“Good evening, sir. Checking in?”
“I am not.”
“You misunderstand,” The Hotelier said. “Everyone who arrives here is checking in. The asking of the question is a formality designed to comfort you.”
“You haven’t a room for me.”
“I have a room for everyone.”
“I am The Sorrower.”
“Oh. That… would explain it, yes. You are here on business, then.”
“I am. The Sorrows are not limited in scope or location; it’s my understanding you have one here.”
“A Sorrow, perhaps. I’ll even grant you ‘probably’.”
The Sorrower sat in one of the lobby chairs. “Start at the beginning.”
The Hotelier joined him.
“Hotelier, you are needed in the courtyard.”
The Hotelier often forgot their names, but their room numbers were engraved upon her soul, if she even had one- of that, she wasn’t entirely convinced. Mr. 247, who now required her attention, was enjoying a long stay at the Hotel, every day seeming closer to bringing himself to check out, but never quite finding himself able.
The Hotelier did not mind the indefinite duration of his stay; that was what the Hotel was for, after all.
The courtyard lay behind the Hotel, surrounded on three sides by wings of the Hotel and on the fourth by tall wrought-iron fencing. It was here that Mr. 247 had found the dead butterfly, now being guarded by the large black dog, Grim, that frequented the courtyard. It allowed The Hotelier to approach, but growled at Mr. 247 behind her as she gently lifted the creature from the grass. The Hotelier turned around; Mr. 247 was not behind her.
Grim growled.
“Apologies, but I must interrupt. The significance of the butterfly?”
“An unaccompanied minor. Rather than rooms, they find it preferable to explore the freedom of the courtyard as butterflies or moths. It is a better state of being for them. But you must realize, Sorrower, butterflies do not die here. My father would never have allowed it, and were he here, I would be ashamed for him to see it.”
“Dying here would be quite the feat. Please, do continue.”
The carpeting outside room 483 was stained with blood. The door was locked, but opened easily with The Hotelier’s skeleton key, only after a brief check of the ledger to find tenant 483’s surname.
“Mr. Harrison,” she chastised readily, startling the neatly-dressed figure therein. “When you requested coach service last night, do you recall that I asked your reason for leaving the Hotel?”
Mr. 483 made a noise like ‘erm’. “I do recall, yes.”
“And do you furthermore recall your answer to said question?”
“Erm.”
“You assured me you were visiting your wife.”
“Well, I…” Mr. 483 looked sheepish, with the embarrassed grin on his face of a schoolboy caught with sweets in class as he looked down at the blood on the floor that he’d tracked in. “Technically, I did not lie.”
“Need I remind you, Mr. Harrison, that our policies are both explicit and strict. You must come with me.” The Hotelier stood aside for Mr. 483 to leave the room; he did so without hesitation, though with another sound like ‘erm’.
“You broke your contract, Mr. Harrison,” The Hotelier explained to him as she walked him down the hall towards the stairwell. “The Hotel has binding power over you. I have binding power over you.”
They walked down the stairs to the basement, then down a hallway of closed doors. On each doorknob, hung up neatly with a slender gold chain, were identical signs reading Do Not Disturb. The Hotelier stopped at the next vacant room, and opened the door for Mr. 483. “You are being relocated here until further notice, Mr. Harrison,” She said as he stepped just inside the doorway. “But there is one other thing.”
Mr. Harrison turned to look at her.
“Open,” The Hotelier said.
The Hotelier placed a stone inside Mr. 483’s mouth. With her skeleton key, she locked the door, and upon it she placed a sign reading Do Not Disturb.
As she walked back towards the stairwell, she saw the shadow in the corner of her eye.
“I must again interrupt you to ask a crucial question, Hotelier, if you will forgive me.”
“Of course.”
“Though I of course assume you thought his intentions to be pure when allowing coach service to see his wife, I am surprised such a service exists at all.”
“Surely you’ve heard rumours to this effect, Sorrower, being in your line of work.”
“I… suppose I have.”
“It can sometimes be helpful for the guests to return, not to home, but to visit. It can help them stomach the notion that it is no longer home at all.”
“Understandable, when you say it like that. You say you have relocated Mr. Harrison until further notice; what requirements must be met before his release?”
“The same requirements as the rest of those who preside in the basement suites: Mr. 483 must forget his name. It will happen in time; the Hotel will see to that.”
“I see. He can’t return to wreak havoc in those places he knew if-”
“-if he doesn’t know who he is. Correct. But Mr. 483’s acts are viewed with more leniency by the stationmaster if he can’t remember the acts in question. It is a clean slate for him.”
“Generous, I must say.”
“I was born and raised to anticipate and meet the needs of this Hotel’s guests, whatever they may be, for the duration of their stay.”
“And you home them indefinitely? Even those problematic guests?”
“Their stays are indefinite, yes, but not without limit. Such is the nature of the Hotel. This is a liminal space, a place between here and there. It is not a destination, merely a waystop; a waystop for those who have left, but are not ready yet to arrive.”
“Though it does sound like the ideal environment for Sorrows to accumulate, I would be remiss in my duties if I failed to ask whether- oh, hello.” The Sorrower was interrupted by the black dog, Grim, resting on the carpeting by his chair, “-whether the increase in troublesome incidents couldn’t be attributed to some malicious spirit or another.”
“As I recount these events now, I am more and more certain that their blame doesn’t lie with any of our guests.”
“Then by all means, continue.”
“I’d like to check out, please,” said Mr. 247. He looked anxious but nevertheless proud of himself. The Hotelier managed a polite, professional smile.
“Excellent,” she said. “The coach is waiting outside to take you to the station.”
“Where do I go from there?” Mr. 247 asked as his nervous grip on his suitcase handle tightened.
“I would check the departures board were I you; you might find, as most of our guests do, a train with a desirable destination ready to board. Should you not see anything immediately to your liking, I would advise you have a chat with The Stationmaster. He’ll know where you ought to go.”
“I haven’t anything to pay for travel with,” Mr. 247 said.
“Yes you do,” The Hotelier said as she reached into the safe beneath her desk. “Your security deposit.” She offered it out to him, a white envelope, yellowed with age, sealed with red wax. The two coins within clicked lightly as it traded hands. “Safe travels,” she wished him genuinely. Mr. 247 tipped his hat and strode out the door. The Hotelier went back to her work.
Some time later, the door opened. The Coachmaster walked in. “Has there been an error?” He asked.
“Never,”The Hotelier said. “What are you still doing here?”
“I am waiting on a passenger.”
“He just left to meet you.”
“Through these front doors?”
“The same.”
“Then he never arrived, and I was only just outside.”
The Hotelier strode out the front doors to check for herself, with The Coachmaster behind her. When she stepped outside, she found the coach was gone. When she went back inside, she found that so was the coachman.
Outside the door, the shadow stretched long, and then it was gone.
“Am I to understand you are now without a Coachmaster?”
“We are,” The Hotelier said. “I am presently entertaining candidates, though it is difficult. That position has never had cause to trade hands; there has always been a Coachmaster as there has always been a Stationmaster as there has always been a Hotelier. I am in a bit of a bind in that regard, as, without a Coachmaster to escort them to the station, guests cannot check out.”
“I believe I know your problem, Hotelier, though I will have to see it myself to be sure. Can you escort me to the courtyard, please?"
The Hotelier stood. “Of course. Please, follow me.”
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