Hotel Ruby (26 page)

I sit back in the chair; the idea of the Ruby being haunted is easier to accept when you're intimately acquainted with its ghosts. “How can you stand it?” I ask. “Being here, day in and day out, the same every night? All of the tourists and ghost stories?”

“I've always hated that word,” Catherine responds. “ ‘Ghost'—it implies that I float around in a white sheet, saying ‘Boo!' I can't interact with people, touch them. Hurt them.” She waves away the possibility. “What fun would it be, anyway? They can't see me. Half the time I can't even see them.”

“People,” I say. “You mean the others? Who are they?”

“They're alive,” she says. “The others are the guests staying at the real Hotel Ruby, walking over our graves
with hideous disregard. Talking loudly of encountering ghosts, when, believe me, they wouldn't know a ghost if she walked up and asked them to dance.” She smiles. “They're not always here, though. Sometimes they just fade out. Different realities, I suppose. Personally, I like when they're gone. It's quieter. And they occasionally leave things behind that become part of the hotel. The Ruby is where lost things end up—like you. It's not awful. I get my best jewelry this way.”

Elias moves to loosen his tie from around his neck, and I feel a surge of sympathy for him. Affection. He told me that he understood grief, and I assumed someone he loved had died. In truth, he died, left to mourn the entire world.

From the bed Lourdes coughs, a painful sound. Joshua jumps up and comes to kneel next to her, murmuring that she's fine. That she shouldn't try to talk. Her eyes watch him lovingly, and I can see already that some of her skin is healing. Translucent and pale pink. Joshua kisses her forehead and sits on the floor, resting his temple on the edge of the bed close to hers. They're all so connected. I envy their closeness, grateful they have each other. I can't imagine how awful it would be to suffer through this alone.

“What happened the night of the fire?” I ask. “Why didn't anyone get out?”

Catherine's icy features thaw slightly, and she tilts her head as if asking permission to go on. Elias nods. “We have to start at the beginning, then,” she says, sitting back and
crossing her legs. “It was 1937 and my fiancé was being honored. Well”—she smiles—“Elias's
family
was being honored, but they were too busy to attend so they sent us in their place.”

Fiancé? Whether it matters now or not, my muscles tense. I have to fight the urge to look at Elias, even though I feel him watching my reaction. I'm a little angry that he didn't tell me sooner. Then again, he didn't tell me a lot of things. This is probably the least important.

“No need for jealously, Audrey,” Catherine calls out, confirming that I'm easy to read. “Elias never loved me, and I grew restless and bored of him. I slipped away for a drink and a distraction.”

“That would be me,” Joshua explains. “The distraction.”

Catherine groans, and snaps that it was only one time. Besides, her mother wouldn't have allowed her to ride in the same car as him, let alone marry him. He tells her that if she had been engaged to him, they wouldn't have been at such a miserable party to begin with. While they argue, I steal a glance at Elias. He's emotionless, like he's listened to this play out a million times. His eyes lift to mine, apologetic. Catherine and Joshua go on fighting, but for a moment it's just me and Elias.

“Enough,” Catherine says to Joshua, holding up her hand. “Now”—she turns back to me—“where was I?”

“Our one time,” Joshua replies drily.

“Anyway,” she continues. “After my indiscretion I
returned to the party and made my way over to Eli. If I had known for even a second that Kenneth was a tyrant, capable of monstrosities beyond understanding, I would have left that very second. Instead Eli and I posed for a photograph for the local paper. An article about our wedding would be featured. And then . . .” Her voice quivers, and she stops, pressing her lips together. Joshua turns to her, a pained expression crossing his face. Obviously, he forgives her for being a constant bitch.

“When I arrived in the ballroom,” Joshua says, picking up the story, “I closed the doors behind me and joined Lourdes at the bar. She was crying, dark purple bruises imprinted in the shape of a hand on her forearm. I knew who had done it, of course. But I wasn't in the position to stop Kenneth from abusing her. We would both be out of a job. We'd starve.

“I helped Lourdes with the drinks, making sure she didn't mess up, especially when I saw Kenneth watching us, waiting for an opportunity. Understand, Audrey,” Joshua says, “the Ruby didn't make Kenneth a terrible man—he already was. We were scared of him then, and we're terrified of him now.”

Kenneth has been torturing them for years, making rules and punishing them at his discretion. Of all the horrible people to have power over you in death, for it to be the one who abused you in life must be unbearable. My sympathy for Lourdes is tremendous; I'm devastated on
her behalf. She watches them talk, distraught, like she's reliving the tragedy.

“It was a candle,” Catherine says. “There was the smash of a bottle breaking, and Eli and I both looked over to the bar. The housekeeper had dropped the scotch,” she says bitterly, and glares at Lourdes's burned body. Catherine's expression weakens, as if she thinks Lourde has suffered enough.

“The bottle slipped from Lourdes's hand and smashed on the tiles,” Joshua continues, “startling the nearby guests. I didn't have to check to know Kenneth would be on his way over. Lourdes fell to her knees and began sweeping up the glass with her hands, shredding her skin on the broken shards. Smearing blood in an attempt to clean before he arrived.

“That was when I saw Catherine and Eli standing together. Only now they weren't so cozy. Eli was questioning her whereabouts, and Catherine lifted her chin, defiant, beautiful and ugly at the same time.

“The colors in the room,” Joshua says with a twisted sort of nostalgia, “they were so beautiful, so vibrant. I looked from face to face, people speaking and laughing, and then my eyes fell on Kenneth. His expression was tense with controlled anger; his fingers curled in impending punches as he stomped his way toward the bar. I could see the hint of satisfaction in his stride—he liked to hit women, especially Lourdes.”

He lifts his head. “Poor Lourdes,” he whispers sadly, “was cleaning frantically, thinking there was still a chance she could avoid the beating. I grabbed a rag to help her.”

He stops, working his jaw like he doesn't want to continue. Lourdes lifts her hand to touch him, to forgive him. The emotions in the room are palpable, and when I look at Elias, he's watching me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. My own tears well up in response, and I want the story to end a different way. I want them to survive.

“None of us meant to be here, Audrey,” Elias says solemnly. “None of us thought this was a possibility. When Joshua knocked over the candle, there was no slow motion; there were simply not flames and then flames. The alcohol blazed up in an instant. Before the first screams even reached our ears, the tapestries surrounding the doorway caught fire.

“Lourdes never made it off the floor,” he says. “Her suffering ended nearly as soon as it began. Joshua tried to put himself out, slapping his blackening hands on his clothes. But he only succeeded in spreading the flames. He threw himself against the closest person, screaming, his hair singed off. Soon the room was ablaze in bright orange fire. Around me, guests shrieked and ran for the door, but their clothing wasn't optimum for escape. An older woman was the first to fall, and she began a chain reaction. People crawled over each other, but the wooden doors were completely lost behind the flames.”

I cover my mouth, overcome. I can picture it all; smell
the fire, the burned flesh. I can imagine all the horror of that night.

“I grabbed Catherine and searched for another way out,” Elias continues. “I looked up and down that grand room, but there were no windows, no other doors. Catherine gripped my arm tightly, but she didn't cry.” Elias's expression softens, and Catherine's lips spread into a watery smile. “She was more determined to live than anyone else in there. Even in that chaos her eyes reflected fire, but it was all her own.”

“The walls around us burned,” she says mournfully, “surrounding us like an embrace. I squeezed him tighter as the realization settled in—there would be no saving us. Not any of us.”

Elias puts his fist to his lips, quiet for a moment before going on. “The room became unbearably hot,” he says. “I coughed on the last of the air, knowing we'd be dead soon. I took my arm from Catherine and started toward a table. I pulled off the white linen, sending the plates and silverware crashing to the floor. I grabbed Catherine and wrapped the tablecloth around us, hoping to save our skin from the bite of the fire. It wouldn't, of course. In just a moment we had both fallen to our knees, and when I looked over, Catherine's skin was smeared with ash. Blisters formed on one of her perfect cheeks.”

“Please, Eli,” Catherine says, starting to cry. “No more. I can't hear any more.”

Elias turns from her, settling his gaze on me. “It had been less than five minutes since the fire started,” he says, ignoring Catherine's plea. “The screams were dying out. In the distance was the crackling of burning wood, the whoosh of fabric catching fire, the burst of bottles exploding. The banging—if it was ever there—had stopped. We didn't know then, but they locked the doors in order to keep the fire from spreading through the entire hotel. I fell forward when the air was too thin to breathe, and I saw Catherine, her cheek pressed to the tile as she lay staring at me, motionless. Dead.”

He swallows hard, and when he levels his stare at me again, my heart breaks. “The heat licked at my shoes,” he says, “but I didn't feel the fire take my skin. I didn't feel anything until I woke up in the ballroom after it was rebuilt in all its glory. Trapped with everyone else. Forever.”

W
e all sit silently for a moment, Catherine crying quietly, exposed. I can hear Lourdes's ragged breaths getting stronger and more measured. The entirety of their story is catastrophic, devastating.

“I'm sorry for what happened to you,” I say, knowing it's not enough. “I can't imagine . . . I . . .” My voice startles Catherine, and she wipes away the tears on her cheeks, embarrassed by her emotional vulnerability. She takes out her compact and checks her reflection, sniffling hard. She snaps it shut, the click echoing in the room.

“Eli,” she says coolly. “We have to get to the ballroom. We can't risk it now. Kenneth will be on a rampage.”

Elias isn't convinced. “Go without me,” he tells her. “First I have to convince Audrey what a terrible idea it is to attend the party. Even if she does look smashing in that dress.” His compliment is tinged with the tone of an impending argument.

“Get to the party, Elias,” Lourdes says in a low voice. She groans, shifting on the bed. Joshua climbs to his feet to check on her, and Tanya sets the washcloth aside, but Lourdes shakes her head, letting them know she doesn't
need their help. I notice her fingers have grown back. “You too, Joshua,” she adds. “You're bartending tonight.”

“Thank you,” Catherine announces, as if the command was made on her behalf. She walks to the door and pulls it open, then turns to me. “Don't take this the wrong way, Audrey,” she says, smiling softly. “But I really hope I never see you again.”

I cough out a laugh, and nod. “I hope I never see you again either.” Catherine reaches her hand to Joshua, and after a concerned look in Lourdes's direction, he takes it and they walk out together.

Elias waits near the end of the bed, his hands in his pockets, his jaw set hard. “Lourdes,” Elias starts, “she has to—”

“Yes, Eli,” she says. “I understand the stakes just as well as you do. If not more.”

“Oh, good,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Maybe someone can fill me in.” I hate being talked about as if I'm not here. Neither of them reacts to me, caught instead in a stare-down. Finally Elias relents.

“Audrey,” Elias says, slow to look at me. When he does, color blooms on his cheeks, a sad smile deepens his dimples. “Damn.” He shakes his head. “I told you I wouldn't want you to leave if we kept at it.”

“You were too charming,” I respond, making him laugh. I'll miss the sound of it. It occurs to me that I love him—even if it's still new. Still soon. This is the start of love, and not the circumstantial kind that fades, like with
Ryan. In this there is acceptance and understanding. Lust and admiration. I've always hated good-byes, and this is no exception.

“I'll see you around,” I say casually, even though my voice quivers. Elias puts his hand over his heart, like I'm breaking it.

“I look forward to it, Audrey Casella.” He flashes me one more dimpled smile, and then he turns and leaves, off to play his role in a haunting.

I lean back in the chair, doing my best not to cry. Tanya helps prop Lourdes up on a pillow, and then she crosses to the other side of the room and pours herself a glass of water. I'm running out of time. I need to get Daniel and my father from the party—but now that I've seen what Kenneth can do, I'm not sure how I can get past him.

“Before you try to talk me out of going to the party,” I say, “there's still a lot I don't understand. How am I here? I wasn't in that fire.”

“The Ruby is filled with ghosts,” Tanya answers. “Not all from the fire. Heart attacks, suicides—most died right here. And some were killed off-site.” She motions to where I saw the blood on her shirt. “Hiking.”

Tanya sips from her water, rattled by the mention of her own death. “From what we can tell,” she continues after a moment, “only the really lost souls find their way here. The ones who are already dead but don't realize it.”