Wake Up!

Awake at Last

The music sounded familiar, but Steve couldn't quite come up with lyrics. For that matter, he couldn't take the melody past that one bar. But damn, it sounded familiar. He shook it off and sat up.

What the hell time is it anyway? He thought as he rubbed his eyes and stretched his legs. I feel like I've slept a hundred years.

He stood up and stretched his arms toward the ceiling as he opened his mouth wide and yawned. He looked around the room, but nothing looked familiar.

What the hell? He thought, Hotel? What the fuck was I doing last night?

The room was quite plain. The bed he'd just gotten out of had plain white sheets and blankets. The night table was Shaker-simple, of nondescript wood. The grain indiscernible. The color a muddy brown. There was no window, just the door leading, presumably, to the hallway. The floor was carpeted in a tight loop, off-white.

Or is it ecru? Or maybe eggshell? He laughed softly at his joke, but the laughter sounded hollow; desperate. Sometimes you need to hear the sound of your own voice, other times, anything but.

He found his clothes in the dresser against the wall, facing the foot of the bed. While getting dressed he noticed that there was no HVAC system anywhere. In his experience with hotels/motels, they were usually located under the window, of which there were none here.

"Strange," he said softly. He swung his head, slowly taking in the room again. "No windows, no closet. Just the one door."

He walked over to the door. He laid his hand flat against the smooth, featureless door.

Hmm. Cool. No fire. He thought. He turned around and glanced at the wall behind him, half expecting, half hoping, to see a window this time. But, no such luck.

"Ok," he said, testing the sound of his voice again. "Out we go."

He reached out and gave the handle a good, solid turn. The handle resisted his effort. He grunted softly as he leaned into it and tried again. Harder this time.

His effort was rewarded, though not as he expected. He looked down at the handle and saw a small plaque above the lever. It looked like it was lit. LEDs maybe.

That wasn't there a minute ago, he thought. Was it?

He let go of the handle and stepped back. The little plaque disappeared. Once again the door was plain and smooth. Curious, he moved closer to the door and gave the handle a twist. Once again, the latch failed to operate, but the little plaque appeared again. He leaned down to read the message, but quickly realized the futility of his action. He'd left his glasses on the bedside table.

"Well, crap!" he exclaimed and turned toward the bed. Behind his back, the plaque again winked out.

He retrieved his spectacles and fitted them comfortably over his bleary eyes. Quickly, he made his way back to the problematic door. He twisted the handle and the little message immediately appeared. Placing his hands firmly on his knees, he squatted down to get a decent angle of view.

But by the time he was down, the light had gone out.

"Shit!" he spat out. Without standing back up, he pulled on the handle. This time he held it down, hoping that would keep the message visible long enough for him to read it. He scrunched his eyes, squinting at the bright little rectangle. This time of the morning, and at this distance, even with his glasses, the text was small and difficult to read. But he held the handle firmly, refusing to let go until he'd managed to read the message through his tearing eyes.

"The application you have requested is unavailable at this time. Please try again later." He read it out aloud. But, maybe because he hadn't had his morning coffee yet, the text simply didn't make sense. He read it again. More slowly this time.

"The. Application. You. Have. Requested. Is. Unavailable. At. This. Time." He stood up and, letting go of the handle, removed his glasses, hung them by a leg in his collar, and proceeded to rub his eyes vigorously.

"Christ on a cracker, Steven," he muttered angrily. "Get your shit together and make some God Damned sense here."

Eyes now freshly scrubbed red, he squatted down and pulled the handle once again. Again, the little plaque lit up like a neon sign. Again he read the message aloud. And once again he couldn't make sense of it.

"What the actual fuck?" he yelled as he gave the door a brisk pounding. "What the Hell is going on here? Open the damned door!"

He retreated to the bed and sat down hard. He placed his glasses on the nightstand and began rubbing his temples. He was sure a miserable tension headache was headed his way. He had to figure out his next move. If this was some sort of prank, it wasn't funny. Somebody was going to pay dearly for this.

***

Brad leaned forward and gave the monitor a good, hard slap. He shook his controller violently and read the message on the screen again.

"Jesus Mike!" he shouted at his companion. "What kind of crap game is this? It's frozen up on me."

"Calm down, Brad!" Mike walked up and looked over his friend's shoulder at the computer monitor. "This is Windows. Have you tried turning it off and on again?"

"Worst crap ever!" Brad exclaimed as he pressed the power button and selected Restart. "Nothing but problems."

***

The music sounded familiar, but Steve couldn't quite come up with lyrics. For that matter, he couldn't take the melody past that one bar. But damn, it sounded familiar. He shook it off and sat up.

What the hell time is it anyway? He thought as he rubbed his eyes and stretched his legs. I feel like I've slept a hundred years.