I was always one of those people who could never figure out what he wanted to do with his life. It was never for a lack of ambition, nor a lack of concern for the future. Everyone I’ve ever met has commented on how anxious I am, they can see it in my eyes, or so they tell me. I grew up in a well-to-do middle class family, in a small town about two hours north of DC. I knew that I desired to live comfortably, and knew that it would require hard work and planning to achieve that for myself. It wasn’t for a lack of natural talents, or a deficient work ethic either. I’ve always been gifted as a pianist, a vocalist, and even a songwriter. From the time I was fourteen, I was sneaking my way into my towns local nightclubs and bars to play open mic’s, and even paid gigs by the time I was sixteen. The locals all knew me, and the bars knew I wouldn’t try anything that might get them in trouble with the law, or get their liquor license suspended. I suppose it helped that I had a full beard by the age of fourteen, and could easily pass for twenty. Besides, I always drew in women, who in turn drew in men. Anywhere I played, it was always packed, weekends, or weekdays.
My father owned a company with an incredibly niche market, sewer flow monitoring. Our town was still reeling from the effects of the Great Recession in the mid 2010’s, and to make ends meet, my dad decided to cut labor costs by dragging me down the road with him every day. “One of the perks of homeschooling, boy!” he would say. We would travel about two hours out to our client county, and install, maintain, repair, or download data from specialized computers designed to track and monitor sewer flow for the local Department of Public Works. It was disgusting work, grueling and disorienting during the summer heat, and enough to chill you to the bone during the winter, but it fed our family. I could do my schoolwork on the computer in-between sites, go home, clean up, and head to the bar for a night of music and comradery with strangers. I would say that working with my dad definitely made me more mechanically inclined, and for my sixteenth birthday, he bought me a car to restore. It was a tan 1977 Pontiac Grand prix, with tan interior, and a black vinyl roof. It was in rough shape, but it had an aggressive look, and was the definition of “land yacht”, which I loved.
When I was eighteen, I still couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and my cars restoration was far more expensive than I had anticipated. I knew that I didn’t want to start out by taking on debt in college, and I knew I didn’t want to be a “sewer ranger” as my father jokingly called me, so in December, I chose to enlist in the Navy. Upon arriving at the Military Entry Processing Station, or MEPS, at Fort Meade Maryland, I was subjected to a physical examination, blood drawing, and urinalysis test. It sounded like something that would only last a few hours max, but it lasted fourteen hours. The best way that I can describe it, is to tell you to imagine if the Department of Motor Vehicles ran healthcare. I still remember the worst of it, when the nurse was drawing my blood. She was far more interested in playing Candy Crush, and after a few minutes, pointed at the needle in my arm and asked me if I “could get that.” I felt squeamish and shocked by the request, but obeyed, steadied my nerves, and slowly removed it.
The rest of my time at MEPS wasn’t as bad. I took the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, or ASVAB, and scored a whopping 91. When I walked into the Navy Liaisons office, they informed me that I qualified for any Rate (their term for job) aside from Nuclear Field. I ended up signing a contract for the Submarine Electronics/Computer Field, because it had a signing bonus of almost $50,000, and because in my mind, submarines would be the closest thing to a starship that I’d ever get a chance to be on. Who wouldn’t want to do that? Despite the arduous process of MEPS from beginning to end, I walked out of there with a future, and with a sense of certainty in my life that I’d never experienced before. My ship date to basic training was less than a month away, and I spent the next two weeks physically training harder than I ever had in my life, wanting to make sure I could ace the physical test requirements in basic. The euphoria I felt in that period of time was greater than anything I’d ever experienced. Unfortunately, it would be short lived.
It had just snowed, a typical mid-Atlantic freak storm, but I didn’t mind. The brisk winter air was dense, and I didn’t have to suck down wind as hard when running. Though the roads had been plowed out, the driveways were all blocked in by three feet of wet hard packed snow. There wasn’t a single car on the road, and wouldn’t be for at least another two hours. Probably more, being that it was a Sunday. I stretched, retied my sneakers so that they were nice and snug, and charged forward on a four mile run. It was peaceful. Everyone in town was more than happy to spend their lazy snowed-in Sunday at home, watching festive shows on TV with their families. After 21 minutes, I had completed all four miles. Pleased with myself, but not quite done training, I walked to the edge of town where the Catoctin Mountains truly began, and decided on a vigorous hike through the Cunningham Falls state park. The titular lake and waterfall were both frozen over.
Magnificent stalagmites of ice cascaded from the crest of the waterfall. Suspended in time, it was hard to imagine that it had been a deafening surge of running water only a day or two prior. Below the fall, a rocky platform stood off to the side, a perfect vantage point to get a closer look at the natural display. I walked over to it, and began to climb. One step, two, and with the third, I slipped on a layer of black ice. I planted my left foot to resist falling, only to meet another pane of the slippery glasslike substance. My ankle twisted a full 360 degrees, the immediate searing pain was accompanied by a cacophony of snapping Kit-Kat bars. I laid on the snowy ground staring at the sky. My ankle was completely destroyed, and I couldn’t stand. I reached for my phone to call 911, but the screen was utterly destroyed, displaying spirals, streaks, and waves of green, yellow, and pink. I spent hours dragging myself out of the park with my hands. When I finally reached the road, weak and succumbing to the icy cold, I propped myself against a guardrail, and waited. About ten minutes later, I passed out.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” the voice said.
I opened my eyes to see the most beautiful woman looking down at me. She had the deepest brown eyes I had ever seen. Sorrowful, yet striking pools of deep mocha contrasted with her light brown hair, and fair skin. Her face was playfully childlike, yet simultaneously projected the countenance of someone who had far more wisdom than her years would suggest, and was accentuated with a cute mousey nose. “Please” I begged her, “I need an ambulance. I can’t walk, I think my ankle is broken.” She looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then looked down at my left leg. Pulling up the pantleg revealed swollen deep purple skin. “No, you need attention right now, you look horrible.” I was momentarily hurt by this statement, not registering that she was merely pointing out the obvious injury, and was not in fact calling me ugly. She pulled me into her car, a maroon 2007 Mazda 3, and hopped into the drivers seat. “I’ll take you to the hospital, you just try not to put any weight on that leg.” I nodded, and sat quietly in the back trying to remain awake. “My name is Renee, by the way.” “Pleasure to meet you Renee” I winced out, “I’m Lance.”
Renee let me use her phone to call my dad, and explain my predicament to him. He had been several counties away at the time, on an emergency service call in Baltimore. When we arrived at the hospital, Renee told me to stay put. A few minutes later, she arrived with a nurse, and a wheelchair. I’ll admit, I felt embarrassed in front of her, unable to walk, and in a weakened state. I had an overwhelming desire to impress her, but the pain caused any sound that left my mouth to sound squeaky and hoarse. I resolved to impress her with a show of stoic indifference to the pain, by keeping my mouth shut. She sat with me for about fifteen minutes, until the nurses came to take my x-rays. As the nurses prepared to wheel me off, Renee wrote a phone number on my hand with a pen she had taken from the front desk. “I need to go home, but please, call me later, and let me know how you’re doing.” Our eyes met, and we stared at each other for a lingering moment, until the nurses began to move the wheelchair. A pity, it seemed that no amount of time looking at her was enough.
About half an hour later, a doctor presented me with my x-rays, and diagnosis. Trimalleolar fracture of the left ankle. It looked like a bag of rocks. I was put into a cast, and a surgery was scheduled for six days later. My dad had left the site early, as soon as he’d been called. By the time I got back to the waiting room, he was standing there, ready to take me home. I called Renee later that night, and she told me to keep her updated on my status, and after the surgery. I texted my recruiter while I was lying in bed, to let him know what had happened. He called me the next day, informing me that due to the nature of my injury, I was permanently disqualified from joining the Navy, and my contract had been rescinded. Once again, my future was uncertain, and cloudy. It wasn’t all bad though, Renee and I began texting and calling each other. She was really there for me, and helped to keep my mind occupied. She even came over a few times with things like soup, and muffins. It turned out that she lived about an hour away in West Virginia, and like me, she had just graduated earlier in the year. Three months later, once I was walking again, we began dating. A month after that, we made love for the first time. I turned nineteen a few months later, in June, and Renee turned nineteen, fifteen days after me.
A major corporation specializing in the production of home goods had recently opened a new manufacturing plant in Renee’s town, the largest plant of its kind. They needed eight hundred new workers, and were trying to hire anyone they could who would pass a drug test, which unfortunately in West Virginia, isn’t the easiest thing to find. Being that I had no other prospects, and was beginning to learn that having a girlfriend was a rather expensive luxury, I applied, and was hired in a group along with two hundred other people. During orientation, we all had to take aptitude tests for placement. We spent the next six hours watching orientation and safety videos. When it was time for us to leave, management approached me, and asked to speak with me in private. It turns out, that I had the fourth highest score on their aptitude test, and they offered to place me in a special program for mechatronics engineering.
Mechatronics, as it turned out, is a multidisciplinary field of engineering vital to contemporary industrial manufacturing. It combines the fields of mechanical, electrical, controls, robotics, and automation engineering to create the machinery that the modern economy depends upon. It felt surreal. They offered to pay me $17.25 an hour to go to college, in a special program that shrank the coursework for an associates degree into a four month period. It was hard, and it demanded my full attention. As a requirement of the program, we had to score 97% or higher on all exams, or be failed out, and placed into simple technician roles at the plant. What started out as a class of fifteen people in the beginning, dwindled to only three by the end of the program, but we had made it.
Life finally seemed great. I could afford to take Renee on what felt like extravagant dates, and because of where she lived, I would often stay the night with her. I was even making enough to finish the restoration on my 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix. The four hundred cubic inch, 6.6 liter engine roared with triumph wherever I drove. It was in such great shape, I even tagged it and used it as my daily driver. But, good times never seem to last. By November, it became clear that in exchange for the education that those of us in the mechatronics program were paid to receive, we had no opportunity to advance beyond $17.25 an hour. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful, I still am, but when you’re looking at everyone else in the same field making two to five times that, it’s easy to become ambitious. Besides, Renee had started studying cyber security, and her tuition was expensive, and we both wanted to move into our own place.
So, I started reaching out on sites like Indeed, Dice, and LinkedIn, and eventually found a company with a unique proposition. They had clients all over the US who needed help maintaining, building, or commissioning new machines. The company would pay me to travel, reimburse my fuel, lodging, and living expenses, on top of a $50 an hour base pay. I loved it, I lived for it, and not just for the thrill of watching new machines come to life, built by my hand, but the freedom that came from traveling on the open road. The projects never lasted too long, three to five months, usually, just long enough to see everything there was to see, and then move on to a new site. I had plenty of time to fly back and visit with Renee too. Tampa Florida, El Paso Texas, Newark New Jersey, Seattle Washington, Corsicana Texas, Cheyanne Wyoming, New Bern North Carolina, Billings Montana, I was cruising everywhere you could imagine. Then, during the pandemic, the projects dried up. I drove home, and Renee and I would stay with each other for a few days, then go back to our respective homes.
Six months into 2020, my dad died. Not from the pandemic, but from a surprise stroke. I felt unimaginably guilty, I’d barely spent any time with him in the past few years. We would talk regularly on the phone, almost every day, but whenever I was home from a project, I spent all of my time with Renee. The family company went under after he passed, and it took nearly all of my savings to pull my family through. I was close to my dad, but not so much my mom, and it made everything more difficult. Neither of us knew how to talk or offer comfort to each other. My relationship with Renee was suffering too. By October 2020, I was almost totally broke. The stress between my dad passing away, my family, the lockdowns, general social unrest, it was really getting to me. Renee and I were fighting for the first time, usually over stupid things, I mean truly stupid things like what movie to watch. I think part of it was resentment, projection of my own guilt maybe. It seemed like there was no end in sight, when my company finally reached out to me.
They had a client located in Las Vegas Nevada. It was only a two month project, and it was a simple one, just some debug and I/O audits on a new conveyor system, but the pay, $75 an hour, plus expenses paid, was a lifesaver. I packed my bags that night, loaded my toolbox into my car, and first thing in the morning, I hit the road. God, I wish I hadn’t. I wish that I had stayed, picked up a different job at WalMart, or even McDonalds, hell, I could have done DoorDash. DoorDash was paying pretty well during the pandemic, wasn’t it? But it’s too late for that. There’s no going back and changing the past. No matter how much I wish, or how much I pray, every single night, that I could.
On the first day, I drove nearly twelve hours to St. Louis Missouri. It didn’t feel like twelve hours though, the cushy almost couch-like bench seats in the Pontiac made the ride pass in no time. It was nice to be alone with my thoughts, and the open road. Thanks to a new stereo system from RetroSound, I also had the luxury of a modern radio with Bluetooth connectivity, so that I could play music from my phone, styled to look like the stock radio so that it didn’t break the illusion of driving a time capsule as a cheaper radio would. Aesthetics are important.
By the end of the second day, I had stopped in Oklahoma City, it only took about eight hours. I didn’t bother driving any further that night, I think in part because I felt like I had put enough distance between myself and home. The landscape was starting to change into plains, and I was able to escape the feelings of crippling dread which had been welling up inside me for so long at home. I feel guilty saying that, but it’s true. I felt free. By the end of the third day, I had reached Albuquerque New Mexico, also in only about eight hours. Since hitting the road, I’d been primarily surviving on fast food, McDonalds, Wendys, Steak N’ Shake, you know, old fashioned American goodness, but my gastrointestinal tract and I were ready for something a bit less processed, or that at least tasted less processed anyway. I stopped in a local diner for takeout, and took it back to my hotel.
When I arrived in my room, I turned on the TV and decided to flip through the channels as I ate. As per the usual with hotels, the only thing on worth watching, or at least which wasn’t inanely stupid or too annoying to have on in the background, was Law and Order. When Law and Order ended, I switched it to Impractical Jokers. Renee and I talked that night, she sounded worried. “Did you make it to Albuquerque safely?” “I did.” I responded. I was a bit surprised by the note of concern in her voice. Our last few conversations seemed cold and distant by comparison. Frankly, I’d half been expecting her to break up with me over the phone one of these times. “I’m just worried about you. You haven’t been yourself these past few months, you’ve been distant, and distracted, and I worry about you alone on the road, with where your head is at.” “I’m fucking fine.” The sharp and sudden expletive laden response wasn’t intentional, it just slipped out. I didn’t mean to be cold to her, especially when all she wanted was to know that I was okay. I love her, truly. We hung up, and I stared at the tv. Impractical Jokers had been replaced with some show involving a whiny blonde man who was intent on disproving common knowledge with “facts” that he seemingly found on Twitter. I switched off the TV.
I laid in bed, but couldn’t sleep. I began to feel a mix of emotions, including an irrational anger about what Renee had said over the phone. “You’ve been distant, and distracted, and I worry about you alone on the road, with where your head is at.” Who the hell was *she* to tell me where my head was? I felt like I’d lost everything, like my world was spinning, and I had no solid ground to stand on. After an hour of tossing and turning, I packed my things and hit the road.
As I left the city of Albuquerque on the last leg of the trip to Las Vegas, the events of past year were swimming in my mind. I almost didn’t notice when my GPS app informed me of a faster route available. Without thinking, I selected ‘Approve’ on the new route, which had me turn off of Interstate 40, and onto New Mexico state route 6, then state route 169. I spent the next two hours driving through completely unpopulated areas. At 1am, my heart sank into my stomach as the motor in my Pontiac died, and I managed to coast to a stop in front of a building with an obnoxious neon sign. “You have reached your destination” the GPS app jovially informed me. The “faster route” it spoke of earlier was a glitch of some sort, because the address wasn’t my hotel in Las Vegas, it was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in a town called Datil, two hours southwest of Albuquerque, although I hesitate to call it a town.
In fact, calling Datil a “town” would be like calling a community in rural Appalachia a “major metropolitan area”. I don’t think more than forty people call it home. I popped the hood, and went to take a look. There was nothing discernably wrong with the engine, but no matter what I did, I just couldn’t get it to start. I slammed the hood and leaned against the Grand Prix. This was bad. I tried to call Triple A, but my cellphone had lost all service. The building was an aging structure, a motel made of faded mesquite which had seen better days, some of the boards were even rotting. The neon sign featured a large blue bird, wings spread outward. Below the bird, stylized in a loopy cursive, the pink neon read ‘Blue Jay Inn’, and the vacancy sign was lit, I walked inside.
The motels reception lounge was in just as rough of a shape as the outside. The floors were covered in a dirty dark green carpet, with questionable stains and splotches. Rather than paint, or wallpaper, the walls were made of a dark wood paneling, likely oak. It lent a drab, and dreary quality to the inn. At the front desk, a tall Black man stood watching me, with a wide grin on his face. “Good evening sir, my name is Fictus.” He said, spreading his arms wide, “Welcome to the Blue Jay Inn.” His greeting unsettled me, it seemed overly theatrical for such a run down motel. There was something about the way he carried himself as well, he possessed a posture and an air of confidence befitting of Old World nobility, but it also seemed menacing, like a wolf who had cornered a hapless hen. “I-I’m Lance” I stuttered out, trying to not appear as intimidated as I felt.
“My car broke down outside, and I have no reception. Is there any chance I could use yours to phone Triple A? Or at least let my family know where I am?” Fictus looked me directly in the eyes, his broad smile seemed almost malicious. After a moment of silence, he finally said “I’m *very* sorry, Lance, but we don’t have any phones here. It’s such an isolated area that no carrier provides reception this far out, and nobody is willing to run landlines out here, you understand of course. I can however, offer you a room.” This information dismayed me, but I had no choice. There was nothing I could do to get my car towed that night, and there weren’t exactly a plethora of other businesses that could offer lodging, or any businesses for that matter. I sighed and pulled out my wallet. As I began to remove my debit card, I realized that without any cell tower reception or landlines, there was no way for him to run my card, and I had no cash.
As if reading the look on my face, Fictus said “That’s no use here, I’m afraid. Don’t worry about it, this first night is on the house.” He walked over to me, and presented a silver key. “Room 113, down the hall and to the left. Please, enjoy your stay.” I accepted the key, and thanked him. “Are you sure? I promise, I can reimburse you. Besides, this place–” I paused for a moment, not wanting to offend Fictus. What I wanted to say was that this place didn’t seem like it received enough visitors to simply hand out free stays. As if reading my mind, Fictus laughed and stated, matter-of-factly “Please Lance, I promise you, it’s no trouble. The Blue Jay Inn receives more than its fair share of visitors. From everyday people, to world leaders and celebrities, the Blue Jay Inn accommodates more and more visitors every single year.” He leaned in close to me, and said softly “more than you can even imagine.” With that, I turned towards the hallway and made my way to the room. Upon arriving, I unlocked my door, and stepped inside. Room 113, home sweet home.
A far cry from the rest of the establishment, this room was spacious and immaculate, and was furnished and decorated in a turn of the century art nouveau style. The dimensions of the room seemed impossible compared to the size of the inn on the outside. The wallpaper was a deep emerald green, inlaid with a pattern of gilded fleur-de-lis and paisleys, and the floor was solid brown granite. The dining space featured an oak claw foot table with two chairs, and Tiffany lamps, *genuine* Tiffany lamps, provided lighting throughout, and a living space provided a lavish purple velvet loveseat. I walked into the bedroom to examine the quarters, and was greeted with a lovely king size canopy bed, with five pillows, and a full set of blankets and linens, all of which were various blue shades of silk. Upon leaving the bedroom, I noticed that someone had entered my suite during my absence. Upon the table now sat a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket of ice, and two champagne flutes. There was also a charcuterie board overflowing with various cheeses and cured meats. The final item was a note.
*“For our distinguished guest, please enjoy –The Management”*. While this intrusion startled me, I was admittedly grateful. I felt like I was starving, and with my nerves as frayed as they were, a bottle of bubbly was more than welcome, if for no other reason than to get my mind off of everything. I surprised myself by scarfing down the contents of the charcuterie board, and popped open the bottle, opting to enjoy it on the loveseat while admiring the décor of the room, which in the absence of a television, was more than enough to entertain. I was halfway through the bottle, when I began paying attention to the painting on the wall. It unnerved me so much, that I had to resist the urge to spit out my champagne. While it certainly matched the time period of the rest of the room, the content of the painting was far more disturbing than what one would expect to find in any guest quarters. It was a copy of Franz Von Stuck’s ‘Inferno’. Against a deep red backdrop of hellfire, souls of the damned writhed in agony, as a hellish blue serpent coiled around them. I opted to return to the bedroom and finish off the bottle, before drunkenly falling into a deep slumber.
That night, I dreamed of Renee, and of better days. Just the two of us, riding around in the Pontiac. But my dreams quickly morphed into nightmares, the scene depicted by Franz Von Stuck’s ‘Inferno’ played out before my eyes. A serpent constricted around my throat, and suddenly its head morphed into that of Fictus. Suddenly, the dream shifted to me laying in bed, as Fictus began to chew my foot.
I woke up in a sweat. Somehow, I felt more tired than before I had fallen asleep. I took a shower, and got dressed. As I was preparing to leave the room, I noticed that the loveseat was a striking red color, though I could have sworn it was purple the night before. Upon leaving my room, I was taken aback by the hallway, it was pristine. The carpet looked brand new, and the wood paneling had a shiny polished look to it. Perhaps it had been cleaned? “Good morning Lance” a familiar voice said to me. I looked down the hall to see Fictus approaching. “We took the liberty of using our truck to tow your car into town, the mechanic says it should be ready for you by the end of the week. Until then, you’re welcome to stay with us. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are available around the clock in our dining room, on the other end of the building. Once again, it’s a pleasure having you here with us here at the Blue Jay Inn.”
I was annoyed that they had towed my car without saying anything to me first, but I didn’t want to cause a scene and make enemies with the only people I had the ability to stay with. I was surprised that the town even had a mechanic, I supposed I should be thankful for that much, at least. In any case, I also just wanted to escape conversation with Fictus. Every moment I spent with him made me uneasy. “Thank you again, Fictus. How are we working out payment, by the way? When you take me into town, I could hit up an ATM and–” Fictus’s laughter interrupted me. “Lance, there’s no need to worry about it. I assure you, when everything is ready, you’ll be paying in full.” I thanked him, and quickly continued down the hall to the other end of the inn.
The dining room was as strikingly decorated as my room was. Rather than art nouveau, it sported a neo-classical theme. The room had glossy white marble floors, and Greek columns lined the walls. There were several people sitting at tables eating their breakfast. Two men, who looked familiar to me, though for some reason I simply couldn’t place where I’d seen them, were intently locked in a game of chess. A woman sat alone at a table, smoking a cigarette, and drinking coffee. She was quite beautiful, with blonde hair, and emerald green eyes. She had a tall and shapely figure, and she wore a crimson silk dress. I sat at a vacant table, and a man in formal clothing with a bowtie approached me to take my order. The nametag on his suit jacket said Stravoménos. He had an olive complexion, short but curly black hair, faded green eyes, with flecks of gold, and his face held a boyish countenance.
“Today, we are serving a feta, olive, and onion omelet, with a side of dolmadakia. Could I interest you in one, sir?” “Yes please” I told him. “And to drink, sir?” after appraising the options on the menu, I settled on a Turkish coffee, and a mimosa pitcher. The breakfast was delicious. I had been enjoying the aroma of my coffee, small as it was, when I noticed that the woman in crimson was standing directly next to my table and staring down at me. “Is this seat taken?” She asked. Not wanting to be rude, I smiled, and politely motioned towards the chair with my hand, at which she sat down.
The woman introduced herself as ‘Fames’, pronounced ‘Fah-mehz’. “So, are you a traveller?” She asked with a cocked eyebrow and a mischievous smile. “Yes, although I didn’t really mean to be here. I was supposed to be on an engineering project in Las Vegas.” She chuckled softly. “Well, if you’re here, I’m sure there’s a reason for it. It was fate.” she made a gesture in the air with her hand. “Do you believe in that? Fate, I mean?” She helped herself to the mimosa pitcher, pouring it into a glass she had brought over from her original table. After taking a sip, she said “well yes, of course. Do you really believe differently?” I took a sip of my coffee, and said “yes, I believe that as human beings, we possess free will, the ability to make our own choices, right, or wrong.” She laughed, and softly rolled her eyes. “What you call free will is itself little more than electrical impulses in your brain. You’re an engineer, would you say that your machines have free will? Of course not. It’s simply an input resulting in an output. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, really. It’s only natural. You can call it fate, instinct, or destiny. In the end, such labels are meaningless. There is only the desire, the passion, the stimuli of input” she placed her hand over mine “and output.” I wanted to disagree with her, but decided instead to change the subject.
Pulling back my hand, I asked her “so, are you a traveler yourself?” She looked at me for a moment, sipped her mimosa, and said “I’m more of what you’d call a permanent resident. I suppose you could say that this place was made for me. I wasn’t made for this place, but over time I began to fit in. I couldn’t imagine ever leaving now.” Once again, she reached her hand over mine “and I think you’ll eventually come to see it in the same way.” She stared into my eyes, and bit the corner of her lip. Her statement was puzzling, but it was clear that she was coming onto me. Once again, I pulled my hand away, and began watching the two men playing chess. I still wasn’t able to place where I’d seen them. The first man was of average height, with brown hair and striking pale blue eyes. The other man was short, only about five and a half feet tall, with iron gray hair, and brown eyes glazed with a hint of honey. The short man spoke with an accent which sounded vaguely Eastern European, while the man with the blue eyes had a German accent.
“Who are they?” I asked Fames “travelers?” Fames poured another mimosa from the pitcher and downed it in one go. “No, they’re permanent residents too. They’ve been here for quite some time, always playing the a game of chess. The short one, his name is Joe, and the other one, we call him Aethelwulf.” I was surprised to hear that they were both permanent residents of the Blue Jay Inn, I figured my memory had simply been playing tricks on me. Still, there was something peculiar about the way the were playing the game, but before I had a chance to notice exactly what it was, something else caught my eye. On the wall where Aethelwulf and Joes table was situated, hung a painting. I hadn’t noticed it at first, as it blended in well with the neo-classical décor of the dining room, but now I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. The painting was in a large golden frame, and depicted a large palace sitting on a volcanic landscape. A figure in an ornate uniform stood on a rocky platform looking over it, it was unmistakably John Martins ‘Pandemonium’. I was fixated on it when Stravoménos returned to the table, and began removing my empty dishes. “Is there anything else I can get for you sir?” he asked. I declined, said goodbye to Fames, and returned to my room.
Upon entering room 113, I was greeted by two new silver ice buckets stocked with champagne. Another card was left with the buckets, reading “For our distinguished guest, please make yourself at home. –The Management” I was still exhausted, and despite my recent and rather large breakfast, I still felt as if I hadn’t eaten, I was starving. Worse than that, I thirsty, parched even. My throat felt like I had swallowed nothing but salt and sand. I popped open a bottle of the champagne, and downed it greedily, then the other. but I was still thirsty. I was feeling tired and tipsy, so I decided to lay down. I missed my family, my heart ached for Renee, and it would be another week until I even had access to a phone to call any of them.
Worse still, I realized that I had no way to call my company, or the client in Las Vegas to inform them of my delay, I would lose this project and be destitute for sure. My head was spinning, from the rapid consumption of the alcohol, but also from this new revelation that I was in an even worse place financially now than when I’d started this trip. I sank into my bed, depressed and exhausted. As I closed my eyes, I noticed the blue wallpaper with a silver lattice pattern, which the previous night I had been certain was green with golden fleur de lis. I almost pondered this, but I faded into oblivion.
Once again, I dreamt of Renee. I dreamt of her kisses, and of my hands running across her soft body. I dreamt of her beautiful smile, and the taste of her lips. Then, she melted away, and I dreamt of Fictus gnawing on my feet, biting off my toes, as Stravoménos chewed my face.