Heartbreak Hotel: Concubine

Balanced Five

December 28.

10:30 am

"She's back from the dead!"

Her voice chimed with several coatings of sarcasm, feet fast on the ground as her body collided with mine. Stacy burrowed her face in the crook of my neck, giving me a bone crushing hug. I patted her back reluctantly, croaking out sounds of words and telling her not to suffocate me on our reunion. She backed away and immediately questions fired from her and Emilia. It took me a bit of convincing to assure them that what my apparent aunt had told them over the phone. 

"She insisted that you were sick and that you needed to rest."

"But you got healthy in three days which is out of the ordinary."

I coughed on that, shaking my head and shrugging. 

"I'm still a little sick, but I'm better."

Stacy's narrowed eyes observed my actions, taking note of the lies I was spilling. I gave her an avoiding smile, vague and brief, cutting her off in her actions and turning to stride over to the college entrance door. I was sick, on the leave and my nonexistent aunt had healed me back to my horse power health and now I was alive and kicking. Someone, the one who had confiscated my phone, said the lie, acted as the caring relative and built me an alibi. Built the hotel an alibi. It tasted sour, but the deceit must keep on playing, otherwise I could get another nagging and possibly put the two in danger. 

I couldn't sleep peacefully either. My brain still believed that I was in that rotten room, with no touch of day light or freedom. Some would say it was overreacting, some would urge me to get out of that idiotic delusion and live my life like I should. But I couldn't shrug it off. Something kept on following me in the back of my mind and occasionally I would slip and turn around to see nothing, no one. When I got home that night, it felt foreign. Regardless its shortness, the horror of the murder and the disfigured body of Angela, the confinement were clinging onto my very fear, creating burly images when I closed my eyes. I wasn't overreacting. I was just frightened, as much as I didn't want to admit it. 

I sat in class, forgetting myself and the reason I took this course. This major. The girls chatted freely, but I was feeling the creepy, slimy fingers of my truth slither up the back of my neck. Occasionally I would shudder, muscles would stutter with reflex and it would cause me to jerk. Why? I asked myself. Why can't I stop thinking about it? It wasn't as simple as I found it. But why was it easy back then? Because I didn't care anymore. So why do I care now? Why do I have that strangling feeling that something is wrong?

The day passed and December 29th came. I lay in bed, hour before my lectures are starting. I questioned myself and my decision, finding nothing wrong. But it was bugging me. Something  was bugging me, prodding at the stupid part of my brain, numbing me from the obvious. I was sure, after yesterday and the charismatic laughter of my two girl friends, that I was missing something. Something had slipped under my fingertips. A clue? Perhaps. Was it a face? Maybe. A name?

It could have been a name. 

It was too easy. When they found the body, the timing, the occasion, my release, my departure and the powerful goodbye to the man I crushed on, it was way too easy. I realized it when I woke up from a chilling nightmare. I realized it when I was sitting in that lecture, spending my day like I normally would. But there was nothing normal, it was strange, foreign. Like something shifted, switched, was replaced. 

So I ran through the details again starting from my work night. 

The papers were handed to me, meaning all the information on important, regular clients were there. In my hands. I read through them, twenty-five in total, not counting the donors. There were only ten of those. Then I read through their description, each having a section of what they did and how much they invested. The regulars were simple, some more powerful than others, some only beginning their underworld life. Seven of them were older, in their sixties, fifteen of them were in their middle ages, which left the rest to be young and fresh. All attended. The swipe of the membership of the card at the entrance door where the guy with the list was confirmed it on the register, pinging pink when the customer had entered. Checked in. 

Then there was a bunch of rookies, just plain members of gangs, mafia and even yakuza, since several of the regulars were Japanese. Five guards in total, five cameras in total. Nothing out of the ordinary until that one guy that sneaked in when the private hours started. He was nothing, just a persistent fucker who wanted to be with the wealthy bunch. The guard at the entrance had gone for a piss  or something. Then I was sent away, my duty was done. I recollect that there were three glasses dirty in the sink, ten bottles of whiskey had gone and several bottles of scotch along with them. Five people put it on their accounts, then they ordered full course services where there were several types of drinks.

Thirty five of them in the bar, drinking special orders and watching the strippers dance. The strippers, yes. There were five of them, just like the guards and the cameras. Two podiums at the sides one bigger upfront to fit the most experienced one. When one would grow tired, they brought in an extra with an extravagant appearance. Everything could be counted by five. Except for the glasses. Three glasses meant there were three last people at the bar before the private hours. Two older guys and one younger, all dressed in the same clothing. Japanese. The second time that word appeared in my mind. Three glasses. All counts by five. Five, like a five pointed star. Five senses. The Rose. And then the three glasses. 

Where are the other two? 

Two missing glasses, two empty seats. One intruder. The guard didn't go for a piss, the two were the first to leave out of them five, three remaining to occupy my hands. Which meant the guard was no longer there when the intruder came. And the guard that was smooching the waitress counted five when the two left to take care of the start. It was a distraction. 

The killer was on the move at that point. 

If the guy could enter, so could he. Isaac was blinded by his anger, I was distracted by the Asian, the killer slipped in. How? Where was the bar? At the back, out in the streets. The rest of the hotel was poorly guarded, everybody was working. The balance was still intact between the numbers, which meant there were five guards guarding the whole hotel. A long shot. He could slip past them easily. Then he killed. It was evident that I was already in my room, then I was occupied by Isaac. He then disposed of her, he needed time to disfigure her. Just like Angela. 

The five guys at the bar, the guard and the waitress and the intruder. Those were the clues. And the missing guard. 

Five means balance. The first counting process. 

I closed my eyes, breathing out and checking the clock to my right side. I had five minutes to get ready and leave. A repetitive cycle of the number meant I wasn't going to let go of this easily.

It also meant the killer would strike again. 

•••••

You'll understand when the time comes. 

As you've noticed, I changed the name to HeartBreak Hotel: Concubine. There are two reasons for that:

1. There's so many books with the title Heartbreak Hotel that I got annoyed and wanted to change it

2. I'm making this a trilogy ;)

I hope you had fun reading lovelies!

-E.J