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Chapter Six: Courtesy Call - Part Three
Flax
A few days and a rather drastic climate change later, Flax, with arms crossed over his chest, stood with his little showgirl as they watched several Faceless servants scuttle in and out of Suite 315 with mucked-up shovels and buckets, their uniforms covered in wet and drying concrete.
“It’s so sad to see it go,” the weepy blond blubbered beside him, sniffling audibly into an embroidered handkerchief.
Flax nodded and slung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, the fluffy cashmere sweater soft beneath his fingers. “The boss has you in a new suite now, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. “Just down the hall. Got moved in this morning.” She shrugged as she looked out the window at the snow drifting down onto the peaceful lawn. “But it’s not the same. I mean, this was a just hotel room—I know—but it was home.”
Just another home in a long line that had been taken from her.
“What’s going on here?” Flax heard the perky Aussie ask. He turned to see her—uncomfortable in her bulky winter clothes—and the kid peering around them and into the busy suite.
Picking at a loose string at the end of his sweater, the freckled jinx said sadly, “So Lenten is really sealing it off.”
Literally. Flax could hear the racket the Faceless were making as they poured and smoothed the concrete, filling 315 up brick by brick. He quirked an eyebrow at the kid. “Thought you’d be happy. It was you who almost got shot.”
The boy shrugged. “I guess.” He walked to the window and stared out into the vast expanse of white the snow storm was kicking up. “I guess I was just hoping he would change his mind.”
“Yeah,” Juniper piped up. “This,” she said, gesturing to the Faceless, “seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?”
“From what Rowan said,” Calla pointed out, scratching at the gray wool poncho she was wearing, “the rip was getting worse. Rowan almost got pulled in. Almost got shot. Who knows what else could come out of there?”
Flax was about to crack the obvious closet joke, but instead stood silently as he stared at 113.
Flax remembered seeing him after the incident. Kid couldn’t stop shaking for hours. The boss had wrapped him up in piles of blankets and still the boy shivered—and they’d still been in the desert then.
The thick, mint green sweater he now wore hid the slim boy’s lanky form, but even still he looked so small, framed by the large, frost-coated hotel window, letting the unblemished white blind his eyes.
“The rip was unstable,” Flax told him softly. “Too unpredictable. You couldn’t have used it to get home, you know.”
The boy shifted his weight a bit, ruffled.
“You were right to fight, son. Even if you’d been pulled through the rip,” Flax continued, “there’s no way to be sure it even was your world. It could have been a different time or dimension or state of reality. And you would have surely been stuck there with men who obviously have a shoot-first sort of mentality.”
“He’s right,” Calla agreed, still pulling at her scratchy collar as she came up to clasp the moping boy on the shoulder. “Lenten had to shut it up. What if you had been pulled into that world? What if they’d been pulled into the hotel? It’s too much to risk on a maybe.”
Rowan just shrugged.
Flax cleared his throat and stabbed at a new topic. “How’s Mei this morning?”
“Lenten’s shut that down too.” The failed female detective pouted, tossing her auburn hair to the side. “He’s informed us,” she said, imitating the manager’s crisp, clipped tone, “that ‘the Elysium Hotel doesn’t permit guests to pry, pester, or otherwise interfere with the lives and stay of other guests.’ ” She huffed, irritated. “He wouldn’t even listen when we tried to tell him that we were helping.” Flax tried to stifle a laugh as she muttered under her breath hotly, “Garter-wearing wanker.”
She shook her head disappointed. “Not that we were of much help anyway. I think it’s getting worse. She didn’t leave her room all day yesterday.”
“Lenten told us all to stop following her four days ago,” the boy pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “Right after the whole closet incident. He said he talked to you about it the day before that.”
“And?” the Aussie dared, thrusting her puckish chin out. “My horoscope told me I’m very intuitive and should trust my instincts, so the whinging prat can shove his hotel codes of conduct. I’m not giving up on Mei.”
The girl had spunk. What was that phrase, Flax wondered; I hate spunk. “What about you?” He nodded his head toward the still pouting kid.
The boy shrugged. “I wasn’t much help either.”
“So you’re giving in?”
He shrugged again. “I’m not much help.” The kid heaved a heavy sigh, looking less than hopeless.
Flax scratched his chin and thought he ought to say something. But there wasn’t anything to say. The world—imaginary or not—rarely ever worked the way it should. The sad, little Danny Boy wasn’t going anywhere—through the rip or through anything else. He’d never see home again. The best he could do was make a new one.
And even then...
Flax shook his head.
It’s not as if making the Elysium home was really helping Mei any at the moment. Flax cynically thought of all those depressing truisms about how everything changes. How one either learns to change with the times or gets left behind.
As he stared at Rowan staring out into the snow, Flax wondered what the sad, redheaded boy would look like suited up, his face wiped smooth and blank, his presence just a memory of a life. He thought of the Aussie, her auburn hair a shadow of what once was, what it should have been. His hold on Juniper tightened as he imagined the flashy showgirl Faceless and cold, the bright, sunny life of her faded into nothing.
He thought of Mei.
Someone ought to say something and he never was much good with words. Not the kind that mattered anyway.
“Pardon the intrusion.”
Flax turned to see Lenten standing at the far end of the hallway, not looking at them. “I was wondering,” the man asked, not quite meeting the group’s gaze, “if anyone knew where Olive may be. She’s not in her room.”
The Aussie crossed her arms over her chest—the pointed ends of her poncho fluttering angrily around her as she leveled Lenten with an icy glare. “Someone she loves is in trouble. If you were her,” she spat, causing the stiff man to cringe at her biting tone, “where would you be?”
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