LOS ANGELES
1984
"How many today, Robin?" My co-worker Elliot asks as he approaches the desk and hops over to join me.
"Only one today." I shrug, staring at my reflection while I polish a brass lamp. "It's been a quiet one."
On a busy day, I would have to call 911 at least four to five times. But today is a Monday. Nobody seems to die from an overdose or jump from their windows on a Monday. I always found that strange, because if I were to jump to my death from twenty-odd floors up, Monday would most definitely be the day to do that.
I hate that I've become so casual about it now. But that's what happens when you've worked at the Cecil Hotel for as long as I have. The bizarre horrors of this place are so constant that nothing seems to phase me anymore. A suicide? A murder? Sounds like just another day at work to me.
It's every single day without fail. Watching those body bags being carried down the staircase used to make me sick to my stomach, but now it doesn't even phase me. So much so, that Elliot and I have made it into a competition. How many deaths per shift. I know, it's kind of a sick and twisted game to play. But when you spend almost all your hours in a building as sinister as this one, things like this are all you have to take the edge off.
"What was it today?" Elliot slumps down in the swivel chair and kicks his feet up on the freshly polished desk. I quickly push them off and frown at him.
I begin to wipe over the desk once again. "A guy from upstairs beat the shit out of a prostitute. She survived but it sure wasn't pretty." I toss the rag aside and fold my arms over my chest. "He fucked her up pretty badly. Knocked out all her teeth. I mean, that's if she had any to begin with."
"Well on Saturday, this dude slit his throat up on the 18th floor. They found him in the bathtub." Elliot pulls the raspberry sucker from his mouth and points it at me. "I think I win."
I laugh and shake my head at him. "I think being here has fucked us up in the head."
"You're only just realising that?" He smiles at me with his blue stained lips.
My friendship with Elliot has most definitely been the best part of working at the Cecil. Well, it's the only good thing about working here actually. He told me his parents kicked him out a few years back when he came out as gay. He wound up in Los Angeles with hopes of becoming an actor. But like a lot of the people in this city, it never works out. Instead, he's stuck here, with me, competing over the amount of dead bodies we've seen this week.
"Well, my dear Elliot," I reach down and scoop my purse up from the marble floor. "Looks like It's time for me to go. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Night, Robin. Please don't die."
"I'll try." I say sarcastically with a quick wink.
Not only is the Cecil my work place, it's also my home. My boss offered me a permanent residence on the fourth floor, along with some of the other long-term residents and staff. Luckily for me, this area of the hotel is generally safe. Anything higher than the sixth floor is where things get deadly.
I hit the elevator call button and sway back and forth on my heels as I wait. It's still all the way up at floor 16. Of course. I contemplate taking the stairs, but quickly decide against it. The last time I did that, I got held at gunpoint by a junkie.
Lesson learnt. Never taking the stairs again.
I look down and pick at the loose threads on the strap of my purse. The smell of leather fills my nostrils as a dark figure dominates my peripheral vision and looms over me. I don't look over, but I can see the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drags in deep breaths.
