The Quimby Hotel

━ 02: To Stay Or To Go

After a quick scan of the lobby and its idly chatting visitors he determined anyone useful would be upstairs. But he got no further than a few steps before a strangled gasp elicited from the top of the spiraling staircase. Lifting his head filled Cairo with dread, but he did it.

His mother stood, a feathered hat atop her updo and a dumbfounded expression on her face. She was as beautiful as ever, her pristine complexion and dark eyes never seeming to age. Like Cairo, she rarely allowed her stronger emotions to roam free, but the way she tilted her head at him with a combination of confusion and disbelief was enough, her prim dark brows knitted together. She descended the stairs slowly, and out of respect, Cairo stood in place, waiting for her.

Soon they were face to face, and though Cairo was much taller than his mother now he felt terribly small. She reached out as if to feel whether he was real, frowning as she peeled up the patch covering Cairo's right socket. He winced, drawing back slightly. Her fingers brushed against ravaged flesh and dried blood faded away, sensations of relief and healing easing the pain in his face and the tension in his shoulders. Involuntarily Cairo relaxed. She slid the patch back on again and cupped his face.

"Why have you come?" she asked finally.

Cairo swallowed, looking away. He could already tell the answer she was looking for. I'm coming back home. I'm here to stay. But it was too difficult to lie to her. "I came to warn you," he replied, his voice stony. "The hotel is in danger. I need to speak with Father."

She nodded, releasing him. "He's on the phone, in the office." She began to leave but paused. "Stay for dinner."

His throat burned when he said, "Of course." He listened to her heels clicking on the black-and-white diamond tiles but did not watch her go. Relieved, he dared to tear his gaze from the floor and was met with Tokyo's mercilessly judging glare. He was beginning to regret his arrival already.

Cairo's feet were bricks and the stairs were quicksand as he dragged himself up to the second floor. This time there was no physical pain involved—his mother had taken care of that—but there was something that cut deeper, something much worse. All the guilt that he'd learned to bury to the bottom of his stomach, all the resentment that he'd finally pushed out of sight and out of mind was back with an intensity that he really did not have the time nor the willpower to confront at the moment. It was pooling over him like sand in an hourglass, Cairo suffocating further by the minute as it filled his mouth and lungs. All he could afford to do was sink in and drown...

He was lifted up gasping by the starkly real and tangible feeling of something furry slinking past his legs. Splotchy brown and strikingly blue-eyed, the resident hotel cat was peering curiously at him, likely oblivious to the deathly inner turmoil that gripped him. He took in a sharp breath, calming himself.

"You're still here?" he muttered, gently kicking Blue aside. She slipped away and vanished down the laundry hall, slick as ice.

Cairo glanced through the window to his stepfather's office before pushing open the door and letting himself in. Mr. Quimby was, as his mother had asserted, speaking heatedly into the corded landline phone, cigar in hand and smoke wafting up to the rafters.

"How many customers have to file complaints before you start getting your sorry behinds here on time? I can drop you and have a new cleaning service at my front door like that, so you'd better make a decision and make it quick." He paused. "No, no, this isn't a negotiation. I'm not running a charity for lazy employees and their incompetent managers." He leaned forward slightly in his wheeled desk chair, turning further away from Cairo's direction. He had not yet registered his presence. "I want to see your truck in my parking lot tomorrow morning at five A.M. sharp, or your contract is up. Do I make myself clear?"