Universe

Hotel California, 1971

21:43

You can check out any time you like. That phrase always stuck with me, but never moreso than when I was tearing down the lone desert road, whipping up dust in miniature tornados as I passed. And under the twinkling stars that hung so heavily in the dark of night, small beacons of hope some might say. Especially knowing this trip was one that I would never have to make again.

But my head was growing heavy, and my eyes begged to close for more than a blink. I shook about in the seat of my Chevy, I even pulled the top down to feel the cool wind on my face. But nothing felt as good as sinking into my seat, surrendering myself to the night man. And maybe, maybe even a nice round glass of wi-

No. I haven't come this far to give in to the temptation. Two years means more to me, to my family, than one night's bad choice. Two years lapping up and down this road to the sober house, an hour out from town would not be spoiled by reckless thoughts.

I hadn't even noticed my eyelids had found their way to each other while I retreated to my thoughts. I snapped them open with a jolt of panic. A panic that settled when I saw it: a shimmering light, up ahead in the distance. I hadn't noticed it before, which was strange, given how lush the idea of a stop for the night had always been. As I got closer, the Spanish arches and terracotta awnings began to take form, and a neon sign hanging over a regal doorway read: Hotel California.

21:59

I left my Chevy around the back. There didn't seem to be any other motors to be seen, but the promise of sleep was too warm to cause question. I dipped under a redwood lined arch, and pushed on the cold wooden door. It opened with a strange ease, and a creak that carried through to the empty lobby.

"Hello?" I said, with a weary drop of the e. The room was littered with palms, and every wall was ravished with arch-like windows, from which warming orange glows told me not be afraid. And yet, there wasn't a single body in sight.

I snaked around terracotta planters, and dinged the reception bell. Once. Twice. Three times. Fo-

"Hello," A wispy deep voice came from behind me. I flinched, turning on my heel. A man, mysterious, dressed in an all-black suit, hiding behind a masquerade eye mask. His face, or what I could see, radiated with youth. He beckoned me closer, and said with a keen delight; "You look like you need a bed for the night."

I nodded, soft and slow. I was tentative, but his demeaner made it impossible to feel like I was not at home. He lit up a bronzed candle, and disappeared through an arch in the lobby. I didn't linger long either, but when I got to the arch way, he was gone.

22:15

The corridors were like a maze. A maze lined with peach tiles, filled with voices, but no bodies. I had been wandering for a long time now. Or, so it felt. And yet it also felt like I had been walking in circles. That wasn't possible, though, if I was turning left at the end of one corridor, right at the next, and left at another.

There were a scarce amount of doors, and none bore numbers. And at the end of each corridor, in front of an arched window, was the same dark brown cabinet, harbouring potted hydrangea.

It wasn't until I heard the soft symphony of the blues echoing through that I felt a sense of calm. I followed each note 'til it brought me to the heart of the hotel. An archway lined with woven wood, opening out into a courtyard.

The hotel covered all four sides of it, reaching a few storeys up, walls decorated with the Spanish-arched windows I had come to expect. The spritz of water from the fountain in the dead centre of the square barely made a sound over the blues. Lush green bushes, and tall palms wrapped in white fairy lights populated the courtyard. But they were outnumbered; Tens of barely-men, wearing nothing but black underwear and black eye masks danced around, softly in time with the music.