case file, flipping through the contents. At last, she found what she was looking for. Sabrina pulled out the snapshots of the accident victims, and selected Claire Poulet's. The dead woman's face was an exact match with the one inside the locket.
"But why would Claire Poulet's photograph be in Carolyn Crosset's locket? What's the connection between the two?" she puzzled out loud.
Behind her, she heard a suddenly faint noise—like something small dropping onto a metal surface. Sabrina straightened up, clutching the locket. "Shinji, is that you?" she called. He probably was making his way up from the lower floors after investigating. She turned around, calling, "You'll never believe what I fou…" She trailed away, eyes riveted on the hotel directory a few feet away.
It was a commonplace fabric message board, the names and locations of the various rooms of the hotel marked out in white plastic letters that clipped into the fabric. The teenage witch watched, mesmerized, as various small plastic letters began falling out of their places. And to her horror, she watched as they slowly spelled out a message on the bottom of the directory board.
All of a sudden, the inkling of fear and uneasiness that had niggled at the edges of her mind before began creeping back with a vengeance. Sabrina's hand convulsively clenched around the locket as she watched the white plastic letters begin to spell, "EVIL TOWER U R DOOMED."
Struggling desperately to keep her composure, not give in to the overwhelming sense of panic that threatened to engulf her, Sabrina stepped backwards. The door! I can get out through the door! Where is it? Her fingers fumbled at the wall behind her, groping in vain for the doorframe she believed to be there.
"I-i-it's okay! Don't worry!" she blurted, stammering frantically in an attempt to appease whatever force was heading towards her. "I-I'm here to h-help you!"
The air seemed to ripple, the form of a man taking shape. The man—was it really?—stepped forward, seemingly materializing from the dusty air of the hotel itself. He stopped a few feet in front of Sabrina, his tall, tuxedo-clad frame looming over her. The man's gaze landed condescendingly on her, the faintest hint of a smirk upturning his lips. "If anyone needs help, my dear girl," he informed her coldly, his British accent dripping sarcasm, "it's you."
Her mouth worked, trying to scream, trying to plead, trying to cast a spell. The words stuck to her throat, dry and formless. The same kind of energy present in Gracey Manor. Ghosts.
Gasping, Sabrina turned to her right, ready to bolt to the nearest door, which must have been a few feet away. Instead, she was greeted by the rapidly materializing form of another figure; this time, a smaller, bespectacled man dressed as a bellhop. His glasses glinted sharply as he shot her a menacing smile.
"Checking…in?" He sharply tightened the noose he was carrying in his hands.
I love cliffhangers.
Ah, H.P. Lovecraft. I couldn't resist throwing him in…and he (or his works, more accurately), will have a small role to play later on…
The message board actually does look like that on the ride. Unfortunately, the letters don't fall off to spell out the message as you watch.
Next chapter: Who are the mysterious ghosts, and what is it that they want? Furthermore, what is the connection between the once-lively Hollywood Tower Hotel and the mysterious Twilight Zone? Sabrina and Shinji continue to search for answers…