Tales from the Overlook

The Mind's a Sorry Thing to Lose

Well, there was no use beating around the bush with convenient excuses. He must have lost his mind.

There was far too much sound for an empty hotel, and if his nose was not betraying him, far too much alcohol for a hotel that was supposedly dry. But there was just the right amount of sounds for a party that never - died - ended, and and more than enough booze to accomodate the swirling masked guests that flooded the empty hotel.

But whether anything at all around him was real or not, the icy liquid burnt just the same, and oh god how he'd missed it. He wasn't breaking his word. Not really. Wendy had seen that it was void of alcohol - oh, and how she searched when she knew he'd be away in some other part of the hotel, and her result hadn't changed, no matter how many times she looked, even when she could pinpoint each of his old drinking habits minus the actual drinking - and they had not brought any with them, and so that means he didn't need to feel guilty about drinking now. Need to nor want to. After all, there technically wasn't a single drop of alcohol, actual real alcohol and not just cooking wine, for miles and miles from where he sat, the condensation from the glass chilling his fingertips just a little.

Had he been thinking rationally, Jack would have realised that something was very, very wrong at play, but he had happily left behind his rationality when he walked into the Colorado Lounge and made himself at home.
With foolish optimism, he brushed aside all the misgivings that he really ought to ponder upon in favour of another glass.
And another after that.
And another until he couldn't recall how many he had.

This was what he deserved, he reasoned to himself as he downed the contents of his glass. It was only right that he was rewarded with at least a moment of peace in the insanity that his life had become. It was only fitting that this was his justification, for the release he so craved came through his willingness to delve right down deep into the bottomless well of madness.
As long as there was more of the Good Stuff - Bad Stuff, if his son was consulted on the matter - at the bottom then there was nothing in the whole wide world that he would want more.
After all, he deserved it, so why shouldn't he take what he deserved? Why should anything stop him from enjoying himself?

Somebody of managerial timber wouldn't let anything stand between them and what they so rightfully deserved.

"Another glass, Mr. Torrance?" a voice asked, cutting through his fanciful thoughts.

Perhaps, if he remembered them, he would write them down and use it in his book? Surely there would be a way to fit it in, if he tried to at least.

"Keep 'em coming, Lloyd my man," Jack returned, a smile upon his face that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Keep 'em flowing 'til the taps are dry and the musicians sleep!"

"Very good, Mr. Torrance."

"Daddy's found the Bad Stuff."

The words from the child's mouth had been enough to have her blood run cold right from the heart, the ice rushing through her veins bringing with it a heavy set dread that made it hard to remain upright.
"Whaddya mean, doc? There isn't any between here and the town over?" Wendy queried, hoping that casualness in her voice didn't sound quite as fake as it did to her own ears.
"There wasn't," Danny shrugged, "But now there is."

Oh how she wanted to believe this to be nothing more than the fantastical imaginings of a child that had gone through something horrible, but she couldn't even convince herself of that, so how on earth was she supposed to reassure her child that all was well?
Though she couldn't even begin to imagine the extent of it, she knew that Danny was a very special little boy who knew far more than it was possible for him to know, but even without this she knew he was right.

"How 'bout you try practicing your letters for a bit, hey?" she proposed, a smile upon her face that she hoped would mask the worry she felt, "I just gotta go check on something for a moment, is that okay?"

Thank goodness the child had agreed. It wasn't that she doubted him, per say, but rather that she needed to see it for herself, to so willingly discard what little help she'd been clinging to like a lifeboat on a stormy sea. She needed to see, with her own eyes, that Jack had gone back to his old ways.

As much as she willed herself forward, she found it impossible to move with any significant pace, feeling rather like there was a boulder being dragged along behind her. A boulder that had some foul, toothy beast perched upon the very top, shouting down at her the anxieties that were racing to plague her mind with a disorienting swiftness, coming one after another in a way that meant she couldn't even reflect on one before it was jostled out of the way by another one, which was then gone as soon as it had come.

The corridors had begun to feel familiar, but just then they seemed just as foreign as they had on the day they had arrived at the god forsaken hotel.

Her breath seemed trapped away in her breast, coming only in short puffs that seemed more fitting for someone that had run a marathon than walked a corridor, but anxieties and fears had their way of playing with the body in ways that no one wanted.
Daring to break the silence, she let out a soft sigh, running her fingers through her hair until she met a snag. Having to shake her hand out of her hair to free it was certainly not going to improve her mood, though she doubted very much would have been able to. The looming sense of dread hung too heavily over her to be so easily broken.

It felt wrong somehow to be spying upon her husband, feeling like it was admitting that she never trusted him, admitting that she had thought his words were worth less than the breath that he'd taken in say it.
She'd only take a quick peek to put her mind to rest, and she'd hurry off back to where Danny was, laughing at herself for her silliness.
A quick, disgustingly voyeuristic peek.

Attempting to still her nerves when she reached the grand doors to where she had little doubt her husband resided, she clenched her hands into fists so tight there were little moons on her palm.
Just look through the window and be off with you, Wendy old girl.

Well. There he was. Jack Torrance sat at the bar, nursing a glass of, if the bottle that had miraculously joined him was to be trusted, whiskey in one hand, the other gesticulating wildly as if in conversation with someone. While the doors and distance muffled him, he was speaking as if there was another in there with him, pausing to take a drink or listen to something that he must have thought he had heard despite being alone in there.

Wendy turned away, unable to stomach the sight for a moment longer. It was no surprise to her, which only made it hurt more. She knew he would, somehow she knew he'd break his promise to her, but it still felt like a knife to the heart. The tears tumbling clumsily down her face were left unchecked and she hurried away.