4

Isobel stared up at the ceiling of the room Charlie had placed her. As far as hotel rooms go, this was a pretty nice one. Isobel had definitely been in worse. The bed was comfortable and there were only a minimal number of eyes on the walls. However, in her opinion, perhaps too much use of the color red. Though, maybe that was for the best. It would camouflage blood stains. To her left a matching red on red bathroom for her convenience and to her right a large picture window with a plush, red velvet seat.

Once she had stopped crying and hiding under the covers, Isobel spent a long while looking out that window and its view of the city. She watched as the day gave way to an inky night and one by one, the garish neon lights illuminated the dark. Surprisingly, it looked very much the same as any other city she had been to. But this was not a street view. She couldn't see the cannibals, or mothmen, or whatever demonic entities roamed the night.

Eventually she left the window and fell atop the bed, confused, angry, and hopeless. What was she doing there? Did she really die and go to Hell? If so, what was this crushing feeling, a suspicion that she did not belong.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, she checked her phone. For some reason the battery had not depleted, but still no signal. She found that nothing worked on it at all except her pictures and music. So she returned to hiding under the blankets, playing music, and singing all the songs to break the pressing silence and comfort herself with something from home. It was almost tangible, some proof of where she had been, where she should still be.

After some hours, boredom overtook her and she decided to leave the room. She had to psyche herself up a little to just open the door. She told herself over and over again that nothing was on the other side waiting to devour her, but how did she really know for sure? She took a deep breath and slowly, quietly opened the door.

A long hallway ran left and right, keeping to the motif of just red everywhere. Across the way she could see a small placard that read "Lobby" with a somewhat crooked arrow pointing to the right. Cautiously she followed the arrow's instructions. She came to another perpendicular hallway. Looking back over her shoulder, she could see the door to her room slightly ajar. She debated going back, but she shook her head and continued to follow the signs to the lobby. She did not see or hear anyone else. It would seem that the hotel did not have many guests.

An elaborate stairway rose up to meet her and half way down she began to hear voices. It sounded like there were several people speaking, often over each other. They seemed to be having a lively discussion. A few more steps down she could hear them clearly. A few more and she could see a landing where the stairs opened up into view of the lobby. She snuck down and peered around the wall, hidden enough so that she could not be seen.

"Yeah, but what did you do with her?" Isobel recognized the speaker as the tall, lanky spider from the porn studio. He spoke with a Brooklyn accent, which she thought was a bit strange. And then it occurred to her that she might need to reevaluate her standards of what constituted as strange. He paced, drink in hand, talking to Charlie who sat crisscrossed on a couch next to Vaggie.

"I put her in a room, and left her there. What else could I do? She seemed really shaken up."

"It was a good thing you called us, Angel." Vaggie added.

"Did she tell you anything?" Angel asked.

"She just said her name is Isobel," Charlie continued, "and that's it. She hasn't come out of the room at all. I knocked a couple of times, but she didn't answer, and I didn't want to push her. (As we all know I have a tendency to do.) So I've been trying to give her space. It can be a hard transition, you know."

"Yeah," Angel went on. "But there was something weird about her."

"Weird how?" Vaggie asked.

A small voice chirped in, "She looks weird." Isobel couldn't see the speaker, but was irrationally offended.

"Yeah, yeah," Angel agreed. "But not just that, something else. Something like how she acted, I can't really put my finger on it."

"Well, we can't just barge into her room and ask her what her deal is." Vaggie said. "So you're going to have to wait."

Isobel decided that she had heard enough, and that she was not ready to do this yet. She needed more time to wrap her mind around what was happening. She retreated back up the stairs and down the hall. She turned again and saw the door still ajar as she had left it. Grateful that she did not get lost, she almost ran to the door, but suddenly stopped as a chill rippled up her spin.

Just as she was to cross the threshold, the feeling of eyes on her back came over her. Moving as little as possible she turned her head toward the hallway she had just come from. There a figure stared back at her. It was a person, a tall man, half hidden as if he had been walking past only to notice her at the last minute. Isobel could only see red hooded eyes and red pin-stripe suit. Red, black, and terrifying.

From his point of view, Alastor was equally confused. He was unaware of a new guest at the hotel. As he was walking, he had sensed movement down one of the adjacent halls that led to the rooms so he halted and saw what at first looked to be a shadow, all in black, until it stopped and turned to him with a focused glare revealing alarmingly green eyes.

They both stayed there for a moment, perhaps afraid that if they looked away even just for a second their apparitions would disappear. But without a word, Isobel broke her stare and slipped into her room.

The door clicked behind her and Alastor continued on his way making a mental note to take this matter up with Charlie. They simply could not have unknown guests roaming the halls.

It would take Isobel another two days to venture out of her room again.

Charlie, eternally kind, would stop by every few hours with food. She would knock, but received no answer except that muffled sound of music through the door. Sometimes she could hear Isobel singing too. How frustrating! If only she would open the door, she would see that everyone was really nice. They could sing together, and become friends, and then Charlie would be able to help her with her troubles. But no. No, she needed more time. So Charlie would leave the tray of food in front of the door and return downstairs.

Isobel was watching the sun cross the sky for the third time out the window of her room when she decided enough was enough. Was she just going to stay there forever? Just live in a hotel room from Hell for the rest of her life? Or was she going to go downstairs talk to some new people and figure out what was happening to her?

She decided it was time to be bold.

As she walked down the stairs to the lobby area, she could hear the same voices again debating. It seems like she was still the topic of discussion. As she came into the light she could see everyone sitting around a white board. A giant, winged cat man was writing on it what looked like odds on guesses. It appeared that they were all taking bets on what she was and when she would leave her room.

"I still say she's a fallen angel like Vaggie." Angel announced. "She shows up right after an extermination, she is all messed up in the head…"

"There's no way," Vaggie interjected.

"Why not?"

"Don't you think I would know?"

"Bitch, nobody knows what you know."

"I say," Vaggie continued, choosing to ignore Angel. "She's just a sinner, who just happens to look a little unusual."

"I hate to interrupt." The conversation came to a screeching halt and they all craned their heads around to find Isobel standing behind them. She smiled, hands firmly in her pockets. "I don't think I'm either of those."

"Oh, my Satan," Charlie jumped up with a squeal. "You're out of your room! This is so exciting, I'm so proud of you." She ran over to Isobel and, grabbing her by the arm, half dragged her into the lobby. "Come meet everyone!"

Charlie stood her up in front of the white board. Everyone's attention was on her. Isobel had never felt so awkward. But Charlie barrelled on at an alarming pace.

"Everyone, this is Isobel. Isobel, you remember me and Vaggie of course. Meet Husker." She pointed at the giant cat in suspenders.

"Nice to meet you," Isobel said. Husker just nodded his head and kind of shrugged, before taking another drink from the bottle in his hand.

"This is Angel," Charlie gestured to the pink spider.

"Oh, I recognize you." Isobel said.

"Most do, sweetheart." He seemed elated. "You've seen one of my movies?"

"Uh, no. I mean from before at the studio or whatever it was. You were there."

"Oh yeah," Charlie interjected. "Angel was the one who called us to come get you."

"Kinda looked like you needed a little help." He said.

"Thank you," Isobel said. "That was really kind of you."

"And here," Charlie steered Isobel's attention to a small creature wearing a poodle skirt sitting on the end of the coffee table, "is Nifty."

This must have been the source of the small voice Isobel had heard days before, as without a beat, Nifty stood on the table and said, "You look weird. And smell weird."

Not knowing how to respond, Isobel only said, "Okay."

Charlie looked at her with an apologetic expression.

"Sorry about that. I don't think you smell weird at all."

"Thanks?"

"And lastly, he's affectionately known as the Radio Demon, but we just call him Alastor." Charlie gestured to a wingback chair where, crossed legged and sipping tea, the figure from the hall sat. He placed his tea cup aside and stood to his full height. Very tall, especially taking in account the red and black deer ears perched atop his head. He fixed Isobel with a gold plated smile, too big, too wide, and full of sharp menacing teeth.

Isobel forgot to control her words.

"Wow, you're scary as fuck, aren't you?"

He laughed and the crackle and pop of static followed. With a voice that sounded like it was just on the other side of old speakers and radio waves he said, "Why thank you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She was not expecting a transatlantic accent to meet her, but there it was, and she was reminded of all the old black and white movie actors she would watch on Sunday afternoons. She couldn't help but smile.

"So," Charlie said excitedly as she sat on the couch, hands clasped in her lap. "Tell us all about yourself."

"Oh, well," Isobel looked around suddenly on the spot, feeling very uncomfortable. "Um, what do you want to know?"

"Let's see here," Charlie said, finger to chin and eyes upturned, clearly thinking of all the questions she had in her mind. "When is your birthday? Your favorite color, favorite food, and favorite holiday. What season do you think best describes you? Oh, what was your mother's maiden name…"

"Ok, but first," Angel interjected, which Isobel was quite thankful for. The list of questions was overwhelming. "Settle a bet for us. I say you're a fallen angel, but Vaggie says you're just a sinner. Which one is it."

"Well, I'm definitely not an angel."

"So you're a sinner! I knew it." Vaggie pumped her fist in victory.

"Isn't everyone? I mean, isn't that part of the deal with this place?"

"You know what I mean," Vaggie continued. "You died and then you came here because your immortal soul is condemned to Hell."

"Yeah about that," Isobel started to pace. This was something she had been turning over and over in her mind and just could not figure out. "I don't think I died."

There was a brief silence, before Charlie chimed in.

"Well, that's impossible. Living souls don't just show up in Hell. Heaven would have a fit."

"Ok, but hear me out." Isobel's pacing became faster. "Not that I've ever died before, but wouldn't I remember something about it, or shouldn't there be a transition? There was no white light or dark tunnel. And why would my car come with me? And why do I still look like me? I mean, no offense." She surveyed everyone sitting before her. "You all looked like people when you were alive, right? Not like… well…" She trailed off.

"What do you mean your car came with you?" Vaggie asked, suddenly suspicious.

"That's how it happened. I was driving in the rain, there was a flash of lightning, and then I'm broken down still in my car in a back alley of what turns out to be Hell." Vaggie looked at Charlie, both with concerned expressions. "Not normal, right?"

Vaggie shook her head, "No. Definitely not normal.

"Do you think you can show us where it is?" Charlie asked.

Isobel shrugged, "I can try."

It was decided that Isobel would take Vaggie and Charlie to see the car. Maybe they could figure out what was really happening, and Isobel could at least prove to herself that she was not completely insane. They went immediately because, as Charlie put it, there was no time like the present.

As they left, Husker returned to the bar where Alastor sat watching the three women depart.

"You were unusually quiet during all that," Husker said. "Thought you would have all kinds of smart ass shit to say."

"Sometimes, good fellow, it is wiser to keep one's mouth shut and just listen."

"Yeah, and what do you make of all that? A living soul in Hell?"

"The prospect is an interesting one." In truth it was more than merely interesting to Alastor. A living soul was usually something far beyond any demon's grasp. To own one, to possess such a thing, would be quite the feather in an overlord's cap. Could even create a tipping of power to one's favor. But he just shrugged, gave his cane a twirl, and as he strolled away said, "Probably all nonsense, nothing more."