Dark Season: The Complete Third Series (All 8 books) (62 page)

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Bill asks.

"I doubt it," I reply. "Why, what are you thinking?"

"That we should check in".

I smile. "That's definitely
not
what I was thinking".

"Come on," he says, walking across the square toward the hotel. Reluctantly following him, I glance back at the crucifix. I have no idea how the people of Devil's Briar could possibly have lived with such a monstrous thing in their midst. It towers over everything, defining the whole environment. I guess if you were devoutly religious, you'd probably get a kick out of something like that, but for everyone else here, it must have been kind of ominous. Then again, maybe everyone here was on-board with the program. Hell, maybe they were
proud
of the damn thing. Either that, or they hated it so much, they all left...

"No-one home," Bill says, as he tries the front door of the hotel. "Interesting that all these abandoned buildings seem to have been locked. Kinda suggests that the locals knew they were leaving and thought they might be back".

I smile. "Maybe. Or maybe they were still inside, and they were trying to lock something
out
".

"That's the spirit," he replies. "Now you're seeing why this is gonna be suck a kick. Stand back".

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm gonna kick the door down," he says.

Sighing, I take a couple of steps back and watch as Bill gives the door a hefty kick. To my surprise, it starts to buckle and almost opens; a second kick does the job, and Bill turns to me, looking kind of pleased with himself.

"Great job," I say.

"Thanks," he replies. "I've always wanted to kick a door down". Stepping forward, he peers into the building. "Dusty," he says. "Undisturbed, but neat. No sign of panic". He walks inside, and I follow cautiously.

"Maybe we should go get masks from the truck," I say. "It can't be healthy to breathe all this crap in".

"In a minute," he says, walking over to the reception desk. He runs his hand along the surface, wiping off a thick layer of grime. "How long do you reckon this place has been abandoned?"

I shrug. "Decades. I mean, there's nothing that looks post-war. I'd say 1930s at the latest, maybe 1940s if they were particularly backward".

"Or 1925?" Bill says, holding up a dusty old book. "That's the last guest sign-in recorded on the ledger. Mr. Thomas Paternoster and Ms. Victoria Paternoster".

"Father and daughter?" I suggest. "It looks like they had separate rooms".

Putting the ledger down, Bill turns back through the pages. "The earliest entry is from 1905. It doesn't look like this place got a lot of visitors. In twenty years, they only seem to have had eight guests, and two of those were the Paternosters". He pauses for a moment. "According to this, the Paternosters never checked out. They must have been here when... well, when the place got abandoned. I guess they picked a bad time to visit". He leans forward and opens a small box on the counter. "Money," he says. "Old notes. I guess this was the closest they had to a cash register back then".

"What rooms were the Paternosters in?" I ask.

"Five and six," he says, with a sparkle in his eye. "You want to go take a look?"

"It might answer some questions," I suggest, figuring it might be a good idea to see what we can find out.

Bill leads the way over to the staircase. Looking up, I'm struck by the thought that we must be the first people to walk through this place in decades. The air has been so still, hanging undisturbed between the walls, and now we're walking the scene. It almost feels as if we shouldn't be here, as if we're intruding on something private; as if the buildings no longer need to have people inside them.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Bill asks.

"No," I reply. "You know I'm not okay with it".

"But you can handle it, right? You're not too scared?"

"My reluctance to stay here tonight has nothing to do with fear," I tell him. "I simply think the place is creepy, and I think you should come here with a proper team".

We head up the stairs, arriving on a narrow landing with a series of numbered doors leading off in various directions. The door nearest to me has a brass number five screwed onto the front, which I guess means it was one of the rooms occupied by the Paternosters. As I reach out for the handle, it suddenly occurs to me that there really might be bodies in the room. After all, this is the first building we've been into since we arrived, and as far as we know there could be dead people all over the place. Every building, every room, could be hiding the corpses of the people who used to live here. In fact, the odds are that there must be at least
some
bodies left in Devil's Briar.

"Here," says Bill, reaching past me and opening the door.

Looking inside, I see with relief that there's just a bed. Stepping into the room, I look around and realize that this is possibly the most sparse hotel room I've ever seen. Even a hundred years ago, I'm pretty sure that a place like this would have seemed kind of bare, and perhaps even unwelcoming. The only other furniture is a wardrobe, next to which there's what appears to be an old suitcase. Opening the wardrobe, I find a set of dresses.

"Looks like you were right," I say, glancing back at Bill. "This must have been Victoria Paternoster's room". Pulling out one of the dresses, I find that it's an old-fashioned blue number. It's strange to imagine Victoria hanging this up, expecting to wear it some time and then... and then what? I walk over to the bedside table and open the drawer; unusually, there's no Bible. Most hotels had Bibles, even back then.

"Nice view," Bill says, looking out the window. I walk over and see that the room affords a great view of the crucifix and the square.

"Doesn't this place make you feel a little weird?" I ask. "I mean, where the hell did everyone go? It's like the Marie Celeste. People don't just vanish, and if they decide to leave town, they don't leave all their belongings behind".

"Or their cufflinks," Bill says, leaning down and picking a small metal cufflink off the floor. "I guess the maids weren't very thorough when they cleaned the rooms between guests. Either that, or this belonged to Thomas Paternoster".

"It's too dusty in here," I say, heading to the door. "I need to go outside and get some air".

"I'll keep looking around," he replies. "I'll try to find us a nice big room for the night".

Sighing, I head out and walk carefully down the rickety stairs. Once I'm back down in the lobby, I'm about to go to the exit when I suddenly hear a muffled bump from one of the nearby rooms. Looking past the reception desk, I see a door marked 'Bar'. My first instinct is to call for Bill, but I figure that as a rational, evidence-based scientist I should dismiss all thoughts of ghosts and ghouls. Heading through the door, I find myself in a long saloon, with tables set along the side and a large, ornate bar directly opposite. I head over to the bar and run my hand through the thick layer of dust, before noticing that there are a number of old glasses a little further along. Noticing something over in the corner, I walk across the room and find what appears to be an old walking cane leaning against the wall; I pick it up and try to imagine the person who must have once owned it. When the -

Suddenly there's the sound of glass smashing behind me. I spin around and see the one of the glasses has fallen from the bar, shattering on the floor. The glasses were all well away from the edge, so I don't see how one of them could have just toppled off by itself. Maybe I accidentally bumped the bar, or maybe the air pressure changed and... I sigh, realizing I'm fumbling for explanations. My pulse is racing and I'm having to fight my instinct to turn and run. Then again, just because I don't see the rational explanation, that doesn't mean there
isn't
one. A broken glass just isn't going to be enough to get me to believe in ghosts. I'm too smart to be easily tricked by my own fear. Anyway, what kind of ghost goes around knocking glasses over?

Chapter Six

1925.

"This is a dark day," I say, leaning my walking cane against the wall as I sit next to the bar. "Give me a whiskey".

Saying nothing, Henry unscrews the lid of a bottle and pours me a small shot. Henry's always been the kind of man who'll happily pour you a drink and take your money, but he'll give you a dirty look while he's doing it. I've known Henry since we were both children, and he hasn't changed. He was an ass then, and he's an ass now.

"Fill the damn glass," I say, downing the drink as soon as he's pushed it over to me. "Another," I say, looking over at the window. The street outside seems mostly empty, with just a few people strolling past. I imagine word of Adelaide's death has well and truly spread by now, which means there'll be more hysteria about Lawrence. This is the last thing I needed; perhaps it's time to rein Lawrence in a little, though I have no idea whether the people of Devil's Briar are capable of addressing the situation in a mature and rational manner. Perhaps their panic will never end.

"That's three women dead," Henry says, passing another whiskey to me. "Three seems like a nice, round number. Maybe it'd be better to stop there".

"You don't know what you're talking about," I spit back at him, downing the shot before slamming the glass down onto the counter. "Another".

"I know people are getting nervous," he replies. "You keep saying you have the situation under control, but..." He fills up the glass and sends it back my way. "Don't take this the wrong way, Albert, but folks are gonna start questioning whether they can trust what you say".

"No-one's questioning me!" I reply, filled with loathing for Henry's petty, low sniping. If he has something to say, he should come right out and say it, instead of constantly peppering me with these snide little remarks. "Not one person in this whole town has said a word against me!" I pause, staring at Henry's sly smile. "Name them!" I say after a moment. "If anyone has spoken out against me, name the bastard and I'll go straight to him! He can say things to my face, and then we'll see whether he's brave!"

"It was just a friendly warning," Henry says. "No need to get all hot under the collar". At that moment, the bell in the reception area rings. "Excuse me," Henry adds, before setting the whiskey bottle next to me. "Help yourself to free refills," he says. "On the house".

Taking another shot, I glance over my shoulder as he heads through the door. For a moment, I get a glimpse of the divine Victoria Paternoster standing by the reception desk. That young woman's figure is so fine, I just want to strip her naked and show her what a real man can do. My moment will surely come, just as soon as I've negotiated a betrothal arrangement with her uncle. The thought of fucking that young whore fills me with a sense of true vitality. Getting to my feet, I stumble over to the door, peering through the crack just in time to see her bending to pick up a small bag from the floor; her fine, ripe rump is there for the taking, and I surely
will
take it. As Mayor of this town, I always get my way.

Suddenly I hear something smash behind me. Turning, I see that one of the glasses has dropped to the floor and shattered. Standing by the bar, grinning at me, is Lawrence Evans.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss, looking back through to the reception area and seeing that Henry is still busy talking to Victoria.

"Sorry about the broken glass," Lawrence says in that rough, common voice of his. "I figured it'd be a good way to get your attention".

"You can't be seen in here!" I insist. "There are people hunting you down, boy. We agreed that you'd lay low in-between incidents. I need you in one piece, not hanging from the nearest lamp-post!"

"I can take care of myself," he replies, filled with the confidence of youth. Lawrence has long been the kind of young man who believes he can get away with anything, and perhaps in my dealings with him I have encouraged such a view. "I'm more worried about you, old man," he continues. "People are talking. Loose tongues and all that. There are even some who wonder whether you'll still be in office this time next year. I must say, I'm starting to wonder whether I'm in business with the right man".

"I didn't have you down as a man who listens to the gossip of housewives," I say, smiling.

"Don't underestimate a housewife," he replies. "A housewife has the ear of her husband, and she knows which way the wind blows. I fuck a lot of housewives around here, old man, and I can promise you they're chattering away about you. Your sheen is starting to wear thin".

Without my walking cane, I limp across the bar until I'm face to face with the little upstart. I reach into my pocket and pull out some notes, thrusting them into his hands. "Here's your money," I say. "Now listen to me. I will not -"

"You stink of whiskey," he says with a laugh, conspicuously counting the money before putting it in his shirt pocket.

"
Listen
to me!" I hiss, making sure to keep my voice as low as possible. "We have an arrangement, and it's one that suits both of us. If you want to break that arrangement, you're free to do so, but be in no doubt that ultimately you're the one who will suffer. After all, you're the one who has blood on his hands".

"Who's the nice young lady in the blue dress?" he asks suddenly. "I saw the way you looked at her. I need to learn her name, maybe I can -"