Trouble in Paradise | ONC 2024

1 - Entry

It was a long trek from the bus stop to the Paradise Hotel. Tate Archer supposed he could've picked somewhere easier to walk to, but the hotels in and just outside of Little Rock would have tons of people. The Paradise Hotel, a relic situated in the middle of a forest in the foothills of a nearby mountain range, accessible only by car and those stubborn enough to go by foot, would be near empty. It was perfect for those who wished to go unbothered.

His backpack felt heavier with every step he took. He had enough money for a taxi, and there had been many cabbies waiting at the bus stop, but he'd been too paranoid. He was regretting it now.

The road was inclined. At first, he didn't feel it. Halfway through his trek, his legs were on fire. He stopped walking and bent forward with his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. He tried to focus on the good: no cars had passed him by, which meant the hotel was as unpopular as he predicted. The trees were beautiful, swaying softly in the wind, and the sky was overcast, protecting him from the sun.

There is beauty everywhere, his mother used to say. You only have to find it. 

He liked the sentiment until she tried too hard to find the beauty in his father. She tried too hard, stuck around too long, and she ended up dead after having her head bashed into the wall. Now Tate was rethinking all of her lessons.

It was late January. He should be in school, lamenting that the fun of Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's was over. Instead, he was here, exhausted and alone.

He took one final deep breath and kept walking. It took forty minutes total to reach the welcome sign. It was daytime, so he wouldn't know for sure until later, but he guessed only half of the lightbulbs actually worked. The Paradise Hotel was spread out in front of him: one single-story, square-shaped building in the middle, with two single-story wings of rooms attached to both sides, making a V-shape. The room doors were outside; there were no hallways for guests.

Tate counted twenty rooms in total. Ten in each wing. In between was the parking lot, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw two cars. It could be the receptionist's, he reasoned. The maintenance man's. It doesn't have to be a guest's. 

Tate flinched when a bell rang as he opened the door to the center building. The inside was grand; there were mirrors and chandeliers and lounges full of plush couches. The walls were decorated with art of Arkansas's nature and cities. But none of the materialistic beauty could cover up the emptiness, the stench of cigarettes and staleness evident upon closer inspection of the plush.

On his way to the front desk, Tate noticed a man in one of the lounges. He was sleeping, his arms loosely crossed over his stomach, a baseball cap covering his face. A briefcase sat on the couch next to him, and a suitcase was at his feet. 

Tate fidgeted at the desk. The receptionist wasn't here, and he hesitated to ring the bell. He needed to be in his room as soon as possible, but he also needed to be seen by as few people as possible. Which mattered more?

He rang the bell once, cringing as the sound ricocheted off the walls. The man, thank God, remained asleep. The receptionist, a thin, short woman, came out from a back door. There was flour on her arms and hands, but she made no effort to dust any of it off and immediately grabbed her guestbook.

"Good afternoon," she said, "and welcome to the Paradise Hotel. My name is Tasi Kealoha. How may I help you?"

"I'd like a room for one night, please."

Tasi seemed to finally get a good look at him. "How old are you?" she asked.

"I'm twenty." 

He was fifteen.