DYING LIGHT | James Patrick March [paused]

01

The lobby ahead of her was ornamental, to say the least. Shades of expensive red, accented with gold as far as the eye could see. Lilith had never been in a hotel this nice, there was no contest. This was a special enough occasion anyway, she figured she could splurge. It wasn't like she would miss the money.

"Sorry to bother you," she said gently, making the older woman with glasses as big as saucers look up from her book, "I have a reservation, the name is Lilith Morana."

With a slight huff, she flipped the book in front of her open, "For a week?"

"Yes, mam." Lilith offered a timid smile.

"We have you booked into room 82-" The woman seemed to pale before her eyes, stammering slightly, "but we've had to relocate you. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, as long as it's got a bed." The blonde haired woman assured, clasping her hands together. "I'm really not picky."

"Right.. you'll be in room 79. A little further from the top." The older woman said, moving away from the counter to pluck a key off the hooks behind her.

"Perfect. What was your name?" The woman looked absolutely stunned, stammering once more.

"Iris."

"Iris," Lilith repeated, "Thank you very much for your help."

"Please, enjoy your stay. Elevator is right there."

Bidding the woman a final farewell, Lilith made her way to the elevator. Her long skirt swirled around her ankles with every step. The elevator didn't feel very secure, clanking in its descent to the lobby. She had half a mind to find the stairs instead but persisted in waiting. The door slid to the side, followed by an ornate golden gate to open into the elevator. With her bag on her shoulder, she stepped in and took a deep breath. It smelled like cigarette smoke, putrid with it, in fact. Luckily, it was a scent she was well accustomed to.

Examining the buttons carefully, she pressed what she hoped would lead her to the right floor before bracing herself on the bar which lined the walls and awaited the rise. She took steady, calculated deep breaths as the death trap climbed. Eventually, it shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open again.

Lilith glanced one way down the long hall way before down the other. There was a man toward the end of the second way she glanced, so she decided to go the other way first. Quickly turning her eyes away from the dark figure at the end of the hall, she went the other way. Relieved to find the numbers climbing steadily toward seventy nine.

Against her better judgment, she glanced back to the end of the hall. The man was unmoved, silhouette leaning against his cane. She was unnerved. Why the hell was he just standing there? Staring down the long stretch of hallway. The hair stood on the back of her neck, she could feel his eyes watching her.

Lilith picked up the pace, the door numbers speeding by until she stopped in front of her salvation, room number seventy nine. She unlocked the door quickly, unused to hotels having a real key instead of a keycard. Stealing another look down the hall, she found it vacant and breathed out a sigh of relief as she sealed herself in the room and locked the door.

It was a quaint room, unlike the lavish lobby it looked much the same as every other hotel room she'd ever been in. A little more outdated, if anything. A queen sized bed sat in the middle of the room, antique tables on either side. There was a small desk in the corner with a small television on one side and an ancient looking telephone on the other.

"Good thing I brought a book." She murmured to herself. Unzipping her bag, she began to unpack. Piling her clothes on the chair, her posture rigid as the walls around her.

There were few things left in the bottom of her duffel bag, she'd brought only the necessities: An extremely warn out copy of the Great Gatsby, her bathroom bag, a collection of letters tied together with a ribbon and underneath them a shiny, steel of her new revolver which— for the time being, she was trying like hell not to look at.