Hotel Ruby (24 page)

The music stops.

My mother's funeral was the worst day of my life. I only remember it in bits and pieces, the entire affair a haze of grief. I didn't have anything black to wear; I couldn't even bother with matching socks. In the end, Ryan came over with something of his mother's and helped me into it, dressing me like a limp doll as I cried until my eyes burned. I hadn't seen my father all morning. In fact, I hadn't seen him since the hospital when they told us my mother didn't survive the stroke. They had tried their best, they told us. As if that would somehow temper our grief.

And then I was walking down the aisle of the church, gripping Daniel's arm so tightly he was left with bruises. His blue eyes were bloodshot, the tip of his nose red from crying. He kept trying to hold it in, though, pressing his lips together so hard it looked like it hurt. My mother's friends burst into tears at the sight of him. Daniel being
strong—that was more heartbreaking to them than if he'd just crumbled.

I didn't speak at the funeral, and I only vaguely remember seeing my grandmother and the older lady who had held my mother's hand in the coffee shop. When Daniel and I got back to the house, I went upstairs. Ryan came by to check on me, and even he gave up after a while, leaving me with just a kiss on the side of my head.

“Every day's a gift, Audrey. Don't waste it,” he said.

I've wasted all the minutes since my mother's death, wishing for an escape. And now all I want is an escape back to that life. We can't stay at the Ruby; I realize that. But I won't leave without my family. Without Daniel.

I open my eyes, stunned at first, still in pain. But as the hurt fades, the scene becomes clearer. The red and gray colors of the Ruby, the thick carpet underneath me where I'm lying against the door of room 1336. I don't hear the music anymore.

At first I'm not sure I can move or if my body is paralyzed. I test my leg, choking out relief when it obeys my command. I grab on to the doorframe and pull myself to my feet, stumbling to the side with one broken shoe before I regain my balance. I swallow hard and look around. All of the pain is gone, but the memory of it haunts me.
Haunting
. My eyes widen and I spin around, seeing that the Ruby's walls indeed seem to be breathing. Are breathing. But it's all changing.

As I watch, the colors of the thirteenth floor are getting dimmer, the carpet draining of color. It's subtle at first, but now I notice everything. I think about my body on the side of the road. About the help that will arrive. Time is slower here. I couldn't have survived on the side of the road for two days. But how long was I there? How much longer will I be here?

I look back at the door of 1336. If I got Daniel up here, could he return with me? Could he still wake up? I sputter out a cry, picturing him alone on the side of the road. Cold. Dead.

And my father, still in his seat belt trapped inside the car. I put my hands over my face, the despair surrounding me, choking me. My father, however unintentionally, caused the accident. Is that what Daniel remembered today? Is that why he told me not to trust Dad? Our father brought us to the Ruby . . . is he trying to keep us here?

I drop my arms, newly determined. I'm shaky, but I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. To retreat into the same self-pity that caused this family trip in the first place. I start toward the elevator, set to storm downstairs, but then I catch sight of my reflection in the hallway mirror. I'm still in Catherine's clothes—broken heel and all. They won't let me into the party like this, and definitely not without my invitation. If I cause a scene, I might get locked away, and I can't take that chance.

I hurry to my room, and when I open my door, I'm stunned by what I find. My lights have been dimmed, candles lit on the dresser. It smells of vanilla and home—the same scent from that first day in the basement. On my bed is a big white box, a bloodred bow tied neatly across the top. I let the door slam behind me, and take a tentative step inside. What the hell is this?

With a trembling hand, I pull the ribbon and untie the bow. Fear threatens to derail me, but I push it down. Crush my fear for right now. I have to keep going and let this play out.

I slip the lid off the box and fold back the tissue paper to reveal the most beautiful red dress I've ever seen. The fabric shimmers, even in low light. The sweetheart neckline, the flowing twists of material. Strappy heels at the bottom of the box.

Next to the package is a simple black envelope. I imagine it's my invitation to the party. Kenneth said he'd send it to my room, but I guess it came with the proper attire. My dad told me that the Ruby had provided his suit as well. And probably Daniel's. I'm slow to pick up the envelope, handling it carefully.

My name is written neatly across the front in white pen. Elegant. Old fashioned. I slip my finger under the lip and open the letter. There is no personal writing, just a printed invitation.

You are cordially invited to the Hotel  Ruby First Anniversary Party in the ballroom, tonight at 9 p.m. Invitation is required.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, and drop the envelope back onto the bed. I pick up the dress and hold it against my body, looking in the mirror to gauge if it'll fit. It seems to, which doesn't surprise me. I wonder if anyone's worn this dress before. If they were once on the side of the road like I am.

It occurs to me that I'm a ghost. I'm the ghost of someone who's not even dead. What does that mean for everyone else? For my family, or Elias? What are they?

Somewhere in the hall there is the hint of music, beckoning me back. But I shake my head, staying focused on my purpose. “Not without my brother,” I say. I look around the room, feeling the presence of the Ruby.

“You can't keep him,” I say to the walls. “You can't have me, either.” The music in the hallway quiets, replacing my anger with grief. I might not get back home. The real possibility of that is terrifying, and I quickly strip down and step into the red dress. I smooth it along my hips, slip on the shoes. I teeter on the heels, higher than Catherine's, the minute they're on my feet.

After a long pause I turn to the mirror, speechless at my reflection. Despite the lack of effort, my image is flawless. I've
never, not even at prom, after hours of primping, had this complexion. Hair this luxe. I start to smile, but then I take a step back from the mirror, glaring around the room accusingly.

“Is this what you do?” I call out. “Corrupt the images? Make it perfect when things are so clearly not.” I stare at my reflection, waiting for the real me to appear, battered and bruised. But nothing happens. Well, I won't be seduced. I grab my phone off the bedside table and hurl it at the mirror, sending shards spitting across the room.

I heave in a breath and look down. My phone is lit up—even though it hasn't been charged. How could it be? I'm not really here. In the top left corner of the screen is the photos icon.

My eyes begin to water, and I pick up my phone and sit on the edge of the bed among pieces of glass.
Don't see,
my mind whispers. My thumb hovers for a moment, and then I open the album titled “No.”

The first image that pops up breaks me down, and the tears flow. Two weeks before she died, my mother and I got our hair done at the mall. The picture is us in the front seat of the car, me holding out the phone with my right hand, our heads pushed together. Mom's pursing her mouth, doubtful of her new, slightly darker hair. My lips are rounded in an
Oh, snap!
exaggerated expression. When I turned the phone around to show her the picture, we both cracked up. She made me promise not to post it on Instagram. She said she looked awful.

“I will disown you,” she said, still laughing. “I look like a Muppet!”

“You're beautiful,” I say now, reenacting the conversation. Lost in the memory, I can smell her perfume, hear her voice. Like I'm there. Like she's here. “You're still way hotter than Ryan's mom,” I add.

She tsked. “Stop it,” she said, even though she knew I was only joking. “Do you think your father will notice the change?” She glanced in the rearview, brushing her fingers through her fringe.

“He never notices anything,” I whisper, tears wet on my cheeks.

“Cut him some slack,” she said, turning to smile at me. “Your father loves you to pieces. You have no idea how many times he's talked me into something on your behalf. So whether you know it or not, your dad spoils you.”

“Only fair, because you've made Daniel rotten,” I say. She laughed and then nodded that it was mostly true.

“I don't know how I got so lucky,” she said with a sigh, smiling at her reflection. “I just don't know.”

“Me either,” I whisper, and close my eyes as my soul aches. When I reopen them, the hotel room is still and silent. The echo of my mother's voice is gone. The smell of her perfume replaced with vanilla candles. Glass glitters all around, sparkling in the flickering light.

My body is numb, heavy with loss. My father didn't notice her hair, even though he complimented her almost
every day. Like Daniel, he was never observant. I'd grown used to it, considered it one of his quirks. Dad retelling the same stories, mispronouncing names even after he'd been corrected.

I sink lower into grief. My father brought us to this place, and I can see now that he's trying to keep us here—extending our stay. Wanting us together. It's selfish and horrible, but I can understand. If he didn't think we could leave, he just wanted our family back together. He wanted to fix us.

My cries start again—thick, choking betrayal. I scream my anger and hurt, dropping the phone and slamming my fists down on the bed. There is a biting pain, and I yelp. Hazy with tears, I lift my hand and see a triangular shard of glass sticking out of my skin. I quickly yank it free and toss it aside. I gather Catherine's shirt from the floor and wrap it around my hand. I wince at the sting—the pain bringing me back. Focusing me.

I stand and grab the invitation from the bed, shaking off the bits of glass. I leave my keycard on the dresser because I won't be coming back to this room. Instead I'll grab Daniel and my father, and we'll head to room 1336. We'll wake up. We'll be together there.

At the door I see I've bled through the shirt wrapping my wound. I unravel the fabric carefully to check the cut, and I'm stunned when I find my skin smooth. Unbroken. I open and close my hand a few times, completely healed, although the shirt is stained with blood.

Both Elias and Catherine told me that Kenneth couldn't hurt me, and now I know why: I'm not really here. But if that's true, how can Kenneth inflict so much pain on Lourdes? Terrify the other guests? What's different about them?

My telephone rings from the nightstand, startling me. I don't wait to find out who it is. I yank open my door and rush toward the elevator, invitation in hand. I'll play their game. I can fake dead better than anyone. I've done it for the past three months.

I think about my mother, and for the first time since she died, the thought of her doesn't weaken me. It gives me strength. I'm brave. I'm courageous. I'm—

Sick.

Because when the elevator doors slide open, Kenneth is standing there, waiting for me.

I
see you're dressed for the party,” Kenneth says, folding his hands over his chest. I glance sideways at him, his short arms and pudgy fingers. The normally pleasant face that now represents oppression and torture. “I must say you are a vision in red, Miss Casella,” he adds politely. “It was a good choice.”

I scoff, and roll my eyes to the ceiling, not willing to accept his compliment with grace. “I'm not scared of you,” I lie. “You can't hurt me.”

Kenneth glances at my invitation and then lifts his chin, murmuring out a “Hm . . .” that manages to be both condescending and menacing at the same time.