I posted one of my journal entries here the other day, about my job at the Ultima Resort. I think I needed to reach out, to make a connection. It is hard to do here, cell signal and internet are spotty and can’t always be trusted. But at least here, I can chronicle my thoughts and post them, whenever I have a chance. And hey, even if it doesn’t help me, at least it might warn people who see this. Because, truthfully, I prefer it when we aren’t busy. I don’t have time to record everything that happens, but I will keep chronicling, time to time, as signal and workload permit. To anyone who can see this, thanks for being here.

I was checking in a young man with bleached-blond hair and 3 days growth of uneven stubble on his chin when Vincent burst through the entrance and stormed up to the desk.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Mr. Grant,” I turned back to the new guest. “I’m sorry, sir. Please, continue.”

“As I was saying,” he rubbed his chin, irritated at the interruption. “My wife will be thrilled. This resort is exactly what we have been looking for. Quiet, secluded, luxurious. I don’t know how I have never heard of this place.”

“I am glad the resort is to your liking, Mr. Martin. We are proud to be exclusive. Will your wife be arriving soon?”

“She will be here in a few hours; she is driving down from her sister’s.”

“Excellent,” I tapped at the keyboard and then handed him is keys. “And will you be needing help with your bags?”

The young man nodded, and I waved Manny over, he took the bags and led Mr. Martin upstairs, to his room. As soon as he cleared the way, Vincent took his place, slamming a fist down on the counter as he did.

“I need you to tell me what in Hell is going on here!” he shouted.

This was the fourth time he had tried to leave since yesterday. It apparently wasn’t going well.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” I smiled, blandly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Don’t give me that shit,” he grabbed me by the shoulders, face inches from mine. “What is this place? Am I in purgatory or something? Why can’t I leave?”

“Do you need directions, Mr. Grant?” There were some things I couldn’t talk about with guests. I’d tried before, and that night my door hadn’t appeared. I had been forced to spend the night in the halls, hiding from the… I shook my head. It wasn’t worth it. The guy hadn’t believed me anyway.

“You already gave me directions!” he shouted. “They don’t work. Every road leads back here!”

“If you are having trouble with your orientation, sir, perhaps you should get some sleep before trying to set out again. You may simply be overtired.”

He glared at me for a long moment, before snorting in disgust, spinning on his heel, and stalking off towards the stairs. As he passed the door to the event space in the back, a burst of electronic noise signaled that a slot machine was paying out beyond the door. Vincent Grant paused, turning sharply at the sound. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side, he took a halting step towards the door, and kicked something that skittered across the marble, bouncing off the wall. Vincent reached down and plucked it from the floor. He held it in his hand, staring at it for a long moment, before snarling and whipping it to the ground, it bounced towards the front desk, and he stormed up the stairs. I stepped around the counter and picked up the purple disk, a 500-dollar casino chip, and put it in the register. The cacophony of the slot machine finally stopped, and I looked over at the door that currently led to a small casino off the main lobby, mostly slot machines, blackjack, a roulette wheel. Two days ago, before Vincent had checked in, it had been a banquet hall, and I hoped that the change was temporary. Frankly, the noise was annoying, and the ‘Dealers’ were even worse than The Masseur from the spa. At least I wasn’t expected to know how to run any of the games myself, I supposed. I’d never been much of a gambler. The desk phone rang, bringing my attention back to my own work. I lifted the receiver.

“Front desk.”

“I need a bottle of your best red and a rare sirloin. Room 307.”

He hung up the phone before I could even respond. That had stopped bothering me a long time ago. The guests here were usually… the worst versions of themselves, and I often got the impression that the best version wasn’t that great either. With nothing much else to do for the moment, I ambled off to the kitchen to retrieve the order. It meant interacting with The Chef, but sometimes that couldn’t be avoided. It could be worse, at least he mostly focused on the task of cooking, and he rarely said anything to me. I just needed to avoid looking at him too much. I rang the bell and waited. The Chef appeared at the kitchen window; fortunately, I didn’t recognize him, today. He was nondescript, round face, bald head, nothing your eyes could really stick to. But as I let my guard down, he turned his eyes on me. And for just a moment, they pleaded with me, like they had the night of the accident. My brother’s eyes. I looked down, focusing on his chin.

“Sirloin, rare.”

He nodded and turned to prepare the meal. While I waited, I moved to the wine rack, scanning the bottles for something that could be considered our “best.” I wasn’t exactly an expert, but even I recognized that a Chateau Petrus Pomerol was worth more than I made in 3 months, when I still got paid, that is. Well, he had asked for the best. I grabbed the bottle and returned to the window. The steak was waiting for me at the pass, The Chef tried to catch my eye again as I reached for it, but I kept my gaze resolutely on the food. I wasn’t going to play that game today. I turned and headed for the stairs. I balanced the tray on one hand as I knocked on the door to room 307. I could hear voices inside; it sounded like he was on the phone. He obviously got better reception here than I did.

“No, don’t sell,” his agitation was apparent, even through the door. “We can’t afford to sell. I already explained. We need to hold, wait for a rebound… Of course, there is going to be a rebound, it can’t go down forever, can it? We just need to stall them, hold off for a bit longer, until the markets recover… No one is going to jail, alright? We just need a bit of money to cover our debts in the short term… Neither do I, obviously, but I have a plan to get some… Yeah, she’ll be here soon. There’s a pool… I know. Look, just make sure that the premiums are paid up, alright? Whatever you have to do, whatever you have to sell, make it happen. I’ll let you know when it is done.”

Silence fell, so it seemed like an opportune moment to knock again. I rapped on the door, and it swung open to reveal Adam Martin,

“What?” he snapped.

I offered the tray,

“Your order, sir.”

He inspected the bottle of wine and shrugged,

“I suppose this will have to do,” he took the tray, and slammed the door.

I shrugged and headed back downstairs. I had cleaning to do.

I finished with the rooms later than usual that evening, the halls seemed to stretch forever. The third floor alone had at least 30 rooms today. It was well after dark before I finally reached the main floor for the final round of cleaning. I was going to need to hurry, I didn’t have that much time until midnight. I finished the lobby quickly enough, which left only the new casino. I was about to head there when the bell rang. I turned to see a young woman with long, dark hair standing at the desk. She wore designer clothes and carried a Birkin bag on her arm. Pricy. I stepped behind the counter,

“Good evening, ma’am, welcome to Ultima Resort, how can I help you?”

“I believe my husband has already checked in, I’m Mrs. Adam Martin.”

“Of course, Mrs. Martin. Your husband is in room 307, would you like an escort, or help with your bags?”

“No, please don’t trouble yourself, I can find my way,” she smiled kindly. “Thank you. Have a good night. I’m sorry to have bothered you so late.”

“It’s no trouble. Have a goodnight, ma’am.”

She headed up the stairs and I turned back to the casino. Hopefully there wouldn’t be much to clean up in there, I don’t think anyone had even used it. I soon found that this had changed while I was upstairs. There was now a guest planted in front of the roulette table.

“Come on, baby, I need an odd,” Vincent gestured drunkenly at the wheel with his glass as the ball skittered across the pockets.

It looked like he had given up on leaving, for the night. I was heading over to check the trashcans when I heard the ball click to a stop.

“That’s double zero, sir,” The Dealer intoned.

“Shit! Are you kidding me?”

I heard the sound of a glass shattering against the far wall. With a sigh, I retrieved my broom and headed over to sweep up the pieces.

“This game is obviously rigged. The hell with it,” I saw him push off the roulette table and stagger away, towards the blackjack dealer.

I finished collecting the glass and wiping the splatters of whiskey off the wall, then headed back to my cart, to dispose of the fragments. As I passed the blackjack table, I saw Vincent slap down a casino chip, ready to place a bet. Then, he looked up at the Dealer, and froze, hand still on his chip. It wasn’t an uncommon response to the permanent staff, but I couldn’t see what could be bothering him about this one at the moment, it looked like an ordinary woman of indeterminate age. Dark hair, nondescript features, even the limbs were properly proportioned. Nothing really out of the ordinary. Granted, I wasn’t necessarily seeing what he saw. You could never tell with them. I dumped the glass shards into the trash bag and turned back to see Vincent reaching out to touch a large pearl and gold brooch pinned to The Dealer’s vest. He ran a finger along the edge of the piece of jewelry, almost tenderly, then his face turned dark.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded.

The Dealer didn’t respond. He grabbed it by the collar,

“Answer me! Where did you get this?”

He shook it, but the Dealer didn’t seem to notice,

“Would you like to place a bet, sir?”

With a snarl, he grabbed the brooch, tearing it from the vest, then he stalked out of the room. I finished emptying the trashcans and sweeping the floor. Looking at my watch, it was 11:16. I had probably done enough. Hopefully, I could head back to my room now. I had just stowed my cart and was passing through the lobby when I heard the sobbing. Vincent was sitting on the steps, cradling the brooch in his hands, sniffling quietly. I shouldn’t stop, shouldn’t get involved. It could only lead to trouble. But, I reasoned, wouldn’t it be bad customer service not to at least ask if he needed something? That was a flimsy justification, but it was good enough for now. I approached the steps.

“Are you alright, sir?”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand before looking up,

“No, no, I’m fine…” he hesitated. “That’s obviously a lie, isn’t it?”

I smiled and sat on the step beside him.

“Well…”

“Yeah, I thought so. Truth is, it’s been a rough…” he paused to count on his fingers. “Year.”

He held up the brooch, angling it so the light sparkled across the metal.

“This is my mother’s brooch, you know. One of a kind. I didn’t think I would ever see it again. What are the odds I would run into it here?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“Me neither. I’ve never been one for the odds, unfortunately,” he laughed bitterly. “It belonged to my great grandmother. She passed it down to her daughter, and she passed it down to my mother. It was one of her most prized possessions. A year ago, I took it and pawned it. I needed the money. It was supposed to be temporary. I kept the ticket, I was going to get it back, just as soon as my luck changed, as soon as I won the money back. She was never even supposed to notice it was gone. But, I… well my luck didn’t change, did it? And by the time she noticed, it had already been sold. There was no getting it back. My mother told me to get out, that she couldn’t even bear to look at me anymore. I wasn’t welcome in her house. I haven’t seen her since,” he shook his head. “What am I rambling about, you don’t care.” He got unsteadily to his feet, leaning on the handrail, “I’m going to bed. Can you… give this back to the lady in there?” He pressed the brooch into my hand. “Tell her I’m sorry. Again.”

With that, he plodded up the stairs towards the second floor. I looked down at the brooch, then rose and left it behind the counter. It was time to get locked into my room for the night. The door was present, but my dinner left something to be desired tonight. Little more than thin gruel, with stale bread. I had known they wouldn’t be happy about my talking to a guest like that. They didn’t like when we interfered with what they were doing. At least I still got something. I tipped the bowl back and drained the contents, then slipped into bed. I would be more careful tomorrow.

I was laying out the breakfast buffet in the dining room when Mr. and Mrs. Martin arrived and sat in a corner booth. Adam Martin waved me over curtly,

“Two eggs benedict and two mimosas.”

I glanced back at the buffet I had just been laying out.

“Adam, I think breakfast is over there, honey,” his wife gestured at the buffet.

“It’s a resort, Melissa. We can get anything we want. Surely they don’t expect us to eat off a buffet table.”

Ah, what the hell, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

“Of course, sir,” I smiled and headed towards the kitchen.

“So, what do you want to do today, Adam? Visit the spa, take a hike in the woods?” she sounded excited.

“I thought maybe we could stay close to the hotel, for a bit. I need to make a few trades.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a vacation,” she noticeable deflated.

“It is, honey. But the markets never rest. It won’t take long, I promise, then we can go for that hike. Until then, we can just go down to the pool. I checked yesterday, the wifi is fine there.”

“The pool? But Adam, you know I don’t like the water, I can’t swim.”

“So, you can sunbathe, right?”

I reached the window and switched my focus to The Chef. I explained the order, while studiously avoiding his gaze. When it was done, I delivered it to the table.

“Thank you,” Melissa Martin smiled brightly. “Could you tell me, are there any good walking trails here? I would love to see more of the woods.”

“There are some excellent trails to the north. If you follow the path that leads from the courtyard, you will see a trail map posted, it should indicate the difficulty level and time required for each trail. I would advise being back before dark. The woods aren’t safe at night.”

“Thank you,” she reached into her bag and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, but before she could offer it to me, her husband snatched it from her hand.

“That’s her job, honey. You don’t owe her any money for it.”

Melissa flushed and looked at her plate.

“It’s fine, please, enjoy your breakfast,” there was nothing for me to spend money on here anyway. “And I hope that you enjoy your hike. Please let me know if I you need anything else.”

I returned to setting up the buffet as they ate their meal.

“Adam, honey,” Melissa began, picking at her eggs, her long, vivid red nails clicking on the fork. “When I was with my sister, she mentioned that she and Greg are planning to buy a boat this summer. Nothing too fancy, just something to do on the weekends, you know? So, they are going to need to withdraw a couple hundred thousand of what they have invested with you, alright?”

Adam Martin gulped back most of his mimosa before responding,

“Of course, sweetie. No problem at all. I just need a bit of time to do the necessary paperwork and some legal things.”

I could see the sweat beading on his hairline and pooling at his collar from over here, did she really not notice?

“Sure, no rush. They are still shopping around,” she smiled brightly, unconcerned. “While you are getting that together, my dad wants to see an earnings report. Tax season is coming up, after all and he likes to have all his accounts up to date.”

“Right. I was planning on getting that together, anyway.”

“Oh! Of course, I should have known you were already preparing it. I apologize, I shouldn’t stick my nose into your business.”

“It’s alright, Mel. Let’s just finish our eggs and go get some sun. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” he pulled at his collar, trying to loosen it.

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

Adam Martin shoveled down the rest of his breakfast and the two departed for their room, to change for the pool.

I was at the front desk when Vincent descended the stairs, carrying his bag. He plopped it down on the desk.

“I am checking out, today,” he announced.

I suppressed a sigh and plastered on a smile,

“Of course, sir. I will print your bill.”

He regarded me carefully,

“No questions, no attempt to dissuade me?”

“Of course not, sir. I hope you had a pleasant stay.”

“Thank you,” he took his bill and turned to go. “I am sorry, for my outburst last night.”

“No need, Mr. Grant. We are happy to serve in any way.”

He nodded slowly and headed out the front doors.

He had only been gone a few minutes when I heard the screaming. Adam Martin burst through the door to the courtyard, dripping wet and frantic. There were deep scratch marks down the side of his neck, the blood oozing out and mixing with the water dripping from his hair.

“Please, you have to help me,” his wet shoes slipped on the marble floors as he ran. “It’s my wife! She fell in the pool. I couldn’t get her out, please, come quickly. I think she’s drowned.”

I pressed the button to call Manny and followed Mr. Martin out to the courtyard.

“We were out by the pool. I was working on my laptop; she was sunbathing by the water. She was getting up to move to a place with better sun when she slipped. She can’t swim, she went under. I tried to get to her, but I couldn’t… She is on the bottom of the pool, she isn’t moving.”

We emerged into the courtyard, Manny just a few steps behind.

“Melissa!” he screamed, running towards the pool.

I was only a few steps behind him, but I slowed when I saw that the pool was empty. No one in or under the sparkling, clear, water.

“What’s the matter, honey?”

I spun at the sound of the voice behind me. We had been so focused on the pool that we had all run right past the woman in the Dior bikini, sitting on the lounge chair by the door. Melissa Martin. She was drenched, her long hair was sodden and it dripped continuously, water pooling around the chair below her. She stood and approached her husband, leaving wet footprints across the deck as she did. She touched his arm and he flinched away, nearly cowering from her.

“What’s the matter, Adam? Did something happen?”

“Melissa?” he stared at her, wide eyed. “How… You… fell in the pool. How did you get out?”

“In the pool?” she asked innocently. “Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t go in the pool, I can’t swim.”

The silence that followed was broken only by the intermittent sound of water dripping from her hair onto the deck.

“I… I thought you were dead,” Adam Martin managed to choke.

“I’m fine, darling. You must have had a bad dream, that’s all,” she hugged him tightly. “Why don’t we go back to the room? You are soaked, we should get you into some dry clothes.”

She took his hand and led him back into the hotel. Manny looked over and met my eyes,

“Probably a good night to turn in early. Hopefully Mr. Grant is back before dark.”

“Yeah,” I nodded my agreement.

We both looked back at the pool, four bright red nails floated on the surface of the water. Manny turned to retrieve the pool skimmer.

“I’ll clean up here, you continue with your other duties.”

“Thanks, Manny.”

I turned and headed back inside the hotel.

Things were uneventful for a few hours after that. Mr. Grant hadn’t returned yet, so I just went back to my other duties, hurrying more than usual. I wanted to have everything done, so I could turn in early, but I wasn’t sure that was feasible. Frankly, Mrs. Martin had really added to my cleaning tasks. Everywhere she went in the hotel, she left pools of water, I was constantly finding new places that I had just cleaned that I now had to mop again. At first, the water had been relatively clean, smelling only of chlorine, but it was getting gradually more putrid as time passed, and the odor of rot and decay now clung to everywhere she went. I was going to need to break out the carpet deodorizer. I had just finished re-mopping the floors in the dining room, after Mr. and Mrs. Martin finished their dinner, and I was heading back to the main staircase in the lobby, when I saw them together at the top of the steps. Melissa Martin was holding her husband’s hand, smiling brightly and talking animatedly about something I couldn’t hear. She would have seemed happy and content, but even from here, I could see how milky her eyes were now, how pruned and grey her skin had become in the hours since they had come in from the courtyard. She had changed into a sundress, but it was also soaking wet, clinging to her like a shroud, and her wet hair framed her face like coiled snakes. I shuddered.

Adam Martin wasn’t looking much better; his expression was taut, and his pupils were unnaturally dilated. He kept looking down at his wife and shaking his head. I heard her laugh and grab his arm excitedly, he recoiled from her touch and shoved her away. She stumbled back a step, closer to the stairs. She looked up at her husband, hurt and confusion on her face, but his expression had set into something firm and unpleasant. As if inspired, he took a step towards her and with both hands now, he shoved her violently, sending her toppling down the stairs. It was only one story, but she fell badly, landing at the bottom in a crumpled heap, her neck and limbs at impossible, twisted angles. Adam stood at the top, frozen. I ducked behind the counter, making sure he didn’t see me there, and watched as he slowly descended the stairs, towards his wife’s crumpled body. Just steps before he reached her, Melissa began to stand up. She tottered to her feet on a right leg bent 90 degrees from her body, her head twisted to the right unnaturally far, her chin raised too high. One arm hung uselessly at her side, the bone protruding from her elbow. She looked up at her husband,

“Oops, that was clumsy of me, wasn’t it, honey?” she croaked from a twisted throat.

Adam Martin seemed frozen in place, unable to move as his wife wrapped her good arm around him and kissed his cheek, leaving a wet streak where her lips touched.

“Come on, you promised me a walk in the garden,” she giggled, pulling on his hand.

She shambled out, her gait rolling and uneven, dragging her stunned husband behind her. When they were gone, I stepped out from behind the counter and began to mop the puddle from the base of the stairs.

It was getting late, after ten, when Manny came by the front desk, looking for me.

“You should turn in, Lucy,” he advised, face somber. “I’m going now. It wouldn’t do to be late tonight. Some things don’t need to wait until midnight.”

“I know, Manny,” I rubbed my hands anxiously. “And I will, I just want to wait a few more minutes. Mr. Grant hasn’t returned yet. I don’t want him to be stuck in the halls all night. Especially not tonight.”

“You can’t get attached to the guests, Lucy. You know that.”

“I know, but still…”

“No buts. Besides, perhaps he made it out. You never know, right?”

“Right,” I considered; it was true, it wasn’t common, but sometimes people made it out. “Alright, I will close up now and turn in. See you in the morning, Manny.”

“I suspect we will have a lot of cleaning to do, so get your rest while you can.”

With that, he turned and walked off down the hall, towards his room. I hesitated at the desk. I knew he was right, but still, no one should have to be in the halls late at night. Any guest that decided to on their own, I couldn’t stop, but leaving someone trapped out there seemed cruel. I would give it five more minutes, then turn in. Before three minutes had passed, I heard a crash from the dining room, loud enough in the silent hotel to make me jump. No one should be in there; I had closed it hours ago. Creeping over to the door, I pushed it open a crack to see Adam Martin burst through the swinging door to the kitchen, a large cleaver in his hand. His eyes were too bright in the dim light, gleaming maniacally. I knew I should close the door and run, but I felt frozen in place. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen me yet, his attention was focused solely on his wife, shambling towards him with a wide, innocent smile on her face.

“Where’s my surprise?” she asked.

“Right here!”

He swung the cleaver down, into her neck, the force of the blow driving it deep. He wrenched it out, and dark, almost black blood bubbled from the wound. He reared back and swung again, and again, frantically slicing at her head and neck with the heavy blade. As he did, he screamed at her,

“Why did you have to ruin everything!? Why couldn’t you have just died like you were supposed to? Why couldn’t you just stay dead!?”

Melissa Martin didn’t cry out, or even flinch away, she just stood there, same wide grin on her face, until an errant strike hit her in the mouth and slashed her face open into a puppets’ grin. He shoved her to the ground and kept swinging when she was on the floor.

“I need your body, your dead body, to claim the insurance. It’s the only way I can cover our debts. The only way I survive this. But you had to make it so difficult for both of us! Why can’t you just die?”

Adam didn’t stop until her head hung from her neck, barely attached by a few strips of flesh, and chunks of her mangled face lay scattered around him. Finally, he rose, wiping the cleaver on his pants. He raised a hand to wipe the blood spattered on his face, but only succeeded in smearing it more, creating a gruesome mask of crimson. As he stepped over his wife’s body, his eyes fell on me, peering around the door frame. His smile widened,

“Thank God you’re here, there’s been an accident,” he began, before breaking down in hysterical laughter. “I doubt that one is going to work here, is it? No, there has been a change of plans, I suppose. Still, I can’t have any witnesses.”

He began walking towards me, cleaver in hand. I tried to run, but it felt like my hands were stuck to the door, my feet rooted in place.

“Please, I didn’t see anything, please don’t kill me,” I begged, but his expression was hard and unyielding.

I screamed, as he drew closer, and then I felt a hand on my shoulder, someone pulled me back through the doorway and I stumbled backwards, falling into the lobby. I looked up to see Vincent Grant standing above me,

“What is going on? Are you alright?”

“We have to run,” I blurted, scrambling to my feet.

We only made it a few steps before Adam burst through the door, holding the cleaver over his head. Vincent’s eyes went wide and we both backed away. Adam Martin kept advancing, and I was sure he was going to kill us both. Then we heard it,

“Adam,” the voice croaked in a low, wet gurgle. “Where did you go, Adam?”

I heard the cleaver hit the floor and Adam Martin collapsed, sobbing,

“You don’t understand, Melissa, this was the only way. I had to do it, I had to. I had no other way out. I owed so much money, to you parents, your sister, my other clients. I lost it all in the market downturn. I could never pay them back, let alone maintain our lifestyle. We would have lost everything. I would have gone to jail. I just needed some cash, just a little bit, to keep things going, until my luck turned around. Until I could pay everyone back. The life insurance was the only thing I had left that was worth anything. It was the only chance I had.”

The bloody husk of Melissa Martin crawled towards him as he spoke, smearing blood along the marble as she did. Her head hung from her neck, swinging on its strap of flesh, pieces of her ear and cheek were missing. When she reached him, she put a hand on his knee and he turned to her, sobs racking his body.

“Tell me you see, Melissa,” he got on his knees in front of her. “Tell me you understand why I had to do it. Please.”

“I forgive you,” her voice gurgled from a ruined mouth. “We can work everything out, together. I never needed the money; I only ever needed you. I love you, Adam.”

“I love you too, Melissa,” his voice broke.

“Won’t you give me a kiss, Adam? Please.”

He hesitated for only a moment, then he lifted her head gently and placed his lips on hers. After a moment, his sobs subsided and he grew eerily still. He placed the head down and the body of Melissa Martin finally crumpled to the floor, lifeless. Adam Martin rose and turned to us, face dripping with dark blood, eyes black as the void, teeth gleaming sharp in the moonlight streaming through the windows. He inclined his head politely,

“I have enjoyed my stay. I will miss this place, I think.”

Then he turned and strolled casually out the door and into the night. I finally breathed again. Vincent grabbed my shoulder, shaking me,

“We have to call an ambulance, the police, everyone!”

“I’ll take care of that, sir,” I managed to choke out, though I was surprised he could hear me over the hammering of my heart. “Please go lock yourself in your room for tonight. Don’t come out until morning.”

I handed him the key I had been holding for him, in case he returned. For a moment, he looked like he was going to argue, but then he just nodded a mutely, a numb look on his face, and stumbled towards the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, I sprinted for my room. There was food waiting for me on the bed, but the sight of it only made me sick. I bolted the door and stumbled to the bathroom, then spent the next hour vomiting up everything I had ever eaten in my life. At least it felt that way. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I woke up on the bathroom floor in the morning.

I have to go out there now, get back to work. Clean the bits and pieces and puddles left behind by Mrs. Martin. But I really needed a minute before I did that. So, I thought I would write this post, try to compose myself a bit. Just as I was about to submit it, though, there was a knock at my door. It was Vincent Grant, wearing only his boxers. He was holding a pair of dark green slacks and a cream-colored shirt, embroidered with “Ultima Resort”. He wants to know where all his clothes have gone and why that was the only thing in his room this morning. That is going to be a long conversation, so I am going to post this first and then get back to him. I’ll try to write again when I can.

Until next time,

Lucy

Part 3

Part 4