The Last Resort

Getting Away/ The Longest Road/ The Hotel

            The rumble of the old Mustang was getting worse. It shook the dust off the dashboard and the rearview mirrors had become a blurring quake. It wouldn’t be long now until the engine started to smoke and eventually die all together. Larry Harewood knew it. Knew it like the back of his hands.

            He looked over his shoulder for a long moment. The road behind him was completely empty of anything except the watery haze of the desert’s atmosphere. Graying pavement of the road shimmered, trying to trick him with a false river flanked on both sides by the dry, dry desert.  He saw the last of the cacti disappearing in the distance, becoming distorted by the mirage following him. The last living thing that he could see was being left behind.

            Larry turned his head back to the road in front of him and started laughing. He couldn’t believe he had beaten them. Larry Harewood, a small time drug dealer from the sunny side of Cali had gotten away with almost a hundred grand in such a beat up, piece of s**t Mustang that sounded more like a lung cancer victim than an actual car. He started beating his palms on the steering wheel with excitement. He stuck his head out the window and gave a long yell against the wind. His breath was stolen from him, but he didn’t care. The Ol’ Horse could fall apart right now and he would still be celebrating.

            One hundred grand!

            A thousand one hundred dollar bills!

            All of them were his.

            The adrenaline he was feeling started to seep through his skin in thick perspiration and a rank smell. He still couldn’t believe it. About five hours ago he had been sitting in the Ol’ Horse with a .45 in his hip holster and a sawed-off 12 gauge sitting across his lap. His heart began pumping blood at a furious rate through his veins and arteries. It wouldn’t stop until the next four hours were over with.

            He sat in the ninety-eight degree heat with black Levis, a black leather jacket and a ski mask on top of his head, staring at the Federal Bank in Sacramento. In the passenger seat had been the man who had given him this job. William Rockefeller was dressed in similar attire, packing the same heat as Larry was.

            “Ya ready to get paid, Lar?” William seemed calm, his breathing was steadier than Larry’s by a tenfold.

            “You sure that your guy took care of everything?” Larry was pulling down his mask as he asked this. The sweat was starting to sting his eyes.

            “Yeah, yeah. I’m positive. The alarm, the guard, all that s**t.” He pulled down his mask as well. His was a little more comical. It was a big rubber mask portraying a happy, right-out-of-the-circus-tent, clown. It’s white faced smiled at Larry. Its red nose was enlarged and bounced up and down. The red rubber hair swung around the huge bald spot on top and within the blue paint that made the eyes were two dark holes staring back at him.

            “Alright,” Larry finally said. “Let’s get paid.”

            William let out a whoop! and they both jumped out of the rusty Mustang and ran through the glass doors.

            William was right. There were no guards in here. But it was packed with customers and every station behind the counter had someone manning it. The body heat from all of the people was almost too thick and seemed to be suffocating the air-conditioning before it could reach the floor.

            Larry shot up at the ceiling, exploding the ceiling tile above him and making it rain little bits of foam on his shoulders. “Everybody get down! This is a-“

            A loud ringing filled the store. Someone at tripped the alarm. So much for his f*****g man!

            “Ah, you little b***h!” William pointed his 12-gauge at a teller in a blue dress shirt and blew a hole in her chest. Blood splattered the people that were crouching in front of her, making them yell out in horror.

            They started running now, from station to station, pointing their guns at each teller and getting their bags filled with more and more hundreds. Larry knew that they had about three minutes before they were taken over by the SPD. This made him move faster.

            This made him worry.

            Another shot came from his left and he looked in time to see William take the upper half of a male teller’s head off. Bone fragments stuck to the wall behind him.

            “Let’s get out of here!” This was William. Larry left what was on the counter and ran behind him. They ran out the glass doors and back into public. William seemed to have let his excitement take the better of him. He had taken out his .45 and started spraying slug after slug into a small crowd of passer-bys. He hit a man with a briefcase in the throat, letting loose a torrent of blood onto his business partner. Another slug connected with a girl in a bikini and rollerblades, hitting her in the back of her knee, exploding her kneecap out of its home over the joint.

            He kept shooting and shooting and shooting and shooting. He seemed to have lost all sense of what was going on.

            Larry heard the warble of police cars. He looked south and saw flashing lights over a busy street of cars. “Will! Will, let’s go!” William kept shooting. He was smiling and laughing hysterically. Larry glanced back at the nearing lights and started to panic. He ran over to William and started pulling on him and managed to get the pillow of cash out of his hands. “C’MON!” Larry ran back and threw the money into the back of the Mustang and opened the driver’s door. He looked back and saw a police officer point his gun at William and fire. A flash of light printed itself on Larry’s retinas and William fell down onto the sidewalk, blood pooling around him rapidly.

            Larry yelled at the cop: “F**k!” He shot towards him and missed. Larry hopped into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. He kicked it into gear and peeled out, pushing himself onto the busy street. He quickly got onto US-50 and headed towards Nevada.

            The highway patrol was on his tail before he could even see them pull up behind him. Larry weaved through the traffic, barely dodging cars by centimeters. He looked down at the gas gauge and saw that he had a full tank. He wouldn’t be stopping for a very long time.

            Unless the Ol’ Horse died, of course.

            The chase lasted for almost four hours, taking him well into the Nevada desert. Near the end of it, they threw road spikes in front of him, but he managed to miss them. He threw the car to the left, his front and back wheels coughing up desert dust into the air. He quickly turned back onto the road, weaving crazily, his tail end sliding back and forth on the pavement. He gained control again and slammed down on the gas pedal. Put the pedal to the metal!

 He had about a fourth of a tank left. He didn’t look back, the adrenaline rush was telling him to look at the pavement in front of him. He drove for nearly another hour, listening to chugging sound in the engine get worse and worse, before he looked back in his rearview mirror. There were no more flashing lights, no more highway squad cars, and he didn’t hear anymore whooping of the helicopter’s blades chopping the air; just the wind rushing into his face and the chugging of the Ol’ Horse.    

Now here he was, laughing himself to tears and yelling until his voice was raw. How many people actually got away in car chases? How many? If it was zero, it’s one now, baby!

Larry started to slow down, giving the car a rest. The sun was no longer baking him from above, but it was above the western horizon. He could see it peeking in through his back window. It was almost full dark.

Now that he was free and far, far away from those pigs, he needed a place to stay. He had to be close to Elko by now. At most, it was an hour away.

He reached back and grabbed one of the pillowcases and set it on the passenger seat. He reached in and grabbed a handful of cloth. He brought it out and sighed, the excitement was back. He almost couldn’t believe he still had. It was his! Every single bill!

Larry was finally calming down. His adrenaline had completely leaked out of him. His cheeks ached from smiling and his stomach had cramped. He was in such a joyous mood that he barely gave William Rockefeller a single thought. I mean, it’s not like they were pals, chums on a big job. They were business partners and Little Billy just couldn’t handle the excitement. It got the better of him with a bullet in the back of his head.

But who gave a damn!

He drove for another hour, and still no Elko. The sun had finally been lost behind the horizon, painting the sky different shades of purple and ahead of him was already dark, showing off its first hint of starlight. The desert, expanding out on both sides of him, was already starting to cool. Soon it would be a frozen wasteland.

To top all of that off, he was really, really thirsty. He had been racing in this heat for six, going on seven, hours and he didn’t have a drop of water. He could feel his lips were cracked in several places. He could taste the blood under his skin. But the road he was on kept going and going and going and the engine’s choking was getting worse and worse and worse.

He saw lights flickering in the distance. They had barely peeked over the eastern horizon. He didn’t think it was a mirage; it was nighttime for Christ sakes! The chugging had become almost deafening; he was amazed that it was still rolling. So he decided to stop there for the night, give the car a rest as well as his body. The adrenaline had left his body in an aching stupor.

About half an hour of driving he turned past a sign that said THE LAST RESORT 1 MI. Larry found that the name gave him the creeps. He almost shuddered when he drove past the wooden sign. But he was tired and thirsty and it looked like a decent enough hotel.

It turned out that it was more than decent enough; it was much, much more!

The Last Resort was a huge, white hotel that seemed to go up four floors. In front of the main part of the building was large water fountain spraying water into the night; lights illuminated the water in the fountain’s basin, giving the water a shimmering gold look to it. The hotel had an east and west wing stretching out on both sides. The gold of lights shone out of many of the windows on each floor, giving the hotel life.

Larry drove the mustang around the fountain and stopped in front of the hotel’s entrance. He grabbed the sacks of money and stuck them in the trunk as someone was coming towards him.

“May I park your car, sir?” He was a young boy in a red valet vest.

“Sure, just don’t touch anything.” Larry tossed the Mustang’s keys to the boy and started up to the hotel. Every time he walked about three or four paces, lights on either side of him would light up and than fade as he walked away from them. This was some fancy hotel he had come upon.

He was getting close to the doors when two doormen swung them open, bowing as he walked past. He walked through a large archway and into a gorgeously bright lobby.

Larry Harewood took in a deep, deep breath. He felt like a million bucks.

 

Checking In/ In the Courtyard/ Laying Back

 

            The lobby ceiling was the highest he had ever seen. It was being held up by a number of pillars with a golden design running up each one. A chandelier was hanging from the ceiling with hundreds and hundreds of finely cut crystals dangling in a close circle.

            Ahead of him, across the hardwood flooring, a fire was burning in an open fireplace. Two sofas and three armchairs, all made of brown leather, circled a glass table that sat in front of the fire. More armchairs and loveseats branched out from this first set; all surrounded by its own smaller table. Laughing couples, families, and friends filled all of these seats. Their chattering and laughter filled the lobby, echoing all the way up and down the huge chamber and back off the walls and ceiling.

            Larry turned to his left and headed for the check-in desk. A single woman was stationed there. She looked small against the long, stretching desk. The smooth surface of the desktop extended at least a good fifty feet in either direction. Water was trickling down on the rough looking wall behind her.

            “Hello, sir!” she said, a smile lit up her already brilliant face. “How may I help you?”

            “Hi, I’d like a room. My name’s-“

            “Mr. Harewood, right?” She started typing in her computer at a rapid pace.

            Larry was taken by surprise. He knew he hadn’t called ahead. Had the police over in Cali called the resort and told them to watch out for him? “Uh, yeah, that’s me.” His palms started to fill up with sweat. He had to consciously hold down his diaphragm so that anxiety didn’t take hold of him.

            “Yes, of course, we have a room clean and ready for you.” She hit three different keys with her middle finger hard. “Fourth floor, room 408. Would you like help finding your room?” She held out a key card that had ‘408’ printed on it.

            Larry took the card reluctantly. “No, I think I’ll find it on my own, thank you.” He started to calm down a little. He had learned in small time jail and dealing drugs that people that were after him generally had a different look about them. They looked uncomfortable. So he only calmed down a little bit.

            “All right! Have a nice night, Mr. Harewood.” She gave him her last smile. She picked up the phone to her right and started talking into, without giving Larry another glance.

            Larry walked away, feeling a little bit more nervous. That could be the Highwaymen on their way right now with their noose and six-shooters, ready to take him down to the hanging pole to add another tally on the large wooden post.

            His throat dried up. It felt like a ball of salt had stopped just above his esophagus. He walked towards the golden elevator gate. Dozen’s of couples and parties past him on the way across the lobby. He felt like all of them were staring at him.  Their eyes seeming to pry open his chest and pull out his guilt, blaming him for the lady that was now getting her lower leg amputated. Blaming him for that business partner who would spend the whole night, scrubbing herself raw, trying to get the blood off her face.

            They all knew. They would all give him away for less than half of what he was holding in the trunk of his Mustang.

            Larry Harewood made it to the golden gates without breaking a sweat, but after he pushed the call button, he started breathing very heavily. He could now feel their eyes crawling on his back. He could feel the slimy mucous-balls sliding up and down his spinal column. The shoes under him started to move and fidget on their own, tapping wildly to the music he was hearing outside. Why do they have to stare at him? Couldn’t they mind their own f*****g business? Stop staring-

            He spun around, losing the casualness he had before. No one was staring at him. They were all minding their own, telling their own jokes and stories, drinking their own bottles of champagne.  They weren’t even looking at him.

            Larry turned back and pushed the button again, a little more patiently this time.

            “The el’vators out, sir.” An older looking man wearing what looked like a janitors outfit had snuck up on him. “These golden gates ain’t openin’ for no one ‘night. Ya’ll hafta take the stai’s over in the west wing.”

            Larry sighed. “Is it far?”

            The old man chuckled. “I’s a walk. Course, ya could go to the courtya’d and enjoy the night. Captain’s puttin’ on a real nice party. I’ll hafta el’vator workin’ in no time, if it wants to take ya.” He smiled at Larry. The tooth between his canine and his front tooth gleamed gold in the lobby light.

            Larry looked towards the music again. He still felt a small glimpse of panic inside of him. But he could use a break. Robbing a bank, almost getting shot, and barely avoiding road spikes that almost got him spiked? He could definitely use a drink and maybe he could find him a fine lady to bring back home to Mama. Or at the very least, his room, ha ha. “Yeah, I think I’ll try and enjoy myself. Is the courtyard-“ He hesitated and pointed towards the samba music.

            “Jus’ down that way.” The old man smiled and pointed in the same direction.

            “Right.” Larry smiled at him and thanked him kindly. He turned towards the courtyard. He could feel the old man’s eyes watching his back. He could even feel that man’s golden tooth smiling at him.

            He could hear the muffled samba music getting louder as he approached a set of wooden double doors. They looked heavy and they had an intricate and symmetrical design on them. Their handles were large and made of the same wood and sharing almost the same mesmerizing design. The design on the door seemed to move as he walked closer.

            The engravings came alive!

            The deep trenches started to move like snakes, dancing in and out of each other. They weaved faster and faster as he started reaching for the door. He watched his hand move in slow motion as it wrapped around the handle. The snake snapped back into place. It seemed to have made a thud as it snapped back into the door.

            Larry shook his head. The adrenaline must still be wearing off or something.

            He pulled on the door, hard. The samba music blasted out of the doorway with full force, the Brazilian music filling his ear canals like water. Hanging paper-candles lighted the courtyard. It was filled with people dancing, people holding drinks, and people mingling with other people. There was a large bar to his left. Every barstool had someone’s a*s on it, keeping it warm.

            And in the middle of the brick courtyard was a large fountain. A marble statue stood in the water. It was of a large horse that seemed to be drinking from the water. Standing next to the beast, tall and sorrowful, was a cowboy. His right hand was grasping the horse’s rein loosely. His left hand dangled to his side, holding a large six-shooter with a long barrel. He had a belt lined with bullets belted loosely on his hips and a long dust jacket shaped to make it look like it was blowing in a breeze that didn’t exist. Larry walked up to the cowboy, water was trickling out from the top of his hat and the horse’s head, and saw a plaque with an engraving on it:

 

DESPERADO

THE LONE GUNSLINGER

 

            He smiled at that. It seemed like a cheesy way of saying they were in the wild, wild west. It reminded him of the old spaghetti westerns he used to watch as a kid with his father. Larry shook his head, chuckling, and walked towards the bar.

            He managed to find a barstool near the end of the bar. The bartender was flying up and down the table, pouring shots, mixing drinks, and sliding various types of beer down the table. He made his way to Larry after a few minutes. “What’ll ya have, guy?”

            “I’ll take some whiskey.”

            “Ah, in the western mood tonight, eh?” He pulled out a bottle from underneath the bar and twirled it in his right while he flipped up a small glass and slammed it down with his left. “Where ya from?”

            “I came from Sacramento. I’m headed to the coast and hopefully into Canada.”

            The bartender laughed. “Good luck, guy. People find it really hard to leave this place.” He ran back down to the other end of the bar and started flipping bottles for a couple of ladies.

            The samba music slowed down drastically. Larry looked out into the crowd and that’s when he saw her. She made him freeze with the sour liquid stewing in his mouth. She was in a dark red dress with red and orange ends. Her hair was a deep, deep black and her skin looked like it had been licked by the sun for much too long.

            She stood in a doorway with three men surrounding her, trying to out-charm each other. She lit up a cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke.

            Her eyes found him.

            He swallowed the whiskey.

            She was already halfway across the courtyard.

            He was mesmerized for the second time in ten minutes. Her hips swayed to the beat as she made her way to him. She was smiling at him.

            She dropped her cigarette in his shot glass and grabbed his collar. He could smell her sweet perfume slicing through the cold night. “Come dance with me.” She pulled him onto the dance floor and wrapped her arms around his neck.

            He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he managed to look decent with her. Decent enough to get a few scowls from those pretty boys. She twisted her body around his, slowing her sway to the samba and punching her pelvis into his with the hits. His hands found her waist, sliding a little lower with each passing song. He couldn’t help himself. It was just too damn hard.

            They danced like this for the whole night. With each song came more sweat and less people. Eventually, they were two of the only twelve people in the whole courtyard. The samba music had finally stopped completely. Larry and his new catch sat at the bar and found that a much older man with graying hair had replaced the first bartender. He was wearing a white suit that made him stand out like a sore thumb. He had a nametag pinned above a red rose that said: Captain.

             Larry called him over and asked for some wine for him and the lady. The Captain smiled and reached into a cooler behind him and brought out a large bottle of red wine. He said it was birthed in ’69. A very good year. Captain poured them both a glass and went on wiping out beer mugs.

            Larry raised his glass and got a welcomed response from the lady’s glass. “My name’s Larry by the way.”

            “I’m Tiffany.” She smiled, looking him up and down.

            “So uh, what brings you here?”

            “I work here during the day as a garden keeper. If it wasn’t for these nights, I’d almost feel like a prisoner here.” She laughed and he gave her a chuckle. “What about you, Larry?”

            “Just stopping for the night. I’m on my way east. I-“ Larry paused, nervously taking a drink. “I recently came into quite a fortune.”

            “Oh yeah? Some rich relative die?”

            Her question was so blunt it made him slide back on his seat. “You could say that.” Someone certainly did die for it.

            They did small talk for almost an hour, reaching past midnight. She told him about the life she used to have as maid in New York. She said she was trying to make it in Broadway and she was doing very well, until something unfortunate happened to her.

            Very unfortunate.

            She had been fighting with her newfound lover at the time and when she got angry with him and she tended to get a little pushy. He was standing in front of window and she was getting into a pushy mood. One thing led to another and he was five floors lower catching a taxi cab. She remembered getting scared, and then getting sad. She had thought of suicide, she even had the noose around her neck. And then she heard the sirens and that’s when everything became hazy and memory betrayed her. She ran out of the apartment and took a greyhound out of New York. Tiffany could only recall driving past miles and miles of prairie, so she must of slept through the cities. But she’s been here ever since.

            He in his turn lied to her about Sacramento. Saying he was at a meeting to discuss his recently deceased uncle, where he had been given a good sum of his money. No big deal. He smiled, playing it off as if it happens to everyone sometime.

            “And now I’m headed east, back home.”

            She drained her glass and stood up. “Well it’s getting late Larry.”

            “Oh! Uh, can I walk you to your room?”

            She laughed and leaned in close to his ear. “Nice try, Larry. It was nice meeting you.” Tiffany walked away and he watched her with a feeling of defeat. It was almost a perfect end to an exciting day.

            He turned on his stool and called on the Captain again. He asked for a beer and he got one. “Sorry for your luck. But you were fighting an uphill battle. She never takes anyone with her.”

            Larry nodded. “It happens. No loss, Captain. Why do they call you ‘Captain’? That can’t be your real name.”

            “They call me that because I own the place.” The man in the white suit smiled. “And I go by many names.”

            “Well, Captain, why would you want a hotel as nice as this in the middle of no where?”

            “I like the scenery.” He laughed a high-pitched sort of laugh. The Captain pulled up a stool on his side and poured himself a glass of clear liquid. Larry couldn’t tell if it was vodka or scotch or possibly Everclear. But it smelled strong, you betcha. “This hotel was here for a very, very long time, Mr. Harewood. It has serviced many people and it continues to service many more.” He drained his glass and poured out some more of that clear liquid.

Did Larry hear it screaming on the way down his throat? It was probably just some straggling party-goers.

            The Captain continued: “Like every other hotel, this one has its secrets and these secrets run deep within the wells of this place. Suicide, murder, thievery. We house some of the dirtiest deeds that has ever been seen.” He drained his glass again and Larry heard that muffled scream once more. He started to feel frightened and drunk.

            “Like what?” Larry asked, almost reluctantly.

            The Captain swirled his liquid in his glass, pondering the question. Larry watched it with fascination. His drink was creating a whirlpool of colors as it spun. Red and blue and yellow and fantastic colors he had never seen before. Within all of these colors were little specks of black. “Well, when I first started tending the bar here, this one man came hobbling towards me, very drunk. He asked for a bottle of liquor. I shouldn’t have given it to him, but I thought I could charge him for the bottle, find him passed out somewhere and get the rest of it back. But I didn’t get it back. He had taken his bottle into the lobby, smashed it on the receptionist desk and plunged the shard into an elderly lady that had just walked through the door.” He drained his third glass and let out a despairing chuckle. “And that’s mild to what I’ve had to walk into.” He smiled again.

            Larry looked into the Captain’s eyes and he felt like he was falling into a dark chasm that seemed like it would fall past time. If he looked too deep into those black eyes, he thought he might go crazy.

            Larry shook his head hard and rubbed his eyes. “Uh, well, Captain I think I’ve had too much to drink tonight. I think I’ll go and hit the sack.” He stood up and staggered towards the door. Sitting down, he had felt pretty good but once he was on his two feet, all of the liquor and wine and beer had hit him at once. It flooded his brain with a hazy fog.

            “Yes, of course, I need to close up anyways.” The Captain straightened his suit. “You sleep soundly, Mr. Harewood.”

            Larry waved his hand back indifferently and almost fell through the wooden door. If the snakes on the door were moving, his vision had become too blurry to see them.

            And did I tell the Captain my name? He didn’t think he did, but memory was tricky to begin with, without the help of alcohol. El Capitano must’ve heard me telling that fine piece my name.

            Larry looked like he was walking on a wave, falling left and right each time he took a step. He saw the golden gates guarding the elevator once again. There seemed to be three of them, so, logically, he headed for the middle one and slammed his hand down on the button. The cogs and wheels made a few rumbling and grinding noises, as if considering whether or not on coming down to carry him up to his floor, and then stopped all together.

            “C’mon, you piece of s**t!” He punched the button repeatedly with his thumb, making him more and more frustrated each time his thumbprint met the plastic light.

            “Don’ think it wants to take ya up, sir.”

            Larry jumped and fell against the wall. The old man had snuck up on him once again. “I thought you were fixing it.” His words slurred together, making it sound like he was connecting all of his words with S’s.

            “I thought I did, but it jus’ don’ wanna take you up.” The golden tooth glinted at him again. “You’ll hafta take the stai’s. If ya like, I’ll help you up. You only need to ask.”

            Larry scowled at him. “I can do it on my own.” He pushed past the old man, knocking his broom and mop off of his mobile janitor table.

            The old man frowned and shook his head, as if he had been told something that would fill him with sorrow for days to come. “Very well, sir.” He went back to the elevator and pushed the button.

            Larry heard the cogs and wheels grinding to work, even after he had passed into the west wing.

            The west wing was long and silent. The corridor he was in was about fifteen feet wide and was lit by the kind of light that looked like fire. It looked foreboding. Like if he walked by enough of these doors, one of them would fly open and pull him into a pit of corpses.

            Larry, in his drunken state, didn’t like this hotel. It had a bad vibe. Larry could almost feel the terror and horror that emanated from behind these doors. A combination of fear and intoxication got his legs moving faster than he had intended. He flew down the corridor; his breath was getting heavy more in fear than exertion.  His footsteps bounced off the walls behind him, making it sound like someone was chasing him, biting at his heels.

            He made it to the staircase; his chest was cold with a stabbing pain. It felt like someone had dropped an ice cube down his aorta artery. At least the stitch in his side-

            The echo of his footsteps was getting louder, as if it was getting closer. They were getting heavier, like he could almost feel the vibration of his own feet chasing him. Larry spun around and fell against the wall and the echoes died immediately. The little lights flared in his vision. He caught his breath in a deep sigh and entered the stairway, where he climbed up four floors and exited into a similar corridor. He walked down the hallways taking two rights and found his room in the middle of the hall. He pulled out his card key and tried to slide it into the reader.

            He missed the first time, almost breaking it in half.

            The second time, he slowed his arm, but that didn’t help.

            The third time, he grasped it with both hands and carefully slid it in. The card reader beeped in monotonous acceptance and unlocked the door. He pushed his way in and closed it behind him, where it locked automatically.

            The room was a nice room. It had a queen against the left wall and two nightstands, which would undoubtedly have bibles in them, flanking each side. A flat screen was hanging on the opposite wall with a smaller dresser under it. Passed all of these things was the bathroom that would be sparkling clean with a large tub and a mirror to go with it.

            He crashed on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He absentmindedly opened the nightstands and felt inside. Each one was empty except for maybe a retreating recluse spider, in which case he got lucky.

            Larry fell asleep quickly and fell into a world of uneasiness.

 

Waking up/ The Banging Next Door/ An Odd Walk

 

            Larry slowly came out of sleep. He didn’t feel like he got much and he didn’t feel drunk anymore. He rolled over and grasped the alarm clock. It told him that it was 1:39 AM. He could believe that, but he was surprised by how fast sobriety had hit him. He-

            Wait… Wasn’t it just 1:39? It was telling him it was 1:38 AM now. Larry closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids with balled fists. When he opened them, his jaw hit the bed.

            The clock was flashing 1:36. He set the clock down on the nightstand and stared at it. He wanted to see it change.

            Don’t blink, Larry.

            Don’t…

            BLINK.

            He started to feel that itch around his eye sockets. The area around the clock and the clock as well seemed to by bulging towards him, like a pocket of heavy gravity was warping the area around it. He stared at it and it stared back. He would not lose this staring contest, no-sir-ee. He would win, d****t. He would-

            BLINK!

            The digital clock’s little red bars had changed again and when Larry saw this, he burst out into a fearful laughing fit. The clock’s face flashed at him, saying:

            F**K

            YOU

            F**K

            YOU

            Larry brought up his foot and kicked it off the nightstand, still heehawing away. The clock flew across the room and its red glow flashed against the wall on his right.

            He couldn’t stop laughing. He didn’t know why he was laughing so hard. He felt scared, from the clock and his reaction to it. He felt his gut cramp up and warm tears flowing down his cheeks. He started kicking his legs on the bed, kicking the sheets and comforter off the mattress.

            The cramp that had formed felt like it was tearing his insides apart. He needed to spew. He ran to the bathroom and flipped on the light. He threw the porcelain seat open and looked down inside the toilet bowl, still laughing his head off.

            Between each heehaw, he made horrible retching noises and vomited up his drinks from the night before until he was dry heaving. His eyes were closed shut and when he opened them, he saw the toilet bowl and the rest of the room in a deep red tint that stung his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his hand and it came away with blood.

            This made him laugh even harder, making his laughter turning into a high-pitched sound that you would hear come out of a hyena.

            Larry staggered to the mirror and looked at himself. He had a grotesquely large smile on his face that showed him nearly all of his teeth. His tongue was sticking out in his laughter. Large rivers of blood and tears were pouring out of his eyes. But to him, his smile is what scared him most. It didn’t look like it was his, but at the same time, it looked like it belonged to him.

            He started retching again; this time he tasted blood come out of his mouth. He felt his hand coming up towards his head, like someone had grabbed his wrist and was pulling it up. He stared at his shaking hand with his blood-streaked eyes and face in horror and kept on laughing.

            Jesus-HAHAHA-what’s hap-HA-happening to me? HAHAHA!

            His hand grabbed a good chunk of his hair and pulled his head back. He stared at the face in the mirror. Blood had covered his cheeks and was dripping off his upper lip. And that face continued to laugh at him.

            It laughed as his hand smashed his head into the mirror.

            A dozen faces laughed at him as that hand brought his head down on the lip of the porcelain sink, cracking it. They laughed even harder the second time he hit the sink, filling it with blood.

            His head came down one last time, this time hitting the silver faucet, making him slump over, dead on the floor.

             Larry stopped laughing as he lay there. He stopped his heehawing as well as his breathing. But he could still hear all of those faces in the mirror laughing at him like a bunch of school kids laughing at a kid lying on the floor without his pants and full of shame.

            They seemed to laugh forever.

            HEEHAW! HEEHAW!

            HYUCK, HYUCK, HYUCK!

            HAHAHAH-

           

 

            -hahaha!

            Larry woke up in a bed filled with sweat and tangled sheets, the laughing from his nightmare still fading in his ears. He quickly rolled over to the right side of the bed and fell off the edge. He jumped up and snatched the digital alarm clock. It said it was 1:39 AM.

            He stared at it for five whole minutes, each minute progressing into the early morning. He was satisfied when it said 1:44 AM.

            Larry collapsed onto the floor, setting his back against the bed and laying his head at an uncomfortable 90-degree angle on the sheets. He let out a long, tiring sigh. He couldn’t remember the last dream he had that was that terrifying, that real. He wiped a handful of sweat off his forehead and stood up. Larry walked over to the bathroom and flipped on the light, the yellow glare burned the back of his eyes. He could still see the clock flashing

(f**k…you…)

behind his retinas. He thought for a moment that he would see that grotesque smile trying to mimic him within the mirror. Larry only saw Larry. He had bags under his eyes and he looked like he had a hangover.

            The cold faucet let loose a torrent of cold water. He cupped a handful and rubbed his face. He felt the bags clear almost instantly and he felt calm again, erasing the nightmare from his face. He sidestepped to the porcelain on the floor and let loose some of his own water before shutting off the faucet and headed back to the bed. He flopped on his back. He could feel the fish hooks of sleep pulling down on his eyelids, but they refused to close.

            He was so tired.

            Larry sat up against the headboard and turned on the television. The tiny pixels came to life, creating a picture out of nothing with little spots of color. He changed the channel and followed it by another quick change. Following an infomercial with a late, late talk show and chasing a do-it-yourself show with a skin flick.

            He finally landed on an old black and white horror movie. He couldn’t name it, but he recognized it, some monster of the deep or another.

            Larry’s mind wandered back to yesterday, to Sir Rockefeller’s demise all the way to the tanned skin he had met earlier. He still couldn’t believe he had made it. He made it through the security guards, the police, a police chase! All with a bag full of cash in the Ol’ Horse. He would be set for a few years, hell a few decades if he put it in the right places and gave it to the right people.

            The movie had progressed to a swampy forest. The blonde (he assumed she was blonde) was hysterically running and falling on herself. The slimy looking thing from the deep was trotting after her, an expressionless face sitting on his shoulders

            That car chase though, man, whew! He got lucky. Damn lucky. Almost wrecking on a set of road spikes and finally getting away. They had simply given up on him, it seemed. Would they do that? Would they let a man wanted for armed robbery and the murder of, what, almost a dozen people, get away?

            Not that he was the one that pulled the trigger, but you know how they work. If you’re an accomplice, you might as well be strapping yourself in for a ride with a gallon of potassium chloride.

            Still, all in all, they had let him get away. He slipped through that inch of space between each road spike. He had made it.

            Not yet.

            Larry froze. Was that him? Did he think that? It sounded so loud, like it was the owner of the voice was sitting right next to him. It sounded like Larry, except darker. It sounded much darker. He waited for it to say something again, but it was silent.

            He turned up the television, just in case.

            The blonde was still running and the monster was chasing her-

            (THUD!)

grabbing at her dirty white dress-

            (THUD!THUD!)

running and chasing and running and-

            (THUD!THUD!THUD!)

            What is that banging?

            Larry sat up and looked at the wall behind him. That banging was coming from the room next to his. Someone’s getting lucky tonight. He turned back towards the television, turning it up a little bit more.

            But their banging seemed impatient, seeming to turn up its volume to match his television. He slammed his fist on the wall and the couple slammed back.

            Larry didn’t think he could sit here and listen to them. Their headboard slamming against his wall would drive him insane. He shut off the b**b tube and walked out the door. Give them fifteen minutes and they’ll be done. He turned left down the hall walking past his happy neighbors, the banging of the headboard briefly increasing in volume, and down the long hallway.

            Now that Larry had sobered up, oddly quick, he could notice the hallway more clearly now. The walls were paneled with a dark looking wood and the carpet was a deep, dark green with beige trimming and a swirl design. It hurt the eye just looking at it; made the retinas ache. The lights that looked like fire bounced light off the wall and sunk into that ugly carpet.

            He turned right down the first hallway he came to, planning on making a slow loop back to his room.

            Larry also noticed that it was incredibly warm in this hall. It was like a damn sauna in here. Even the air he sucked into his lungs felt hot and moist, like he was standing over a hot spring.

            Or a fire pit

            Yeah… or one of those.

            As he turned right at the next corner, feeling the beads of sweat leak out of his pores and a heat meant for the hottest of summers baking from under his feet, he saw a light at the end of the corridor, a faint flickering reserved only for the candles.

            He stopped at his end of the hallway, squinting at the face, twisted with shadows made by the candlelight, which belonged to the holder. He recognized it. He recognized her. It was too dark to show it, but he could see her dark eyes and her skin that had been licked by the sun. Even though she was motionless, smiling at him, he could see her swaying like she did in the courtyard.

            What was her name? Tia? Tiffany? He couldn’t quite place it, hoping it wouldn’t come up.

            She lifted her hand, palm up, and pointed her first finger at him and then curling it back with the rest of her fingers. The small candle she held illuminated her smile. It excited him.

            But it scared him as well. He didn’t know why, but it curled around her face like it knew a sinister secret. A little secret just for him.

            She curled her finger again and he came willingly. Obediently.

            Halfway down the hall, he thought he heard something behind the doors on either side of him. It was faint and it echoed towards him like a broken kid at the bottom of a well. A few more paces and he notice that the walls were lined with doors; big round ones with knobs in the middle of them and tiny square ones that even a baby could not crawl through. There were even some that were so grotesquely twisted that he couldn’t even look at them without his balls leaping into his stomach in fear.

            Larry was scared, all right. He was damn near petrified. But he kept going, step by step, confusion escalading with each one.

            He could hear the echoing sounds more clearly now. The sweat rolling down his face came out as ice now. Those sounds were a mixture of screams and crying and tortured laughter. He couldn’t tell if he was imagining it, but he didn’t think so. He thought they were real.

            I must be dreaming again. That’s what it is.

            But he didn’t think so.

                        He was close to her now and he could see the rest of her. She was only wearing a silky looking gown that was transparent. A legally blind man could see through that thing and he would be just as excited as Larry was. She turned and went down the hall before Larry could get to her. As her light faded out of his hall and into hers, the screams seemed to follow her, as if tormented by her.

            Larry followed his lust reluctantly.

            When he turned down the next corridor, she was already at the end with her hand on a doorknob. She sent him one of those secret smiles again. It sent different kinds of shudders down his spine and through his groin. She opened the door and stepped into a mass of warm firelight, laughter, and, what was that? Screaming? He wasn’t sure, but his feet moved him towards the door anyhow.

            With every step Larry Harewood took, the more the pores on his face seemed to scream, issuing sweat from every one of them. Within his throat, he seemed to contain a large lump of pennies that he could taste. He reached the door and could hear a mixture of laughter, screams of agony, and the tinkle of what he thought was silverware.

            Larry watched his hand shaking as it slowly reached for the doorknob, as if some kind of celestial being was pulling his hand towards the door.

            Larry dry swallowed and opened the door, stepping into the firelight that didn’t feel quite so warm.

            It actually felt kind of cold.

 

The Feast/ Back in the Saddle

 

            Larry froze. Not because of the cold he felt, but because of what he saw. Larry looked upon the most terrible feast he could have possibly imagined. A long table seemed to stretch out before him in an infinite length. Every seat was filled up and not by a laughing and merry body, but by a naked one, writhing in agony. They all had the exact same features, a hairless face and body, genderless and without a naval to pit their gray bodies.

            Their screams pierced through Larry’s eardrums and into the middle of his brain. They seem to scream with the frequency of both a man and a woman. They were all the same, yet Larry could feel the individuality they possess

            (once possessed)

deep inside of him. He could feel it fading away with every yell. He looked from the one closest to him, who was getting his skin slowly pulled apart by large hooks, to another in the middle of the table, who seemed to be slowly melting into his chair, uncovering bony joints and a string of intestines. Together this table of infinite souls created a choir of agony.

            He tried to look away from them, they now looking at him with pleading colorless eyes, but he only found another pair of eyes staring at him. They stared from the walls, the floors, even the grotesque chandelier seemed to be made up of rotting muscle and panicky eyes.

            With his own eyes, he moved down the table and saw a large figure sitting at the head of the table. He was the only one smiling and now he seemed to move closer to Larry, shortening the table and condensing his guests. Now that was he up close, Larry could distinguish who he was, considering he was the only one at this wonderful feast with features.

            He smiled at Larry with bright whites shining from his mouth. The only matching white that was in the room was his suit, which was flawless. He drained a glass of clear liquid that screamed as it went down his throat. The Captain let out some air of satisfaction and said, “Good to see you again, Mr. Harewood. It’s nice of you to join us.” His voice was calm and soothingly deceptive. He picked up a fork and brought it heavily down on his plate. When the Captain brought it back up, there was a small writhing doll on the other end. He put the figure in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “Please, sit. The appetizers,” he brought up another figure pierced to the fork, “are seasoned particularly well.” He laughed hysterically, spitting out chunks of gray matter.

            Larry felt his stomach contract painfully. He could feel a puddle of stomach acid try and fight with a building scream to exit his mouth first. He battled passed confusion and came up with a conclusion that only an insane person could come up with.

            This is Hell. Either hell on earth or the actual thing, he couldn’t tell. Whether he had come upon a haunted hotel that tore apart the mind of anyone who walked in or if he had somehow been knocked unconscious and his mind was tearing itself apart. Maybe he was punishing himself for what he had done or if it was something more powerful. Larry wasn’t a believing man, but looking into those endless pits that were the eyes of the Captain, he thought that there may be a chance that there was something more.

            A naked, gray

            (thing?)

person walked up to the Captain, whispered into his ear, and walked off. As it did, Larry saw a giant, black leech attached to his back. At the tail end of it, a giant bloodshot eye glared at Larry, freezing him for the second time.

            The Captain smiled joyfully and said, “What impeccable timing! The roast is done!” He raised his right hand and opened up his palm. A chain fell from the ceiling and lightly landed in his hand. He pulled it and a comical scream filled the room for a brief moment, making the Captain laugh like a little child. “That gets me every time!” he said excitedly to the person next him. They gave him an agonized response.

            A hatch opened up in the ceiling and down came a slab of rotting and putrid meat. It landed on the table with a heavy squishing sound, sending out splatters of black, red, and moldy chunks that painted the guests and the walls behind them.

            The smell reached Larry’s nose, making his stomach contract again. His throat convulsed, sending up that ball of copper passed his tongue and on the floor. He opened his eyes and saw that the puddle of stomach acid was looking up at him and laughing.

            He stumbled backwards and fell into a chair, now looking at the Captain again. His face changed and distorted itself into something terrible. He had a face on each side of his head, all of them smiling joyously. They all looked at the feast and he raised his arms in an opening gesture. His voice became distorted and menacing, “The roast is special for you, Mr. Harewood. Enjoy!”

            Larry looked down at the roast and stared at it. Its ribs protruded out passed the muscle and charred skin. Its long body had a host of over a dozen limbs. Some of them hung limply over the table, only twitching their digits. Others reached up hopelessly, trying to grasp an invisible helping hand that wasn’t there. Some of the limbs had hands and feet while others had claws or hooves. Paws, talons, even fins stuck off of the limbs. He had the whole f*****g zoo rolled up into one and roasted.

            Pus and blood and gangrenous fluid flowed out of any cracked piece of skin. It flowed down the roast and to the head of the pig. But the head wasn’t of a pig or a boar or an ox. It was of a man.

            A man Larry himself knew.

            It was the head of Sir William Rockefeller.

            The head of William was charred and burned. There was a gaping hole where his eye used to be and a string of brain matter and nerve endings hung around inside of the hole. And to put a cherry

            (or an apple)

on top of the cake, William had a steaming apple stuck in his mouth.

            William’s head spit out the apple, making it roll and land on Larry’s lap, making him finally let out a little bit of that scream he’s been holding in.

            “Hiya, Lar!” William said suddenly, making Larry scream again. He was finally breaking down. “Long time, no see!”

            Larry tried to speak, but only uttered choked sounds that resembled a dying lawn mower.

            “Say, Lar… how much money didja make off yesterday?” His one eye prodded Larry accusingly. “Or better yet, how much of MY f****n’ money didya make out with?” This time he was yelling it, screaming at Larry. His eye said he was angry, but he smiled at Larry like one old friend smiling to another. “And after stealing my money, ya left me. Ya left me to get shot in the back of the head by some roasted pig on a stick. YA LEFT ME FA DEAD!” William’s roasted body lunged towards Larry, sliding on the table with a sickening sound. But before he could get a foot off the platter, all of the gray naked bodies stabbed at him with their silver forks and their steely knives, all of them screaming and screaming with each plunge of the fork.

            Each of these stabs just rejuvenated the life in the roasted mass that was Sir William Rockefeller. He just continued to try and slide towards Larry, yelling, “YA LEFT ME FA F****N’ DEAD, LAR!”

            The beast would not be killed.

            From behind the roast, the Captain’s first face unhinged his jaw and started swallowing the roast and the limbs and eventually the face whole, his stomach bloating, popping the buttons off of his impeccable white suit. William was still screaming at Larry as he went down.

            At this time, Larry jumped off the chair and ran out of the room, screaming.

            He ran down the hall, filled with fright and revulsion. Each door he passed flew open, revealing an old demon he knew too personally:

            a pregnant ex with a bottle of dark liquor…

            a grandmother left in a bed full of sores…

            a father abandoned to old age and a lung full of emphysema…

            Every door flew open at him with a darker horror than the last. The hall swirled around him, disorienting him. He finally made it to the stairs and jumped down them by the threes. He ran through the hall and towards the lobby. That cold he felt in the fire-lit room was chasing after him, trying to suck the life out of him. But his fright kept his feet moving.

            Larry ran through a set of doors with full force, making him fall and somersault on the wooden floor. He jumped up and tripped a few more steps into the quiet atmosphere. He spotted the old man that had been mopping up the floor earlier that night. He was in the same spot he had been with the same mop.

            Larry ran towards him, slipping on a wet spot and just catching himself with his knees. “Something is wrong with me! I need help!” Larry’s words bubbled into a mass hysteria.

            The old man reached down slowly and pulled Larry to his feet by his collar. He looked into Larry’s eyes calmly and confidently and said: “I tried that already, sir.” The old man patted the breast pocket of Larry’s jacket. “Ya on your own now, sir. I can’ help ya no more.” He smiled with his gold tooth and went back to his business.

            Larry looked at him in desperate exasperation. He looked around wildly, his eyes passing by those golden gates, now rusted and red, the Desperado fountain in the courtyard, now spewing out a thick and red substance, and the stretching lobby table, which was just as normal as it had been before. His eyes finally set on the front doors and he sprinted towards them.

            He hit it with full force and it wouldn’t budge. He slammed against it with his shoulder and fists, but it stayed, unmovable. He was on the verge of tears, kicking it with his feet like a tantric child. He could almost feel the cold reaching out towards him and grasping his throat when a voice broke through to him. He spun and looked at the old man wildly.

            “Ya hafta pull it, sir.”

            Larry turned back and gently pulled it open. He casually slowly out and watched it close behind him. He stayed there a moment, the glass seemed to bulge from the invisible force that wanted him, seemed to need him and calling him expendable at the same time. He almost reached out for the door again, remembering the tanning lust he had followed, when the glass did bulge, spider-webbing it. It let out a burst of screams of agony, and of that terrifying cold that followed him. He even heard a faintness of William

            (ya left me fa dead)

yelling after him. Larry started running again, this time towards the round-a-bout driveway. He saw his Mustang sitting there: the Ol’ Horse sitting on its rubber hooves, old but ready.

            When he reached it, he leapt over the hood, almost catching his foot on it, and landed next to the driver door. He slipped his hand around the handle and pulled. Like the front doors, it wouldn’t budge. But unlike the lobby doors, he knew this one was locked and horror dawned on him. He could even see it in his mind, lying on the empty nightstand in his rented darkened room. He had left his keys on the nightstand.

            He could see them under the low-light lightbulb

            (maybe they’re in this pocket)

just sitting there

            (how about this one)

being totally useless and

            (oh here they are)

            The keys! He pulled his hand out of his jacket’s breast pocket and there they were, in all of their jingling glory. He unlocked it and jumped into the Ol’ Horse, starting it up. It coughed through the exhaust. He looked at the hotel again, seeing all of the old demons and ghosts and friends standing in every single window, staring at him. He stepped on the gas pedal and sped away from the hotel. He made it to the highway and turned right, heading out towards the desert, into the next oblivion.

           

An Even Longer Road/ Wreckage/ In Sight of Salvation

 

            Larry Harewood had escaped once again, this time from a threat greater than the highway patrol. This time he wasn’t laughing in a fit of joy. He was sweating profusely

            (how could one person create so much sweat)

and he was frozen to his steering wheel. The Ol’ Horse chugged along the highway towards what he thought was the Nevadan and Californian border. Each side of the highway was bordered with a dry and flat wasteland. The ground was a fading white and cracked open in various places. It was devoid of all kinds of life. Not even a surviving cactus stood in the distance.

            Larry drove for a long time. The sun went down and came up so many times, that Larry stopped counting after about thirty. The only thing to accompany him was the steady dying and choking of his Mustang. The radio only brought a mixture of static and high frequencies, so he kept it off. If he didn’t, he felt that he might have lost it dropped his marbles fell short a few coins missed a-

            The Ol’ Horse started convulsing up and down violently. The engine started coughing and shaking, his acceleration dropped and his speed slowly fell until it stopped completely.

            He sat in the front seat for a long-time, feeling empty. He was stuck in a desert with a dead horse and bag full of cash that was s**t for all he could use it for. But finally he got out and started walking, not forgetting the full bag, of course. He wasn’t sweating anymore. The heat of the sun baked down on him, but the comfort of sweat on his brow didn’t come to him.

            He walked down the dry road for an infinite amount of time, feeling thirst but not shriveling from it, feeling the sun scorch him, but not feeling the blisters. The sun, at this time, stayed in the sky and didn’t descend for night. It stayed up high and circled the sky like a hungry vulture, watching Larry shuffle down the highway.

            Larry didn’t come across anything for what should have been days and weeks, maybe even months, he didn’t know. He was ready to sit down and just bake in the heat when he saw something in the road. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he saw a thin stream of black smoke trail up to the sky.

            He felt rejuvenated, but just by a little. He tried not to hope for anything too much, but he couldn’t help himself. He thought of an oasis the heroes in a desert always came across. He thought of people with food and water and cool shelter for shade. He thought of a giant cooling tub of booze waiting for him.

            But when he was suddenly there and staring at the wreck before him, he thought of those thoughts as infantile and naïve. He was staring at a smoking car wreck with only one vehicle at the scene. A rusty Mustang lied in the middle of the road, with broken glass and sheared metal lying around it. There was a large puddle of oil and gasoline under it. The top of the car had caved in and the rear windshield was shattered. Larry looked at the front of the old Mustang almost uncaringly and saw two legs sticking out of the windshield. The pants were torn to shreds and the legs themselves were cut to the bone, leaking out a steady torrent of blood.

            Larry looked at the wreck despairingly, but didn’t have any tears to give to himself. He was exhausted, but couldn’t sleep, thirsty and drained of all water. He left the wreck tired and sore. A few hundred feet down the road, he found some road spikes sitting in the middle of the road with melted shreds of tire in its teeth.

            He passed by with barely a glance.

            He walked for a much longer time without seeing anything again. He didn’t sweat, he didn’t cry for help, and he didn’t feel. The only thing he did feel was the weight of the money in his hands getting heavier and heavier. Eventually he dropped the thing that had caused him so much trouble, the vice that had ultimately destroyed him.

            Not much long after that, he saw something poke up past the horizon. It was tiny at first, but after of few more circles made by the sun (he counted how many times his shadow moved around him like the hands of a clock), it came more into view.

            Larry saw a mountain that seemed to be rising past the horizon. He couldn’t see the bottom of it and already it was the biggest mountain he had ever seen or heard of. It could easily fit three sets of Mt. Everest within it and Larry felt he hadn’t even come close to the halfway point. He could easily see enormous cliff faces take up one side of the mountain and an abundance of trees another side. A huge mass a thunderclouds circled the peak. White lightning turned the dark clouds purple for a brief moment. The clouds swirled like a giant hurricane placed above the earth, the eye of the storm circle the peak perfectly.

            Larry Harewood stared at the mountain of mountains for a moment and then took one step of many towards the mountain. He had escaped a hellish building to only be faced with an enormous mountain to climb.

            And did he have a choice?

            He thought about it and guessed he did. He decided to climb that mountain and come to whatever it held at its peak. 

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy it. Please tell me what you thought about it. Thank you!

Reviews

[Jagged memory]

WOW one powerful intriguing read. Such amazing imagery and detail Enjoyed

[ChinAllen]

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.