Halfway Hotel

Ten

I reach the door frame at the same moment as Kernan. With all the fuss and throwing, I was expecting some body builder type. A fearsome fellow with bulk and height. But Kernan is small and slight and most notably, ancient, with withered skin and swollen joints and a milky tint to his eyes. His gray beard is as wild and wispy as his gray hair, and he has an air of fragility that contrasts sharply with his aggression. Like he'd happily break every bone in his hand as long as he still got to punch me in the face with it.

"Mind your own business why don't ya," he gripes upon seeing me.

If I hadn't already gotten my foot in the door, it would have smacked me in the nose when he tried to slam it.

"Who the hell are you?" He snaps, pulling the door open again so he can yell at me properly.

"My name is Isaiah Bradley, I'm here on behalf of the hotel staff to discuss the altercation that just occurred, might I come in?"

"No." He tries to slam the door on me again but alas, I hadn't moved, so it bounces harmlessly off my shoe.

I smile sadly, "Unfortunately, this is a time sensitive issue and needs to be resolved as soon as possible, we can of course discuss this, here, in the hall, but I assumed you'd be more comfortable on your home turf."

He glances up and down the hall, my position thankfully blocking Elizabeth from view, "Fine," he barks, retreating into the dark.

I steal a look at my counterpart, who seems like a shadow of herself without her clipboard, and give her a reassuring smile before following Kernan in.

Every time I think I've learned the ways of the hotel it throws something new at me. Elizabeth had mentioned that guests can change the age they appear, and while I hadn't seen anyone who had done so, I'd known it was a possibility. The old man's room, however, has me wondering if I've stepped into yet another alternate dimension. In the hall it's 1920, in Kernan's room it's 1850. Moonlight spills in from open windows, dressing everything in shadows and gray. The air is hot and dusty and carries the scent of ash from the extinguished fireplace. Outlines of the sparse furniture suggest rough shapes and simple designs. I am left with the impression this room looks much like the little cabin in Ireland the old man refused to leave behind.

While I am shocked by the difference and clumsy on the uneven, earthen floor, the old man moves with ease through the darkness, lighting a stubby candle to set on a table. I can hear wind blowing outside, see the shadows dance as the dust clouds move in and out of the moonlight and I can't help but wonder, if I climbed out the glassless windows, where I would find myself?

"You wanted to talk?"

His question snaps me back to the present and the matter at hand, "Yes," I clear my throat, "I was hoping we could start with the events that lead to the disagreement with the keeper that was here." Kernan strategically stands in the center of the room. With him there, and the layout of the shadowed furniture, I've little choice but to hover near the door.

His milky eyes carefully watch my every move. "I've told those devils; I don't want 'em in my room while I'm not here!" he answers sharply. "I don't go out often, it shouldn't be hard. I locked my door, I set up all my traps, but the damn thing was here anyway, lurking around. I don't trust those demons! I don't want 'em here when I ain't here to watch 'em!"

His concern and paranoia are understandable given his background. I'd come here fully prepared to dislike the man, and with the way Elizabeth was acting, I was worried I'd be the one the keepers wanted punished for violence, but upon meeting him, I'm filled with pity. He found himself unable to protect his home in the past, so he has a death grip on his illusion of it here. Along with all the pain and suffering he endured at its loss. It's probably what's preventing him from moving on. I imagine that eons will pass, and the universe will end, and this poor man will still be here, trapped in this dust and darkness. It's a tragedy, one I want to spend no more time in than necessary.

"I understand your complaint mr-"

"Walsh, my name's Walsh and I don't think you do, Mr. Bradley," he spits, "I see you, with your fancy clothes and your fancy way of talking, you probably never had people acting like they could walk all over you, like they could throw you out at the slightest inconvenience, like you meant nothing! Well, I have," pounding at his chest in time with his words, "And I'm done with it. Those monsters," he hisses at the door, "can't come in here without my permission! I won't let 'em!"

"I don't disagree with you Mr. Walsh," I tell him softly, "I don't like it when outsiders invade my personal spaces either. I'm not asking you to lay down and let anyone walk over you. But the keepers have their own jobs to do, and I promise you they aren't trying to force you out-"

"They are! They all are. 'Moving on' that's all anyone around here wants to talk about, getting out, forcing me out so some other schmuck can take my place. Well not me. I ain't leaving. You can't make me!" he rages with impressive vigor for a man who seems so frail.

"The keeper isn't asking you to leave," I reply carefully, "it just wants to clean, leave new towels and little soaps and-" I glance around, wondering what the hell the house-keeper actually does in this room, "reset things." I finish neutrally, "But I understand you want to be here when it happens," I add, "I can understand that, I really can, but yelling and throwing things is not how we get keepers to listen to us. That's how we make them angry, and angry keepers pull our souls from our bodies and leave us floating, unable to touch or talk or see or be seen, until they feel like we've learned our lesson." I see the dark recognition in his candle lit eyes, "You can't keep an eye on your home if you're nothing but air, can you?"

He shutters and rubs his hand over his chin in an anxious motion, "No, no, I- I don't ever want to do that again. Never again."

I approach him slowly, "Then let me talk to them, I'm confident I can find a simple arrangement that honors your concerns and still allows the keeper to do as it needs. They can be very agreeable if we can find a solution that doesn't trouble them much."

He looks me over, still guarded but allowing my approach, "Like what?"

"Maybe something as simple as an advance notice that they'll be coming to reset, or a fixed schedule, so you'll always know when they'll be here."

"I'd like that," he admits reluctantly, "Something fixed, regular, no surprises."

"Then that's what I'll push for," I'm not sure how well he can see, so I put as smile in my voice as I can, "In the meantime-"

"You want me to let that thing come back in here and finish what it started."

"It was very kind to offer to come back later."

"Fine," he snaps, "But don't think I won't come find you if you don't keep up your end of the bargain. I don't go out much, but I'll come find you."

I can't help but laugh, already picturing him hunting me down during one of Eddie's outrageous outings and slugging me in front of everyone, "Of that, Mr. Walsh," reaching out to shake his hand, "I have no doubt."