A Winter Sleep

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

By the time I had the car going, the heat cranking and the windshield clear, the door to the bar opened, spilling light out into the lot. I watched as Luther stumbled out wearing an ankle-length coat, a long knit scarf around his neck flailing about in the wind and swirling snowflakes as he fumbled for his car keys. I was parked alongside his old Cadillac, but he was so focused on making his way to his car he didn’t seem to notice me.

Before he’d reached the Cadillac, he dropped his keys. Teetering, as if on the edge of a precipice, he managed to keep his balance while reaching down for them and feeling around in the snow. Once he located the ring, he pulled it free. He leaned into my headlight beams and squinted at the keys, shuffling through them until he found the right one. He still didn’t seem to notice me.

Spinning back toward his car, Luther slipped and nearly fell, slumping against the side panel a moment. Again, he dropped the entire ring, and this time brought both hands to his head, as if he were no longer quite sure what to do with himself.

Not your problem, I thought. Just back out and go, get out of here now.

I dropped the column shift into Reverse.

Luther lunged forward for his keys, finally deciding on another rescue attempt, and this time toppled over and fell. I watched him disappear beneath my line of sight in a tangle of snow and flapping garments.

“s**t,” I muttered. I hesitated, waiting to see if he was all right.

As I was about to get out of the car, he reappeared, standing on wobbly legs and brushing snow from his coat and pants. He’d found the keys while on the ground, apparently, because he had them in hand again.

Despite swaying with the wind, he managed to get the key into the lock, but as he pulled the door open he stopped, turned away, and projectile vomited into the night. Then his body bucked violently and he vomited again.

I kept telling myself Luther wasn’t my responsibility. I didn’t want to get involved. I wanted to get to the hotel he’d told me about, settle in and get some sleep, but if I left him like this he’d either kill himself or someone else on the ride home, or wind up passed out in a ditch somewhere and freeze to death.

He’s a grown man, that’s his problem. Just leave.

I couldn’t. It was like watching someone drowning and refusing to do anything about it. Mumbling a parade of obscenities, I slammed the shift back into Park, pushed open the door and stepped out into the storm.

“Luther!” I called above the wind.

Startled, he stumbled away a few steps and nearly fell again, managing at the last second to catch his balance by grabbing hold of the car’s side mirror. “Ben?” he asked, squinting through the squall. “Ben, is that you?”

“You’re in no condition to drive,” I told him.

Luther cringed. “I think I’ll be all right if—”

“I can’t let you get behind the wheel, Luther.”

He nodded grimly. “Of course, you’re right.” He spoke so softly I barely heard him. “I’m sorry, I— I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

I hugged myself against the cold, the icy flakes of snow stinging my face and eyes. “Is there someone you can call to come get you?”

“No, I— I’m afraid not.” He held his keys out awkwardly. “You’d better take these.”

I took the keys. “Any cab companies around?”

He guiltily shook his head.

I looked back at the bar. “You think Rhett would let you crash here?”

“I believe the odds of that are virtually nonexistent.”

“How far away did you say you lived?”

“Ten minutes, normally, but in this weather maybe fifteen. The hotel I spoke of earlier, The Monarch? I live there.”

I sighed, looked around. Nothing but night and snow bathed in neon. “All right, look. Why don’t you come with me? I can get a room there for the night, and in the morning you can arrange to have someone bring you back here so you can get your car, okay?”

Another burst of wind set Luther swaying like a reed again. “That’s most kind of you,” he slurred, “as I really have to get home. I can’t be away all night, my mother, she needs me.”

His mother. He lived with his mother. In a hotel. Of course he did.

“If I drive, you can get us there, right?”

He nodded, but looked like he hadn’t heard me.

“Luther, are you sure? You need to be sure, okay?”

“I’m sure!”

“Do you want me to repeat the question?”

“Yes!”

I did. This time he appeared to listen intently.

“I’m sure!” he said again, shouting everything for some reason. “I can direct you right to it, I assure you!”

“Come on then,” I said, c*****g my head toward the car.

“I feel awful imposing on you like this, I—”

“It’s all right.” I couldn’t believe I’d allowed myself to get involved in this, but there was no turning back now. “Let’s get moving. Storm’s getting worse.”

“Where are my …” He looked around, as if searching for something, then returned his bleary-eyed stare to me. “I— I’ve lost my keys!”

I held them up, gave them a shake.

“Ah! Yes, of course! Right you are! Thank you, sir!”

I opened the passenger door, took Luther by the arm and helped him inside. He said something unintelligible I assumed was some sort of thank you, and as I closed the door behind him and rounded the front of my car, the sign on the roof switched off, plunging the parking lot into darkness.

Luther was still babbling but I couldn’t make anything out of it.

I slid behind the wheel and imagined Rhett inside laughing at us, but the god-awful stench from Luther’s digestive issues was already permeating the car. In the glow of blue dashboard light, I brought a hand to my nose and watched him a moment. “You all done with the hurling, you think?”

He turned to me, as if surprised to find me sitting next to him. “Pardon?”

“The vomiting, you all set with that?”

“Oh. Yes, I— I think that’s all over with now. I feel much better, thank you.”

“I know it’s really cold out there, but crack that window a little, would you?”

It seemed to take him an inordinate amount of time to finally manage this, but once he did, the freezing air helped to dissipate the stink rather quickly. Luther let his head rest back and he closed his eyes.

“Hey, stay awake. You need to show me how to get there, remember?”

Luther pawed at his eyes and nodded. “Yes, I—my apologies, I—this way,” he said, pointing toward the stretch of highway from which I’d come.

I turned out onto the empty highway, which was now coated with a fresh layer of snow more than an inch in depth, and headed in that direction.

“I’m more than a little embarrassed by all this,” he said a moment later.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m mortified, but you’re very kind.”

I motioned to the window. “Go ahead and close that up.”

He did, again with difficulty. “It’s actually quite beautiful.”

“What, the snow?”

I could feel his glassy eyes on me. “Kindness.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, visions of my wife floating through my mind.

We drove on, deeper into the storm.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The forest on either side of the highway was draped in snow, the tree branches already beginning to dip and bow, giving the road a tunnel-like appearance and the night an otherworldly feel. Ahead, an endless rush of snowflakes flew toward us, while behind, in the rearview, there was only darkness. There was something peaceful about it, if one cared to see it that way. But for me it was mostly unsettling. Here I was, in the middle of nowhere, on a lonely highway far from home, in a car with a drunken stranger I knew virtually nothing about, on my way to who knew where. This could all be a setup; an intricate plot to get me out to the woods and do God knew what to me.

I gave a quick sideways glance to Luther. He was sitting up straighter now, one hand resting on the dashboard as he peered purposefully into the darkness ahead.

People disappeared all the time, the numbers were astounding.

I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what fate had in store for me. Had my life led me to this? Had everything prior happened exactly as some greater consciousness had intended? Was it all a precursor to this night, to this moment and the moments that lie ahead? When I’d left home—so sure I had no idea where I was going and that my journey from that point forward would be wholly random—was it all planned that a few days later I’d wind up in this place, at this time, on this night, with this man?

“There,” Luther said, pointing. “The exit up ahead, do you see it? Take that. It leads to a stop sign. At that point, you’ll want to turn right.”

I slowed the car and drifted over onto the exit ramp, doing my best to push those worrisome thoughts away. I needed to be vigilant and aware of what was happening without allowing paranoia to run rampant. The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed Luther meant me any harm. Besides, in his current state he was about as harmless as a man could get while still conscious.

I turned right at the stop sign, as he’d instructed, and followed a narrow country road into the darkness. We’d gone nearly a mile before I saw a house or anything other than forest. Another two miles in we’d passed perhaps two or three more small homes set back into the woods, but that was it.

Eventually we made our way into what I assumed was the town proper, a small main street with several buildings and a town square. It was deserted, like a ghost town; not closed down for the night or due to the storm, but boarded up and in various states of disrepair. The area looked abandoned, neglected for some time.

“Rhett wasn’t kidding,” I mumbled. “Not much left of this town.”

“Some might argue that’s for the best.”

“Why is that?”

Rather than answer, he pointed again and said, “There. Turn right.”

I leaned forward, squinting through the oncoming snow, and saw a street ahead. I slowed the car and turned onto it, realizing the moment I did that it led to an enormous old hotel sitting atop a hill at the far end of the road.

“Right up ahead,” Luther said.

As we reached the end of the road, the headlights cut the darkness to reveal an old three-story Victorian-era building. The paint chipped and peeling. While it looked structurally sound, it had clearly seen better days, the upkeep neglected for years. A recessed front porch, which wrapped halfway around the building, led to a red front door in need of a paintjob. The hotel sported two severely slanted roofs, with all three floors featuring tall, arched windows outfitted with intricate woodwork. A widow’s walk protruded from the western side, and the middle section, which stood higher than the rest of the structure, had a flat roof with a series of arched windows at its summit reminiscent of a sunroom.

The grounds around the hotel were covered in snow and surrounded by forest, and appeared to be little more than dirt clearings. There were no vehicles anywhere in sight, and although there were no signs of life inside, a dull yellow hue filled two of the first floor windows. A brighter light burned above the front door, illuminating most of the porch. The Monarch Hotel must have once been quite impressive, but in its present state it was one of the oddest things I’d ever seen. A hotel plucked out of an old movie, dropped at the literal outskirts of town at the edge of a forest, and left there to rot.

“Interesting looking place,” I sighed.

“Much like my own tired carcass,” Luther slurred. “The old girl has seen better days, but it’s clean and has an old-world charm not often found today.”

We rolled past a wooden sign and pulled into a small area to the right of the hotel designated for guest parking. Because there were no other cars, I took the first space then sat there a moment, collecting my thoughts. There was either something ominous about the hotel, or if I’d let my imagination get the better of me. Either way, I was already questioning my decision to stay.

Luther offered his hand. “Thank you so much, Ben.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, shaking his hand. “Let’s get out of this storm.”

“Yes, and with great vigor!” He opened his door. “Follow me, I’ll—”

I never heard the rest of what he said, as by then he’d fallen out of the car.

“Luther?” I said, leaning over the seat for a better view. “You okay?”

He muttered something but I couldn’t make it out. He was face-down in the snow and not moving.

“Christ,” I said, and got out of the car.

The temperature had dropped, and the wind had picked up, whistling through the nearby forest and rustling the trees. Branches bounced and swayed, as if in response to my sudden appearance. The snow kept coming, blowing about and falling from a starless sky as black as coal.

I rounded the front of the car, the snow up to my ankles now, then crouched next to him and put a hand on his back. “Luther, are you all right?”

“Yes, I— I seem to have fallen somehow.”

Gripping him by his arms, I rolled him over and lifted him to his feet, leaning him back against the car and holding him in place so he wouldn’t fall again. After grabbing a small duffel bag from the trunk, I took hold of him a second time. “Hold onto me,” I said, “I’ll help you inside.”

He fell against me, his vomit breath as subtle as a baseball bat to the chin.

I turned him so that his head lolled away from mine, and took a breath before helping him toward the house. The farther we went, the heavier he got, but I was able to get us both up the front steps and onto the porch.

“Thank you, Ben, I— I am forever in your debt, sir!”

His breath struck again, making me wince as I shouldered open the door. We stumbled into a foyer and were met with a rush of warmth and the smell of a nearby fire. Snow from our coats fell onto a throw-rug just inside the door.

Before us stood a small front desk and check-in area, a staircase to the right and a large open sitting room to the left, the fire I’d smelled roaring and crackling in a stone fireplace against the far wall. I realized the yellow hue seen from outside was in fact candlelight from sconces on the walls. Typical of this type of hotel and the period in which it was built, the rooms were large and open, with wood floors and high ceilings. Even the furniture was dated and mostly antique. It appeared as if no one had stayed here in a very long time, hence the musty smell.

“It’s lovely, as you can see,” Luther said. He tried to motion with his arm, but only managed to swing it around like a dead limb, slapping it against the staircase newel post. “Ouch! Good Lord that hurt!”

I plopped Luther down at the foot of the staircase, managing to sit him on the bottom step without hurting either of us. He slumped over against the post but managed to remain upright, hugging it like an old friend and bursting into drunken laughter.

Hoping someone else might appear, I looked around, but we were alone, so I focused on Luther. “Are you gonna be all right?”

“He’ll be fine.”

Startled, I looked to the top of the stairs. Partially concealed in shadow, a woman watched us.

“Ms. Miriam Simone,” Luther said, his head lolling in her direction, “our self-appointed leader here at the Monarch Hotel. Of course, time will tell, won’t it? Miriam, this is our new friend, Ben Hooper.”

“I see Luther’s had too much to drink for a change.” The woman said in a smoky, sensuous voice. Slowly, she descended the stairs. She wore a silky black dress with matching stockings, and in heels she was roughly my height, 5’10. “Thank you for looking after him and returning him safely to the fold.”

“He needed to get home and I needed a room, so it all worked out.”

The gold jewelry she wore offset the outfit nicely, though she seemed wildly overdressed. If she found the fact that we’d shown up this late and in the middle of a storm, she gave no indication. Instead she looked me over without subtlety and said, “Driving must be awful out there.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.” I couldn’t be sure of her age, but estimated late forties. Her makeup was applied with precision, and her raven-dark hair and manicured nails were obviously well maintained. She possessed a lusty build reminiscent of many Hollywood s*x symbols of the 1940s. Her violet eyes were striking—large and luminous. “Has anyone ever told you that you look an awful lot like Elizabeth Taylor?”

“In Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, I hope.”

“Actually, I was thinking Suddenly, Last Summer.”

“Well then yes, people tell me that constantly.” She motioned to the stairs. “Would you like to see a room?”

“I’m sure they’re all right. I just need something for tonight.”

Slinking closer, like a black panther, she said, “Just so there won’t be any misunderstanding later, the rooms are nothing fancy—they don’t even include a television or phone—but they’re clean and warm, and we’d like to think quite welcoming. Our rate is seventy-five dollars a night.”

“That’ll be fine.”

“We try to keep our prices affordable as possible. The town’s not what it used to be, and we don’t get many guests these days. Most of the revenue comes from our permanent residents. Their rooms have been converted, as it were, into efficiency apartments. But things are tough in these parts. Most are only a paycheck or two away from living outdoors. Catch a few bad breaks and the next thing you know you’re digging through a Dumpster for dinner. One local homeless man comes to mind, claims to have been a dentist, but who knows.”

“Long fall,” I said.

“Certainly is. Bunny, that’s what everyone calls him.”

“Bunny,” I said. “Super.”

“He spends a lot of time outside and around the hotel grounds. You’ll run across him soon enough. Can’t miss him, he’s rather large. He’s also an albino. But not to worry, Bunny’s harmless.”

Anxious to settle in, I said, “I only plan to stay the night, so I can’t imagine it would be an issue anyway.”

Miriam’s lips hinted at a smile. “We’re very particular about who we allow into our hotel, Mr. Hooper.”

Was this woman serious? Was she about to refuse me service?

“Just Ben,” I said with a smile, hoping to ease any worries she might have about me.

“You seem uneasy, Just Ben. Are you one of those jittery anal types?”

“I have my moments.”

She smiled and moved away with a long, slow stride, heels clicking against the floor and echoing through the lobby. She eventually leaned against the front desk. “As I say, we have several permanent residents here. This is their home. It’s my home. I either feel a positive energy from a person or I don’t. We have a rather eclectic group here. This is the literal end of the road, the last building at the very edge of a nearly dead town in the proverbial middle of nowhere.” Miriam folded her arms over her heavy breasts. “Nearly everyone these days is on the run from something or someone. We’re all fugitives in hiding, criminals and drifters, eccentrics struggling with our vagabond ways. We’re all just trying to survive, to live, yes?”

“Sure.”

“Are you just passing through?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Massachusetts.”

She hesitated, as if expecting a lengthier response. “I see.”

“Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long day and I’m very tired. Can I get a room or not?”

Miriam delicately scratched at the corner of her mouth with the tip of a fingernail, careful not to smudge her lipstick. “I don’t like the police. I’ve nothing against them personally, you understand. I just detest trouble.”

“I can appreciate that.”

“We won’t have them or anyone else here looking for you, will we?”

“No, you won’t.” I felt myself laugh a little, but it was more in frustration than amusement. Renting a hotel room had never been such a production, and had it not been for the storm, I’d have already been gone. “I just need some rest and I’ll be gone come morning.”

“Of course, it doesn’t matter to me who you are, where you’ve been or where you’re headed,” she said, “but theft or violence of any kind will not be tolerated in this hotel under any circumstances.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Stop calling me ma’am.” She rolled her violet eyes. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Honey, I’m not that much older than you are, so call me Miriam and leave the ma’am stuff for your grandma.” She laughed, and her perfume wafted about. “Deal?”

I smiled dutifully. “Deal.”

Miriam closed the gap between us with her seductive stride and gently shook my hand. “I’ll have Vivian and Harold—they’re the caretakers here—see to your bill and the room.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Welcome to the Monarch Hotel, Just Ben.”