The valet guy at the Barlow Hotel slept sitting up on his chair beside the revolving glass door. His mouth gaped open. I walked passed him and through the doors. The air in the lobby was at a perfect room temperature and classical music resonated from all directions. The huge room was bathed in a vague light that spilled everywhere yet came from no particular source. The high ceilings were painted with white clouds on a manufactured sky. To my left, the night concierge perched behind the front counter, her face glowing from a hidden computer screen under the countertop. To my right was a cocktail lounge about to close – a couple of servers in their black uniforms placed all the chairs upside down on the tables.
My footsteps clomped on the granite floor for a few steps and then were muffled by the burgundy carpets leading to the elevators ahead. Reaching the elevators, I pressed the up button on the wall and a set of doors opened behind me. I stepped into the mirrored box with brass hand railings and hit the button to the twenty seventh floor. Blood rushed to my feet as the elevator rose, and my head buzzed as it halted.
As the doors opened, I poked my head into the hallway. The air was strangely warm, and smelled humid and yeasty. I wiped the nervous sweat from my face, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the red and gold patterned carpet of the hallway. The elevator doors closed behind me, and I gripped then re-gripped the copper pipe in my pocket – its heaviness comforting me. With no other sounds, my breathing was loud. I walked slowly through the astounding silence. I turned the corner and stared down a hallway with mirrored walls on each side, mirrors from floor to ceiling. Willing my feet to take one step after another, I could see, in my peripheral vision, the reflections of myself in the mirrors on both sides of me, repeating like a row of synchronized dancers marching in unison to my every step. I stopped and faced one of the mirrors, and then the row of clones did the same, pairing up, each couple facing each other, duplicating into eternity. I was mesmerized and I placed a hand on the glass. The row of couples did the same, placing their hands palm to palm on each other, repeating infinitely before me, and infinitely behind me. I was no longer the original, but just one of the copies within the infinite row. I felt dizzy, closed my eyes, and moments passed – moments that became lost in time -- neither seconds nor minutes.
My phone beeped, waking me from my stupor.
On my phone was a new email message. It read:
Date: September 24, 2022 2:30:13 AM GMT-04:00
From: iamwillforever(at)gmail.com
Subject: RE: RE:
I see you.
YOU ARE READING
The Online Profile of a Serial Killer
Mistério / SuspenseThis is the rule. Whenever you read that a story is true, it is always and inevitably untrue. But in this case, however, everything you read here is true. The burnt remains for Rachel Amina Darwish were discovered in Algonquin Park in Ontario, Canad...
