It was said there was a sucker born every minute. For Morris Little this expression was gospel and people had no trouble pegging him as a sad sap.
Morris was also a bit of a nervous mouse when it came to confrontation. He evaded at every opportunity and was a firm believer that retreat was always the best option. This explained why he sold bibles door-to-door. When selling the word of God, folks saved their most colourful language until after he left.
Morris had to admit it, the last couple of years had been prosperous; though not a challenge when his sales territory included the Bible belt. When entering a new town, he made sure to attend church so the locals would take notice of a fresh face. Turns out people were more willing to open their pocketbooks for one of their own.
Rumours of his methods quickly circulated, and many emulated his strategy. One unscrupulous fellow even went so far as to steal Morris' itinerary. The man would arrive in town a week before and by the time Morris got there, sales had dried up.
Had Morris confronted the man or lodged a complaint, he might have been able to hold onto the territory. Despite his wife's advice, he retreated and soon discovered that selling bibles out West was not nearly as rewarding.
This stop had been an unmitigated disaster, people treated him as though he were some sort of leper. Those he encountered would either ignore him or glare. Why such hostility?
Despite the townsfolk's reception, he was taken aback by this mountain town's intrinsic beauty. Right beside City Hall he came across a bridge which ran over a cheerful little creek filled with beautiful turquoise coloured water. As the water reflected the sun, he imagined it being a jewel of immeasurable wealth. Alas like any precious stone, he could only afford to look. His wife, who controlled the purse strings, would certainly attest to that.
As sunset approached one of the locals spoke up from behind him. What was said caught him off guard, not only because he was caught unawares, but there was also a hint of concern in her voice.
"You should probably get a room for the night," the black-haired woman said.
"Why is that," Morris asked.
Unfortunately, the speaker was already a half-block away before he managed to reply. Was she trying to catch the train?
Morris took the advice to heart and inquired at a local inn only to discover there were no vacancies. In a rare act of kindness, the owner offered him a ride to an establishment just outside of town. Since he had little choice, it seemed the sensible thing to do.
When he crossed the golden gates and set eyes on those manicured gardens a sinking feeling set in. This worsened once he saw the French palatial architecture and the swarms of staff with their freshly pressed uniforms. How could he ever afford to spend a minute at the Grand, let alone the night!
Once the car pulled in, a courtier opened the door to let Morris out. The salesman stepped out of the jalopy then looked about, taking in his surroundings. He could hear the flurry of activity within and smell delicious foods being prepared in the kitchen. His senses came alive and Morris prayed that he would be able to spend the night.
When a courtier tried to open the driver side door, the owner raised his hand in protest then rolled down his window to speak. After an exchange of words, the courtier nodded then pulled out Morris' luggage, including a large steamer trunk filled with bibles, the man would surely expect a tip for that! Meanwhile, Morris was led to the main door and upon crossing the threshold was immediately taken aback by the commanding view.
At both ends of the balcony, he saw curved staircases that wound down to the marble floor below. Above, he saw a vaulted ceiling, moulded and painted similarly to the Grand Central Station in New York City. He vividly remembered losing track of time mesmerised by the artwork there and worried that he would do so again.
"Sir," the courtier asked.
Morris followed the man while looking at the fountain and noticed how this structure had wings that led deeper into the hotel. Based on the sounds, it was obvious these lead to ballrooms, clip-joints, gin mills and restaurants.
Startled, Morris was drawn by the sound but lost all interest when his eyes fell upon the breathtaking view of the valley. From this vantage point, he witnessed the sunlight retreating from the valley.
"Beautiful isn't it," the concierge asked, leaving Morris confused as to how he made it to the front desk.
At the desk, Morris was faced with a smooth-faced man who sported a thin moustache that agreed with the current fashion. Max stood tall, even in his black-and-white uniform Morris was left with the odd impression of seeing an old soldier standing guard. That all changed once a smile fell upon his lips which made his entire face glow.
"It sure is," Morris said while watching a group of flappers cross the hall.
There was one in particular who caught his eye, not because of her stunning beauty. There were others who were both more youthful and beautiful. This one had an exotic quality to her that no other had. Her copper skin and makeup were not contemporary but nonetheless alluring. When she winked, Morris' heart skipped a beat and was soon followed by a tinge of guilt.
"She sure is," the concierge said then chuckled while waiting for the man to recover.
"Sorry," Morris replied. "I need a room," he added while thinking about having a cold shower.
That is if he could afford the time necessary for him to turn on the taps! But rattling around in his brain, Morris heard his grandmother telling him not to take any wooden nickels. A colourful way of saying not to do anything stupid.
Morris hesitated at first but said, "Not sure if I can afford the rates."
The concierge looked over him, letting the smile vanish. A moment later his smile grew wide and warm, seems he had been teasing the poor man.
"Oh, I would not be too worried about that. We have rooms that suit everyone's needs here at the Grand," the man said.
Morris doubted that very much, so he said, "No need for anything fancy."
"Then you have come to the wrong place," Max said while retrieving a key from behind the desk.
"Here you go, room three-twenty-seven in the East wing. That is to your left, but this lobby boy will show you to your room," the concierge recited.
As though by magic a young man appeared, stood at attention then headed towards Morris' room. Morris followed the young man and hoped he had enough dough to cover the tab. What was the worst they could do to him? Kick him out?
* * * *
The bed was comfortable, there was plenty of room and it had a splendid view of the valley floor. It was better than what was offered in town, but one had to expect class when dealing with hotels of this calibre. Why did they let him in?
Thoughts soon turned to that flapper he saw earlier. He could not explain the hold she had over him, nor how her dark skin and piercing eyes melted away his every inhibition. Morris was not sure why his wife of many years meant nothing to him at this moment. At least not when compared to this exotic creature. What was wrong with him?
His infatuation left him feeling intoxicated. Was he on the precipice of insanity? What was a man to do? Should he run for a priest? Run for his life? What was he running from exactly?
Was it silly to be afraid? Some people were deathly afraid of being locked in a room. He had seen more than one lady screech at the sight of a mouse. Was that really fear? This must be something more primal? Was this shame for emoting the urges a schoolboy stuck on his teacher?
A small part of him wanted to seek out this doll and strike up a conversation. What if this lady had a daddy? Morris was certain that guests (for the most part) were capable of paying for their stay. Tired of these questions, he retreated, certain in the fact that avoidance would serve him best.
His convictions were soon put to the test; everywhere he went the lady was there. It was uncanny considering fate could only carry you so far. When he came across the pool she was there, pulling her sleek chassis out from the water while her bathing suit glistened. They again crossed paths at a clip-joint where she wore a long blouse with a short knee-duster while hoofing it on the dancefloor.
The lady appeared while he waited for his meal (he never liked it when prices were not listed). With every glance, his infatuation grew at the expense of his morals. How could a married man find himself slack-jawed from the sight of a lady? What power of persuasion did she possess? Why did he feel like a love-struck boy who kissed a girl for the first time?
Morris considered giving up, walking over, and taking a knee before her to beg for her attention. Fear poisoned his mind while doubt took hold, so he ran away and left behind a confused waiter.
Morris wandered the hotel until he found a lonely little gin mill in the West wing. The bartender was quietly polishing the brass while some jane played a tune on the grand piano.
"A piano bar," the salesman said.
Given how quiet this part of the hotel was, it seemed like the perfect place to hold out. The ideal place to sit down, listen to this siren's songs while he got spifflicated. Given the nature of this hotel, he had no doubts that the staff would drag his carcass back to his room once he fell unconscious. Tomorrow morning he would wake up from a nasty hangover, book a passage out of town then try his luck elsewhere.
No sooner did the bartender serve him his first shot of bourbon, did that woman show up from out of the ether. To make things worse, she chose a stool next to his! What was a man to do?
This was not a gilded cage, he had the ability get up and walk out (like he had in the restaurant). To be a proper gentleman, he only needed to excuse himself before leaving, trip over his words and be humiliated for years to come. Easy peasy, nice and easy.
Did he have the willpower to remain where he was and ignore her? That seemed about as safe as a mouse waking up the cat by pulling out its whiskers!
From behind the comfort of his drink, the salesman dared a peek. He was not sure when she had the time, but she was wearing a different outfit. While her loose fitting clothing just seemed to flow, it did little to hide the natural curves of her body. How could her clothes drive him into a frenzy?
"It is customary to introduce yourself before undressing a lady with your eyes," the woman said in an accented voice.
Somehow this little detail further added to the allure. With wide eyes and a gaping jaw, Morris turned to face her while the hamster in his brain scrambled furiously to power the speech circuits in his brain.
"B— B— But," Morris replied, sounding like a broken record.
At that moment he desired nothing more than to crawl out of his skin and find himself a nice deep hole to hide in. Odd how the mind failed to work when the pressure was laid on?
The woman edged closer, then with a feline grace placed a finger over his lips and then hushed him. Why was it that everyone knew how to exploit a pushover?
"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth," the line ran through his mind. Though for all the potency the words of Matthew 5:5 had, it did nothing to change his lot in life. Perhaps it was time to assert himself?
"But I wasn't doing that," he exclaimed.
A trifle too late but she did not seem to care. Instead, she smiled warmly, making Morris wonder if he had died and gone to heaven. That would certainly explain the luxury of his surroundings and exquisite beauty of the women.
"Then what were you doing," she asked while her voice somehow echoed throughout his head. She looked him over inquisitively then added, "Perhaps this was nothing more than an innocent misunderstanding?"
The salesman stared longingly at her while he thought on ways to redeem himself. Should he apologise for being anything less than a gentleman?
In his mind, he imagined himself saying, "Of course madam; it has all been a grave misunderstanding as I would never presume to trespass on a lady such as you."
What part of him was capable of conjuring up such a coherent and well-spoken line? In reality, what he said turned out to be far less endearing. It sounded more like a series of grunts that would take a crack team of codebreakers months to decipher. To save time a slap across the face would have served her well. Instead, she leaned in so close that her body heat turned his skin to gooseflesh.
The lady did not stop there, she moved in close enough so he could feel her lips tremble while she said, "Two, one, and three."
Without another word, she got up then dropped more than enough money to cover his tab. When she left, both the bartender and Morris looked at each other with surprise then shrugged.
It took him a while for the hamster wheel to turn fast enough so he could put two and two together. His mind was in a daze, his face tingled from her proximity and his drawers were uncomfortably tight. How did that happen?
Nowhere in his mind did his wife figure into the equation. How would she react to this offer? What was her name again?
He shot out of the bar like an arrow, pushing his way into the Grand Hall while looking for a glimpse of this woman. He saw her near the end of the hall just as she was about to head downstairs.
Without hesitation he followed suit, moving quick as a flash. His stomach sank to the bottom of his toes when she disappeared from sight.
After a mad dash down, Morris felt relief once he set eyes on her again. What a rise he had when she turned around long enough to blow him a kiss! How sweet was it of her to beckon him?
Follow he did, keeping a distance at first but found it difficult to keep apart. By the time they neared her room, he and this mystery woman were practically walking hand in hand.
* * * *
Was he under some sort of spell? Morris' hand glided over her gams then onto the curves of her hips before fumbling the attempt to take off her knee-duster. Despite his grievous ineptitude, the woman did not laugh or shirk away. This must be a dream?
Her sweet lips beckoned and soon they were locked in an embrace. When his tongue found its way through her parted lips, he found something that was off. Why did it feel like he was licking sandpaper? When considering the young and willing partner, Morris decided he could easily live with such a flaw.
Without notice, she pushed him away then said, "Bank's closed."
Morris stood there dumbfounded, staring as she retreated behind a privacy screen. The panels were made of a thin material that enabled him to see her silhouette. Morris watched while her clothes dropped into a puddle on the ground, excitement grew along with the anticipation, even when her tail stretched out. Wait? What?
Then he heard something familiar, reminding him of his cats back home. What a peculiar sound he thought, but it grew more pronounced when she reappeared from behind the screen. Wait? Was she purring?
Certain features had been transformed while she undressed. Her upper lip was split in two, her cheeks were puffy which gave her the appearance of having a snout and her eyes had turned into glowing slits. Those were the eyes of a predator and the notion was reinforced by the presence of claws. This woman then gave him a sickly smile. Did that mean he was the prey?
"Back in my day they used to worship my kind," she said. "I was their goddess," she added.
The words just echoed between his ears. Wait? That was not an illusion?
"There is only one God," Morris yelled although he cringed when he saw the look in her eyes.
With one fell swoop, a clawed hand slashed across his chest shredding his suit. When he looked down, Morris saw no bleeding, although his skin was now bare. A draught from the room made that skin feel tingly, but he suspected this was the least of his worries.
"That is the thing with gods, they tend to have egos," the goddess said while her claws contracted back into her fingertips.
"Your one true God as you know him has the benefit of popularity these days. Before him was Zeus preceded by Apollo and in my day, it was Amun-Ra. They all had a chip on their shoulder until their empires crumbled and their followers flocked elsewhere," she said in a tone that hinted of nostalgia.
For a moment Morris chanced to look at the jane and saw that she had three sets of nipples? What was she?
"Lies," Morris exclaimed.
Morris would hold his ground on this matter but never expected her to escalate so quickly. This time her claws brushed against his left cheek. At first, he felt nothing more than a breeze while her claws glided through his soft flesh. It took time for the blood to flow through the nearly invisible cuts.
Panic set in when a droplet of blood fell from off his chin and splashed onto the marble floor. That panic was quickly subverted once pain registered, hitting him like a sledgehammer.
"I too had a great many followers," she said while fixating on the blood flowing from his wound.
The goddess knew that the human body had a greater concentration of blood vessels in the face. An excellent way to showcase her sadistic ways. If the lady wished it, Morris could heal with nothing more than thin scars serving as a reminder of their encounter. Sadly, that was not what she had in mind.
"Imagine being a warrior, a lioness and then being relegated to a cat goddess," she hissed.
The pain dulled the impact of her message and he was too busy maintaining pressure on the wound. The goddess lost her patience, so she clawed at his arm and left a long deep gash near his wrist.
When fear overtook all rational thought, Morris ran away into a corner to cower. The goddess walked over casually, her tail moving counter to the sway of her hips. How could those movements entrance Morris so? The smile grew exponentially as she approached.
Once within inches of him, she whispered, "You do know what cats do to mice before they go for the kill?" She laughed before adding, "Or when they get bored?"
Morris realised how he had been lured here. This feline predator had forced him into a corner. All for what? So she could enjoy tormenting him?
In one fell swoop, Bastet clawed him across the forehead. The gash bled freely and left him blinded. The lady could prolong this game all night if she so desired. Before starting she would create a few hazards to make things interesting, easily accomplished by shattering a few vases against the floor.
Now Morris was left with an obstacle course, one which she could navigate without issue. This should make this game more interesting, at least for her.
Wait? Why did he still have a stiffy?
* * * *
Lewis Hall looked over the valley floor while the sun scorched the land. He supposed Max saw the world differently, but that was only a guess. The concierge knew enough to avoid asking such questions.
Rumours were that most of the special requests for room service were assigned to the night watch. That was one of the many reasons why the day and night staff rarely interacted, which suited him just fine.
The concierge rather enjoyed being with dames that did not view him as food, besides several were receptive to his advances. What other line of work created such bountiful opportunities? Was there a greater pleasure than discovering how far a lady was willing to go?
From the corner of his eye, he saw a jane exit the birdcage. The concierge recognised her immediately, simply by the way she walked with feline grace. He watched as Lady Bast approached the front desk, finding the sway in her hips alluring as always.
This time, he noticed her lips were blood red, a sure-fire way to tell that a service call to her room would be required. This was not wholly unexpected, even the day watch had clientele with unique requirements. This one was certainly an odd bird when it came to her service calls.
Her dietary requirements were certainly different, at least when compared to most day clients. Truth be told it was more the administrative overhead associated with cleaning up after her. How much of a gratuity would she leave for them once she checked out?
"Good morning," the lady exclaimed while the concierge considered who would be assigned to clean-up.
"Morning Miss, how can I be of service to you this fine day," he asked, while oozing professionalism.
At the Grand, some clients expected formalities, no matter how friendly and colloquial they were in return. Considering some of the dames here could free his head from it's shoulders without breaking a sweat. It certainly paid to keep that in mind!
"Oh, you know! I simply must go into town to run some errands," she said.
Lady Baste paused long enough to lick some of the blood from her lips. The taste must have agreed with her since it made her face glow.
"I would very much appreciate it if you could have my suite serviced. Seems I dropped a teapot last night and would be devastated if it stained the carpet," she said.
Lewis was amazed by her insistence to continue with this charade. Especially when one considered the establishment, she was fooling no one.
Lewis played along by saying, "Of course Madam. We shall send up the maid shortly to scrub that carpet clean for you. Is there anything else I can do to help you this morning," he asked out of habit.
There was no reply, Lady Baste was already on her way out. The concierge mulled it over then thought of the right crew to handle this one.
"Perfect," he said while looking away from the register to focus on another guest heading his way.
He made a note to have Morris' room cleared as well. Lewis would be sure to send his compliments to the inn's owner. As judged by the Lady's glow, she thoroughly enjoyed her chew toy.
* * * *
John looked through the file and made note to make sure that Elmer and Ida would not accidentally stumble onto the files. In the distance, he saw a purple sky gaining ground over the night, a sign that the sun would soon rise.
These files had him baffled, just like the diary had. To think that such a conspiracy could transpire here was unfathomable and yet here was proof. Despite the uncertainties surrounding these cases, John was certain of three things.
For one there had been a cover-up to conceal the true cause of death. Even the explanation for Morris Little's purported demise seemed improbable. A wolf attack was unlikely because those animals did not have retractable claws. Only that type of claw could have created cuts with a razor-like precision.
Whatever attacked Morris had been deliberate and precise. The look of agony etched onto the victim's face, John believed that torture played a part.
To his knowledge animals tended to go right for the kill, whilst Morris's wounds were systematically placed. These attacks were designed to slow him down, to weaken him but not to kill.
In one picture he saw something that looked like a sheath from a house cat's claw but on a much larger scale. Odd how a competent medical examiner could have missed such evidence?
Why did they go through so much trouble to cover it up? Only a fool would buy such conclusions. So why try?
That question led him to his second certainty, those charged with peace and justice in this town had other priorities. These acts were either due to corruption, apathy or outright incompetence; a shame he was unable to tell.
The last point he dreaded thinking about. Anything this big could not be adequately investigated by one person. To bring someone else into the fold made things easier, but simultaneously increased the risk of being discovered.
John did not know who to approach (if anyone). He was certain that he had no desire to follow Edward's path. Sanatoriums were not a place people returned from unscathed; had Edward Locke been sane upon his arrival, he likely died a lunatic.
How could any mind survive the trauma of finding that still beating heart? John had to admit he was still disturbed by this find. Even though it was now safely hidden inside his basement floor safe; in the back of his mind, he still heard it beating away.
* * * *
John undressed while the sky shifted from dark purples to pink and red hues. Soon the sun would peek above the mountains. The town would then wake up from its fearful slumber and join him in the waking world.
Today John would consume far more coffee than was healthy. Fortunately, he was known for working late nights, so a few additional yawns would go unnoticed.
Once in the bathroom, John stepped into the claw-footed tub, closed the curtains then turned on the water. Normally he turned on the cold water and followed through with the hot to avoid scalding himself. This time he forgot, and that sent a blast of freezing cold water on his face.
That shock sent him back to his time at sea. It was night, the moon hung overhead and yet it was difficult to make out the outline of the convoy. He was cold, shivering, tired and miserable.
John thought he saw something at the edge of his vision. It seemed as though a straight line were headed right for the ship. Why did he have no memories of this moment? Then all hell broke loose, from starboard he heard the Coxswain raise the alarm before the sounds of metal and men being torn asunder deafened him.
Warm water running off his face brought him back to reality. Looking down, he witnessed the ravages of cold water on a man's pride along with the telltale signs of gooseflesh covering all visible skin. John loathed these vivid dreams.
Worried that the flow would soon get too hot, John turned down the hot water just a notch hoping for a quick response. Instead, it grew so hot that he almost jumped out of the tub. In desperation, he turned down the knob a quick half turn.
For a moment all was right in the world, then a jet of cold water forced him back into his earlier nightmare. Now he was alone, clinging onto a piece of flotsam while everything reeked of bunker oil and brine. In the distance, John heard sailors calling out for help. John wanted to call out but could not utter a word since his belly was full of fuel.
At that moment he considered surrendering to the depths of the sea. Let that bitch claim his life even though she had gorged on death for far too long. All because of this bloody war and sickly season.
Would one more life even matter to this cruel mistress? Would it be as meaningless as tears shed in the rain?
In that moment of despair, he saw her. He saw Eleanor's gentle features before him, wearing that warm smile he often dreamed about. She embraced him and even through the cold of the North Atlantic he felt her body heat which gave him strength.
"Focus John," Eleanor said with a voice that somehow managed to rouse a part of him lost in the depths of his demolished soul.
John looked into her eyes then found himself back in the shower. This time he yelped from the cold, jumped out of the shower until the water temperature could be adjusted. A quick look down informed him that once properly motivated any and all effects of the cold could be overcome.
Jumping back into the shower, John felt the warmth against his chest. Given how his earlier vision of Eleanor was so effective in motivating him, he decided to make good use of this defiance over nature.