Location?
“Four-oh-two-oh. My room. My bed. My goddamn life.”
Any idea how long? A man’s voice. She wondered what his name might be. He sounded like a Bob or a Bill, maybe a Tom. Certainly too sincere to be a Dick.
“Pretty much forever.”
Then you’d better get out.
“Oh, I will. You just watch me.”
Is it hot to the touch? Is it cold? Wet or dry? If you cannot relate to these words, how would you describe it? Perhaps everything’s normal and you can go back to bed. Would you like a wake-up call?
The door was warm, but that might be simply because her room was on fire. Did they ever think of that? She’d seen movies in which the hapless victim had opened the door against all advice and been blown backwards by the explosive force of the conflagration on the other side. A great word, “conflagration,” much more impressive than mere “fire,” but a much harder word to shout during a dire emergency.
Jane could feel the hairs on the back of her neck begin to curl and singe. She jerked the door open, ran out and slammed it behind her. Muzak continued to play in the quiet corridor, vaguely reminiscent of the melodies they played at buffets. She felt a little embarrassed about running down the hall in her bare feet. Somebody might think she was having an affair. Somebody might think she’d been stood up. Somebody might think she’d been a fool. So she walked, head high, posture proud.
Do you see any flames? Are there signs of smoke damage? If you cannot see because of the smoke, get down on your knees and crawl. If you encounter bodies or other human debris, please contact the management upon your arrival at the first floor.
Halfway down the corridor she noticed that some of the walls had become transparent. The only thing worse than a glass house is a glass hotel, she thought. This slowed her down when she should have been making for the stairs. But it was a peculiar thing—her theory was that somehow the intense heat had reduced the walls to a microscopic thinness, causing things to be all too clear. She could see people inside their rooms watching TV, dressing for dinner, making love. Sometimes they stared at the walls as if they could sense her presence, her gravity, but apparently they could not see her as she could see them.
She should warn these people, but she couldn’t very well knock on every door—she wouldn’t be able to save herself. Then she saw the rooms one by one fill with fire and there was no one left to warn. Their spirits floated through the walls and accumulated on the ceiling of the hall.
She fell to her knees and crawled, trying to stay as far away from their toxic spirits as possible. She refused to look at them any longer, even when she heard them weeping, even when their tears drizzled down from the storm clouds they had become. They probably thought she was some heartless bitch. But you can’t always control what other people think about you.
Sometimes in a fire people get turned around and head the wrong way. Don’t be one of those people! Let the handrail be your friend—we put it there just for you. Keep as far away from any panicked guests as possible—their chances of survival are slim. Don’t let them take you down with them.
The door to the nearest staircase was difficult to open, as if it hadn’t been used in some time, or as if heat had welded it. But it wasn’t hot to the touch. It was hard getting leverage in her bare feet, but finally, when she pulled on the doorknob while pushing her naked soles against the frame, the door popped open like a cork in a vintage wine bottle, sending her sprawling. She scrambled to her feet and made it through the door before it closed again.
The staircase had that unfinished look that emergency exits so often do: unpainted, the seams of the wallboard exposed, looking as if she had stepped back through time and the building was still under construction. The silence was what she really found disturbing, however. The only sound she could hear was the harsh labor of her own breath as she pounded down the stairs. She needed to work out more, she thought. She was woefully out of shape.
When Jane’s cell phone went off in the midst of all that quiet, she barely stopped herself from tumbling head-first down the stairs. She sat down on a step and fumbled the phone from her pocket, noticing that one of her feet was bleeding as she thumbed the phone on. “Yes?”
Okay, I’m almost there. I’m calling, just like you wanted.
Richard. She’d actually forgotten all about him. Amazing. She could barely keep the pleasure out of her voice. “That’s right. Good boy. How far are you away?”
No more than a couple of blocks, I guess. Say, what’s with all the smoke?
She caught her breath. “Smoke? You see it? My God, I was beginning to think I’d imagined…” She stopped herself.
What was that? Christ, is there a fire there?
“No, no. They’re throwing a big barbecue up on the upper deck. Texas style. Have you had lunch?”
I don’t feel much like eating, Jane. What do I do when I get there? Do you want me to come up to the room?
“Oh, you mean our room?”
Yeah, whatever. Is that where I’m supposed to go?
“Why, you sound a little angry, Richard.”
He didn’t answer right away. You’re the one in charge. What do you want me to do?
“That’s a good boy. Meet me down in the lobby. Like I said, ignore the smoke, no matter what else you see or hear. You got that, Richard?”
I got that.
“Good. See you in five.” Gleefully she switched off the phone.
There’s really nothing to worry about. All members of our staff are trained professionals, ready to deal with any eventuality. We’re all consenting adults here. Remember that violence solves nothing.
It seemed imperative that Jane reach the lobby before Richard figured out what was going on. Before anyone else figured out what was going on. Where was everybody, were they sleeping? She hadn’t even heard a fire alarm go off, much less a sprinkler. Shitty hotel. People died in hotels like this, not even knowing what hit them. As far as she knew, the hotel staff already knew about the fire and had made their escape from the building without telling anyone. People were scum, especially people in the service industries. Didn’t they give a damn about the people they were supposed to be serving? No wonder customers got angry all the time. You just couldn’t get good service anymore.
Jane threw her head back and howled. The anger rose in great rings of dark cloud up the stairwell. The walls closed in to maximize the echo, becoming like another throat that surrounded her and gave amplification to every bad thing she’d been feeling for twenty-odd years.
There you will find hotel staff eager to assist you. Please take advantage of our complementary beverage tray and cheese basket. Tell your friends. At the Greenmark we are prepared to deal with parties of any size.
Jane entered the lobby at a dead run. People stared at her, then went back to whatever it was they were doing. It occurred to Jane that they were dressed quite nicely for a fire. And impeccable behavior. No one was crying. No one looked even the least bit scared.