November Hotel (Sample)

Chapter Two

Wesley spent all night and most of the morning dealing with the cantankerous old brute, but it was working by lunchtime. Now, though, he was covered in oil and dirt and in desperate need of a bath.

They were slow and he still had a lunch break to take. After making Thomas promise not to use the elevator until he came back, he went upstairs to take that bath.

He wasn't a superstitious man, exactly, but he couldn't help getting the creeps on the thirteenth floor. It wasn't labeled the thirteenth floor, of course, but it wasn't in use for the guests, either. He and Henry were the only ones up here, and all of the other rooms had fallen into disuse. As far as he knew, the maids didn't even come up here-Martha cleaned his and Henry's quarters once a week.

He had just run himself a hot bath when he felt his headache start up again. It was probably lack of sleep-hopefully they'd be dead tonight and he could go to bed early.

He lay back in the hot water, massaging his temples, and closed his eyes. God, he wanted to take the day off and sleep. Damn that elevator, always breaking in the middle of the night!

Then again, he though, it was probably for the best. What if it had broken with guests inside? The weight might have dragged it to the bottom-that had happened before, apparently. This was, technically, the third elevator the hotel had had. The first one had crashed-no one was killed, thankfully-and the second had been destroyed in a fire.

Headache or not, he had to get out and go back to work. He was almost grateful for that fact. He really didn't like being on this floor.

* * *

Wesley had only been downstairs for an hour when he ran into Maggie. She took one look at him and frowned.

"You look dead on your feet, Wes." she said. "What are you doing down here?"

"Working."

"You were up all night with the elevator."

"Yes, but..."

"I already sent Thomas home sick. He had a cold." What did that have to do with anything? "Edward's coming in. He knows how to work the elevator."

"I-I'm okay, Miss Margaret." She gave him a look. "M-Maggie."

"Still. Go on, get some sleep."

He didn't want to go back up there, but she could probably make him. And would, if she deemed it necessary.

"O-okay."

"Good. Since you're going up, would you help me with these?" She gestured to the boxes at her feet. "New books."

"Of course."

"Thanks, Wes." She gave him a sunny smile. "Fifth floor, please."

He knew that by now.

The elevator was behaving today. Good.

The ride up was brief but quiet. Other people, he knew, would have been chatting up a storm. He wasn't sure how to do that and thought it best to just keep quiet. It was better to shut up rather than make a fool of himself.

"Just set them on the sofa, please." How she could find room for more books was a mystery to him. "Thanks, Wes. Go on up to bed, you look exhausted."

He felt exhausted. Maybe he would take a nap this afternoon.

* * *

He didn't mean to, but he slept for the rest of the day. By midnight, he was wide awake with the beginnings of a migraine.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Twenty minute later, the little headache had become a full-blown nightmare. Blinking was painful. His breathing was too loud.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd had one this bad.

There was the sound of tapping heels outside and he groaned. It was late at night, there was no reason to be up...Martha didn't wear heels.

No one else lived on this floor.

Dammit. Who had come up here at this time of night?

He squeezed his eyes shut and wished they'd go away. They were probably drunk or something. He honestly didn't care.

The tapping was joined by stomping and Wesley's head spiked. He struggled out of bed and shuffled to the door. Who in the world was making all that racket?

He cracked open the door and peered into the dark hallway. There was no one there.

"Hello?" he whispered. Speaking made his head hurt. "Is anyone there?"

Nobody answered, but an icy breeze caressed his face, lingering for a second on his lips. Bright lights exploded behind his eyelids and he dropped to the floor, dead to the world.