ABANDONED Page 8

  What she thought she was seeing didn’t seem possible. It reminded her of one of the shows that Lively liked to watch with the time-travelling Doctor and his portable man-cave that was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. The hotel lobby seemed like that right now, almost too much so, in fact.

  More fresh air seemed like a great idea right now. She needed to have a moment to reset, then try this again.

  Minerva turned and felt her reality slip. The doors were a hundred feet behind her and stretching further into the distance by the second. She spun back toward the lobby. An impossible amount of shining marble floor lay between her and the front desk. The elevator across from it looked suddenly minuscule from an increasing gap, and the stairs appeared as remote as the surface of the moon.

  She closed her eyes and began to count to ten. When she opened them, she hoped to see a lobby of regular proportions surrounding her instead of this Whovian Tardis that now stretched out to infinity in every direction.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Hail Mary, full of Grace,

  the Lord is with thee.

  Blessed art thou among women.”

  January 1st, 1982, 2355 hours

  Since his first day on the force, John Harder had been a pragmatic and logical man, prone to believing what he saw with his own two eyes, rather than relying on hearsay or second-hand information. But that being said, he also found there was much more to the world that remained unseen than just what he saw with those same eyes. What he’d observed so far since arriving this morning at the Sinclair had shaken him to his very core.

  John had been brought up in a strict Catholic household that had contained minimal joy. His mother had been a devout Christian with all the trimmings, including crucifixes over the beds, figurines of Mother Mary holding Baby Jesus in the living room and a painting of the Last Supper on the dining room wall. John wasn’t as convinced of God’s divine power as much as his mother had been, but he still took some comfort in the concept.

  However, something that made him feel downright uncomfortable was the disappearance of Constable Eric Eggelson. This hotel had felt bad when he’d walked through the front doors earlier this morning, about a half a lifetime ago, and it felt even worse now.

  Standing in the centre of the ballroom, with all of the lights on this time, John slowly turned, surveying the room. Beyond the tall windows, swirling snow travelling on icy wind rattled at the emergency doors and tapped at the glass as if the missing partygoers were just outside, freezing to death and desperate to get back to the light and warmth. He shuddered.

  Earlier this morning, RCMP members had combed the forest surrounding the resort for the missing persons. Others had questioned the remaining patrons that hadn’t been in the ballroom. Several guests and staff had been referred to Harder for follow up, once it was established that they had information which might be of value. After the remaining guests had been thoroughly vetted, he’d released them by noonhour, and they had been glad to go. The support staff had been interviewed next, with the last of them being released by dinner time.

  One of the most important people they had been searching for had been Thomas Sinclair’s surviving son, Edward. He had been scheduled to appear at the party and participate in some of the celebrations. Unfortunately, he, too, was missing in action. As a result of this, the resort’s senior management had quite understandably decided to shut things down temporarily to afford the police time for their investigation.

  All staff and customers had been placed under a strict gag order in regard to speaking about what had occurred at the hotel until the RCMP were ready to make an announcement — and that had to be soon. John knew when this got out to the media, all hell would break loose up here. A local reporter, Will Weston, had shown up sniffing about, just around the time the last of the staff had been released. After some negotiation with Weston, John had managed to have the man hold his press release for twenty-four hours, and in exchange, John said he would give him an exclusive interview.

  For now, it was quiet both inside and out. Weston had kept his word, and no members of the media were anywhere in the vicinity. Silence was John’s only companion, and he was alone inside the hotel. Only one other RCMP member was still on the property. Corporal Amanda Jansen was currently stationed outside the front door, sitting in a heated police cruiser. When he was done for the day, which looked to be any minute, he would let Jansen know that outside was where he wanted her to stay. He didn’t want anyone inside this hotel tonight if he could help it, all things considered.

  John had seen how shaken the corporal had been by Eggelson’s disappearance this afternoon, and after another search of the hotel for the missing constable, he’d wanted to send her home for some rest. But instead, she’d immediately volunteered to be here on guard duty for the night. John had given her a key to a clean suite that the management had provided to them in the event someone needed rest. About an hour ago, she had awoken and informed him that she would be outside in the cruiser. He suspected she was feeling guilt, which he shared, over Eggelson’s disappearance. The young woman was dedicated, despite her fears of this place. John was quite impressed with her fortitude and knew she would go far in the force.

  He stood at the windows looking out into the bitter January evening. Smooth, unblemished snow blanketed the ground outside the windows and exits. If all the people had run out of the room, or even tried to in those fifteen seconds, the snow would have been a trampled mess outside the windows as well as the emergency exits. But there didn’t appear to be a snowflake out of place near any of them. And that hadn’t changed since the last time he’d looked this morning. In the window’s reflection, John saw a somewhat despondent looking RCMP inspector frowning back at him.

  The insanity that had started in the ballroom at the stroke of midnight last night had never apparently ended. With the unexplained pounding in the royal suite followed by the disappearance of Constable Eggelson from a room with no visible exits, things just kept getting weirder and weirder around here.

  When he’d first arrived this morning, John had had some of the constables go knocking on the suite’s doors, verifying which rooms, if any, contained guests from the ballroom. Apart from the seventy rooms booked by the ball’s attendees and musicians, the hotel had been almost empty. There had only been about a dozen other guests staying here, most who had come to relax at the resort after Christmas. Some of them had celebrated the new year in their suite, while others had partied in the Snowdrop Lounge. And some had elected to have more privacy and had chosen to remain in their suite. Vivian Aubergine was one of those people, staying on the third floor of the hotel, next to the royal suite. The event which she experienced had seemed quite pertinent to the case, as she’d reported something exceedingly strange happening when midnight struck.

  Needing to hear her recount her tale once more, John extracted his microcassette recorder from his pocket then sorted through the cassettes in his briefcase to find her recording.

  In her late fifties, Aubergine was an attractive woman with spiked, short hair dyed jet-black to hide time’s advances. Smartly and expensively dressed, she was also very well-spoken, with just a hint of a French accent. Unlike some of his other interviewees, she had been somewhat reluctant to talk, and he had to prompt her a bit more than the others, who had pretty much rambled on of their own volition the entire time.

  Blowing into the microphone, John heard himself say, “Interview with Vivian Aubergine, guest of the hotel, staying in suite number three-thirty-one, directly adjacent to the royal suite.”

  ***

  “The reason I decided to spend the holidays up at this lovely hotel, instead of on the East Coast like I usually do, is because I didn’t feel strong enough, emotionally, to go to any parties alone this year. Sadly, this is my first New Year’s since Phillip passed.”

  “I’m so sorry. How long were you and your husband together?”

  “My Husband? Who said anything about a husband? Phi
llip was my Pomeranian!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Well, still, that’s unfortunate. Please, I’m sure it’s hard, but if you could summarise for me what happened to you in your suite at midnight last night?”

  “Thank you, Inspector. Well, first of all, in answer to your question, Phillip and I were together for fifteen years and I missed him terribly. In any event, I’d wanted to have a low-key evening, and had just received my room service at half-past the hour, just like I’d requested. I must say, that is one of the pluses of this hotel. They are always so punctual with their food delivery, amongst other things.”

  “You received it at 11:30?”

  “Yes, Inspector, that’s usually when half-past occurs. Anyway, it was delivered by an enchanting young Spanish girl, I can’t recall her name exactly, Imelda, I think perhaps?”

  “Esmeralda?”

  “Why yes, I think that was it! Lovely dark-haired little thing! Thank you, Inspector. So, anyway, I decided to get ready for bed before partaking in my midnight repast, and by the time I was finished, it was just a couple of minutes before the ball was ready to drop. I like to tune into the revelry in Times Square each year if I am not there to take part. So, the countdown started, and I had just popped my champagne open. I quickly poured a glass and got it raised in the air just in time to toast in the new year. When the ball hit bottom, and everyone shouted, ‘Happy New Year’, I was about to take my first sip, then the power went out. And that’s when I heard this noise from the royal suite next door.”

  “What kind of noise?”

  “A kind of popping sound. At first, I thought it sounded like someone next door popping open a Methuselah.”

  “I’m sorry? A Methuselah?”

  “Yes, a six-litre bottle of champagne. I often have them when I have a larger party of guests. They make a very distinctive noise when they’re opened.”

  “Thank you for the clarification, Ms. Aubergine.”

  “Yes, of course. But I wanted to add that this noise was, while being close to the sound of a Methuselah, it wasn’t quite the same. This was much deeper than how that cork pops, so I dismissed the idea of that being the noise almost right away. I’m not sure if you have noticed, but there are no emergency lights in the suites, only in the halls, which is something that should be addressed, in my opinion. Anyway, it was pitch black in the room, and I didn’t know how long the power would be out. Since I didn’t want to stumble over something in the dark in an unfamiliar room, I just decided to wait it out and stay where I was for a little while. And that’s when I heard it and almost saw it.”

  “Heard what? Saw what?”

  “Over at the entrance to my suite, near the crack at the bottom of the door, I could see the faint light from the emergency lights out in the hallway…”

  “Go on, please.”

  “Well, the door to the royal suite opened with such a bang and slammed against the wall, I didn’t know what to think. And then… And then ‘something’ came out of that room. It made hardly any noise, but I could hear the floor creaking as it moved along, so it must have been quite heavy. And I know that it paused in front of my door.”

  “How do you know?”

  “All of the light under the crack at the bottom disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? All of it? You mean this thing blocked out the light because of its size?”

  “No, I mean it was like it took all of the light with it as it moved. After it passed, the emergency lights outside in the hall slowly flickered back on. That’s not something that they would have done if they had only been blocked by something standing there.”

  “What did it do then?”

  “I heard it thump off down the corridor, moving away, faster and faster like it was running late for a very important date. I have to tell you, whatever it was, I am glad I wasn’t the target of its attention.”

  ***

  John flipped the notebook closed and looked out the windows. In the reflection, he could see the box sitting on the end of the bar where he’d left it since he’d had his experience in the royal suite. He sighed and looked at his watch, surprised to see it was almost midnight. He wanted to examine that infernal box again, but not tonight. He would have to do so tomorrow. Eighteen hours had elapsed, and he was mentally and physically exhausted.

  His mind was awhirl as he looked around the huge ballroom. Just two dozen hours ago, it would have been filled with happy revellers, celebrating their successes in the old year, and looking forward to more of them in the new. And then midnight struck… And then what?

  Was that thing that Aubergine reported moving past her suite’s door related to the event that transpired down here in the ballroom? And if so, did it somehow facilitate or participate in the mass disappearance when it got down here? Could it be connected with Eggelson’s disappearance as well, he wondered? John shook his head in confusion.

  With muted chimes beginning to ring, the grandfather clock in the lobby proclaimed it to be the witching hour. After four chimes of the clock, the lights dimmed to a dull yellow colour, but didn’t extinguish completely.

  Something suddenly caught the corner of Harder’s eye, moving around outside the window in the swirling, blowing snow. He squinted, looking closer and realised it wasn’t something moving outside in the dark of night, it was something moving around inside behind him.

  He twirled and scanned the room, eyes wide. There was nothing he could see out of the ordinary anywhere, but it wasn’t as easy to see into the far corners of the room now with the lights remaining dim from the power drain.

  John turned back to the window, gazing intently into the room’s reflection. The mahogany bar was clearly visible at his back. But it wasn’t the bar he was looking at in stunned silence. He spun and looked about the room again. There was clearly no one near the bar, or anywhere else that he could see.

  Returning his gaze to the window, John Harder began reciting the Hail Mary, and he crossed himself.

  Reflected behind him, as if seen through a sheet of gauze, a roomful of beautiful people twirled and swayed to the sounds of an unheard orchestra, celebrating the beginning of the first day of a new year, a day which for them, appeared to have no end.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  December 24th, 2021, 0735 hours

  A sliver of daylight beamed through the heavy drapes off to one side of the room. Lively cracked one eye open and looked about for a moment. He closed that eye and opened his other, lifting his arm to his face to see his wristwatch. He felt disoriented, and the room seemed like it was spinning around him. Both eyes now closed, he draped his right forearm across his eyes for a moment.

  Apparently, he’d slept for almost nine hours. But he didn’t remember going to sleep. In fact, the last thing he remembered was seeing himself grinning in the mirror like a looney-tune. He was currently lying underneath the covers of the massive circular bed. On his recent optical reconnoitre, he’d spied his clothes folded neatly, sitting on one arm of a wingback chair across the room. Feeling around beneath the covers for a moment, he discovered that apparently included his underwear. Currently sitting closed, his suitcase was now on a lowboy dresser next to the chair. The bed’s dusty duvet cover had been neatly folded back and lay draped across his feet. And yet, he had no recollection of folding the cover down or even getting undressed for that matter. The sheets under which he lay, though clean looking, were slightly yellow and smelled heavy with the must of age.

  However, he wasn’t really surprised he’d fallen asleep so easily. His cruise ship shenanigans must have taken their toll on his energy levels. For some reason this morning, he felt much more lethargic than he usually did after such an experience. Usually, by the next day, he felt his regular self, but strangely, that was not the case today, and he still felt drained.

  Lively’s stomach rumbled in an alarmingly aggressive manner, and he realised he hadn’t had anything to eat, either. With his metabolism, he’d be burning away what little body fat he had fairly quickly. He�
�d been basically fasting since touching down in Vancouver harbour yesterday afternoon. Though he’d taken advantage of fasting’s benefits when he’d been on a desk job for a few months in the past, he didn’t need to lose too much weight right now, not so soon after such a taxing time on the cruise ship. Food would be his first order of priority once he became vertically oriented once more.

  Still, he wished he remembered how he got to bed. He was not prone to lapses in his memory unless copious amounts of alcohol were involved, which was a rare thing. But he hadn’t imbibed in anything more potent than Barq’s Root Beer last night, and he doubted that three cans would do it. He put his vision of himself grinning in the mirror down to a hallucination brought on by exhaustion. And although he now knew powerful entities were running around the halls here, he felt fairly certain that there weren’t parallel dimensions existing in the mirrors or anything like that, or were there?