She woke up in a strange place. It felt like early morning but she couldn't be sure.
It looked like a hotel room but she didn't remember how she got there. Next to the bed was a writing desk and a box on a stand. There was a breakfast nook built into the bay window and beside it was a balcony closed shut against the storm. Thunder rolled in from somewhere and rain battered at the windows. She was warm and dry, however, in a bed that smelled of fresh laundry.
There was a kitchenette and a bathroom on the other end of the room. She went over and looked into the bathroom—it was very clean—and then she closed the door and looked into the cabinets and the icebox. They were empty and definitely didn't have any clues on how she got there.
There was a note on the writing desk. It said, Meet me in the lobby. She assumed it was from the person who'd brought her there. She made sure she was presentable and stepped out. There was a stairwell in sight and also an elevator that looked like the quickest way to the lobby.
When she pressed the call button, the doors opened right away and her eyes went wide. It was a glass elevator all around and it overlooked an airshaft that went all the way up the building. It looked to be fifty storeys and was full of light. Maybe atrium was a better word for the vast open space. There was a pyramidal fountain in the centre and four lobbies extending to the four directions. She wondered which lobby the note referred to. There was a compass on the floor around the fountain, done in tiles, and she randomly to pick the east lobby.
“Hello,” the boy said. He looked to be about thirteen, with messy blonde hair. “You got my note.”
She nodded. “Might I ask who you are?”
“I don't remember.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don't remember anything?”
“Nothing, really. Just that this is my place.”
“What do you mean, this is your place? Your family owns hotel?”
The boy started crying. “Maybe? I don't know! This is my place but I don't remember why.”
She frowned. But she patted his shoulder and said, gently: “Don't cry, it'll be all right.”
He sniffed. “But I'm being a poor host. Are you hungry?”
She was hungry. And it looked like the boy was struggling with enough questions already. On the other hand, she needed answers too. “I'm hungry, yes. But maybe we could figure things out first?”
“How?”
She took a breath and decided to just go ahead. "Do you know how you got here? Do you remember anything?
He shook his head.
This poor kid, she thought. Clearly he was very confused. “Can you tell me anything about yourself?”
He shook his head, then looked up. “Wait. Maybe that's why you're here? To help me figure things out?”
“It's possible. I could certainly try.”
“Are you sure you don't want to eat? There's a breakfast buffet in the dining hall.”
She hesitated again, but her stomach rumbled. “Yes, I'm hungry. How far is this dining hall?”
He walked to a doors off to the side. Inside was a vast space full of tables. A long counter stood at one end, heavy with food that steamed in chafing dishes. She started piling her plate with eggs and sausages and hash browns.
“How about you?” she asked him. “Are you going to eat?”
“Do I need to eat?” the boy wondered. He seemed to think about it. “Well, it's pleasant to eat. Will you fill a plate for me too?”
She started filling out a plate. “Here's some eggs and sausages, and bacon. And here's some fruit and toast.”
She handed him the fully-stacked plate and they found a nearby table. She started eating—it felt like she hadn't eaten in days.
“How is it?” he asked.
She paused between stuffing her mouth. “It's excellent!”
“Thanks. I haven't been able to get into the kitchens. The food just . . . appears.”
“Weird. I've never seen food just appear out of nowhere. But I suppose a lot of things here are weird. Like us.”
“How are we weird?”
She gestured at herself. “I can't remember how I got here. I woke up in a hotel I don't recognize and now I'm here, having breakfast with a boy who doesn't even know his own name. None of that is normal.”
“Fair enough. Have you checked your mailbox?”
She frowned. “What mailbox?”
“Every room here has a mailbox. They're over by the admin office.”
She frowned again. “Where are the admin office and the mailboxes?”
“It's in the northwest corner. I haven't been able to get into the offices either. So many doors are locked to me.”
She took a deep breath. She wondered, again, what was happening in this place. Did this boy bring her here? Why weren't they allowed to see what was behind some of the doors? But for the moment, she was more curious about the mailboxes. “Let's go see if I have mail.”
“How was the food?”
She looked down and realized she'd cleaned on her plate, and it wasn't a small one. She'd been hungrier than she thought.
She pushed her chair back. “The food was good. Now let's go check those mailboxes.”
They went out into the atrium. They were still the only people in the massive building. Natural light poured in from the skylights and from the windows that stretched over each entrance and went all the way up to the roof.
“I think this is all Art Deco,” the boy said. “I don't remember where I learned that, but I know it when I see it. The gold leaf tends to be a giveaway.”
She looked around, mouth half-open. “It's a beautiful hotel. But why is no one else here? How did it get here?”
“What's your room number again?”
“NE-406.”
“Northeast Wing, fourth floor, room six. Yep, there it is.” He pointed to a wall of numbered plaques. There was a blinking red light under the one with her number. “Did you bring your keycard?”
“I—I don't know.” She patted her pockets. “Wait, is this it?” She pulled out a metal card with holes punched in.
“You have to put it into the reader slot.”
“Right.” She found the slot, slid the card in, and heard a click. The light blinked from red to green.
“Now for the fun part.”
The boy waved her over to a window, where they saw a robot arm retrieve a good-sized box and place one end of it up to the window. She opened the mailbox and found a slab of glass and metal.
The boy leaned in. “Oh, hey, it's a phone.”
She picked up the ‘phone' and turned it over in her hands. She frowned and tried tapping it a few times. “This is supposed to be a phone?”
“You don't know what a phone is? Here, let me turn it on.” He pressed a button on the side and the screen lit up.
“I've never seen anything like this. How does it work?”
“It's . . . It's a phone. Duh. Everyone knows how to use one.”
She gave him a long look, then shrugged and held out her hand. “Well, let's see how this goes.” With the boy's guidance she pressed an icon on the screen labelled Notes. The notes were blank. They found their way back to the main screen and tapped the message icon. There were no messages.
“This phone has nothing useful in it,” she said.
“Have you tried the hotel app? That's the triangular icon over there.”
She pressed the icon and was treated to a map of the building. The complex was huge. There were four main wings connected by the great atrium they were standing in.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She looked up, then back down at the phone in her hands. “I'm fine. I just don't understand any of this.”
“It's not scary, is it?”
She opened her mouth to say Yes but the boy was looking up at her with his big brown eyes.
“. . . No, I'm not scared at all,” she said.
“I'm glad. Because if you were scared I'd be pretty scared too.”
* * *
A bit later she found herself lying in bed back in her room. The rain had stopped but the outside was still looking gray from where she was.
She turned left and right. The big, fluffy bed was taking some getting used to. She had a smartphone now, whatever that was, but felt no closer to figuring anything out. Turning to the nightstand she saw a little drawer and inside the drawer were blank pads, notebooks, and sketchbooks, plus an assortment of pencils and pens.
She smiled and pulled out a sketchbook. She'd barely flipped it open when there was a knock on the door.
“Hello?” the boy asked. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, I'm awake. What is it?”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Can I come in? I'm so bored.”
“Yeah, all right. Come in.” She got up and unlocked it.
“Thanks,” he said, and flopped onto the bed. His next words were muffled from being face-down. “I'm so bored.”
She sat down next to him. “You've said that. Why are you so bored?”
“Well, what is there to do here? I can't go outside and all the shops are closed!”
She wondered how long he'd been alone in the hotel. “I guess it would be pretty boring. But why can't you go outside?”
The boy looked up. “I guess you haven't tried any of the doors, huh? They're all locked.”
She frowned. No, she hadn't thought to try any doors. She'd just found her way back to her room. “All the doors are locked? That's weird. Doesn't that make the hotel kind of like a prison?”
“You're beginning to understand my situation.”
She thought for a moment. “How long have you been in this hotel?”
“I don't remember.” His voice was muffled again.
“You can't even remember how long you've been here?”
“We've already gone over my memory problem. You've got a horrible bedside manner, woman.”
“Heh.” She patted him on the back. “Don't call me 'woman.' I'm only a few years older than you.”
“You look older.”
“Excuse me? How old do you think I look?”
“Dunno. Older.”
“Don't just say that. I want a number. Don't be scared.”
“Hey, what will you do when you get bored?”
“Me, bored? I'll be fine. I can always sketch, read, or write. I have plenty of ways to keep myself occupied.”
“Read? What is there to read?” He sat up and looked around. There weren't any books in sight.
She got up and looked on the desk and the bedside table. “Huh. There isn't much to read in here, is there?”
“You're going to go craaaaaazy.”
She chuckled. “I'm not going to go crazy. Like I said, sketching is always an option. You don't need books to be entertained.”
“There's a library on the third floor. You can find it on the map in your phone.”
“You can?” She picked up her phone and brought up the hotel app. Eventually she found the map and the room labelled Library. “There it is.”
“Wanna see if it's open?”
“Sure, why not?”
* * *
As the boy explained, they were on the northeast wing and the library was one floor down in the southwest wing. They went down the central stairwell in her wing, then headed for the walkway overlooking the atrium. From there they crossed the bridge to the southeast wing and then the bridge to the southwest wing. This involved padding down the green carpet for what felt like many minutes.
“It's-it's locked,” the boy said.
“Ugh,” she said. Her phone beeped. She took it out and it beeped again. “What's going on?”
“Go check your phone, duh.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “There's a message on the hotel app. It says: To unlock the library, clean the arcade.”
“Oooh, that's on the second floor. The second and third floors are full of shops, like a little mall. You must've noticed them.”
She remembered passing some glass store fronts but hadn't paid attention to them. They'd been dark and closed shut in any case.
“The arcade's this way. Come on!” He grabbed her hand and they went to the arcade, which was a large room full of big boxy shapes. Everything was layered over in dust.
“What is all this stuff?” she asked.
“These are the old arcade cabinets. A million years ago these were the only way to play video games.”
She walked among them. It was a bit like being in a cemetery. They were so many cabinets and they all looked the same under the white sheets. She reached out and lifted one up.
“Hey, cool, they got House of the Dead!”
“What is it?”
The boy picked up one of the tethered plastic guns. “You shoot zombies on the screen and shoot offscreen to reload. It's awesome.”
She smiled at him. “You like it, huh?”
“Yeah!” He went around pulling off dust covers. “And they got Tekken! And Primal Rage! And a bunch of other games . . .” He looked around. “. . . I remember these games from when I was a kid,”
“You played these a lot when you were younger?”
“Not as much as I'd have liked. But the mall was a special place. Always bright and shiny and full of stuff—we've got to fix this place up!”
“All right, all right, we will.” She gave him a shove in the direction of the door. “Let's go find some cleaning equipment. How does that sound?”
“Works for me. I remember where there's a janitor's closet.”
They found the cleaning supplies and returned. “Where do we start?” he asked.
She looked around. It was a big room and the floor was so dusty they were kicking up clouds just by walking through. “I think we should cover up the cabinets again and take care of the floor first.'
They did that, then put on dust masks and swept the floor. Even with the masks the air got thick as the gray stuff went everywhere.
“Ugh,” she said. “You think they ever clean in this hotel?”
“The common areas are clean. I've never seen anyone working on them but they stay clean.”
“I guess they must have some janitors. But why aren't they taking care of the closed-off places?”
“It's a mystery,”
She finished sweeping and wiped the dust from her face. “Okay, I think the floor is clear. I think we can start on the actual games.”
They started wiping the cabinets down, cleaning off however many year's worth of dirt and grime. Now and again the boy would pick up the bucket of used rags and run to the janitor's closet.
“You doing okay there?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same. Aren't you getting tired of washing rags?”
“Well, I could eat. It's getting to be around lunchtime.”
“I suppose we could break for lunch.”
She straightened and stretched, feeling a not-unpleasant soreness in her muscles. It had been several hours since breakfast and she was starting to feel it.
The boy looked down at himself. “We should've looked for some janitor outfits too. Dunno if we can sit in the dining hall like this.”
She inspected herself. Her hair was everywhere, she had dust all over her clothes, and she probably had more dust in places she'd rather not think about. And the boy looked just as bad. “When you're right, you're right.”
“I'll be right back. Wait for me?” He scampered off.
Fifteen minutes or an eternity later he came back with a picnic basket. She'd been about to go after him, but just said, “Took you long enough.”
“I loaded up at the buffet!” he said, and handed her a sandwich.
She took the sandwich and took a grateful bite.
“Coffee?” the boy said, unscrewing a thermos.
“I'd love some.”
He poured her a cup. Music was playing somewhere in the atrium and it wafted up to where they sat.
She accepted another sandwich. “You got pretty creative with our lunch problem.”
“Thanks. I'd spotted these baskets near the buffet.”
She finished her sandwich and wiped off her hands. Draining her coffee cup, she couldn't help but notice how dirty her skirt was. It was like a year's worth of grime had gotten on them. “I don't know about you, but I'm starting to feel pretty gross.”
He shrugged. “We can finish before five, shower and change, and then head down for a proper sit-down dinner.”
“Yeah, we can do that. It's going to get pretty late if we don't get back to work soon.”
“You sure you don't want some custard pie?”
“I wouldn't mind a slice.”
She accepted it from the boy and took a bite. It was cold and creamy and the egg-white surface was a savoury toasty-brown.
“You had a good idea bringing so much food.”
The boy smirked. “Figured you needed feeding.”
She chuckled, then stood up and offered him a hand. “All right, let's go finish up.”
The boy looked at the still-dusty arcade floor. “Looks like it's time to break out the vacuum cleaners. I saw a couple in the janitor's closet, be right back.”
He ran back to the closet and she wandered over to the arcade machines. She ran a finger over one of the screens. They'd wiped the dust off but the glass was still streaked with residue.
The boy returned with the vacuums and they started on the floor again. They passed their wands over the floor and the difference was instantly visible.
It took the both of them to move each arcade cabinet to clean underneath. Her arms shook and the boy told her to put her back and legs into it. When they finally finished she was trembling a bit and she saw that he was tired too.
They began the delicate process of wiping down the machines again, and then spraying vinegar on the screens and cleaning them with newspaper.
“Have you played a lot of video games?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not really. I don't remember them being around when I was a kid.”
“They weren't around back then?”
She gave him a smile and continued wiping.
“Huh. Well, I haven't played as many games as I'd have liked, but it was a good selection.”
She could feel the ache in her arms. She'd never cleaned this much before. “How long do you think it will take to finish with all the cabinets?”
“We're nearly done. Then we can mop some of the floor, move the cabinets back, and finish mopping.”
She heaved a sigh of relief and looked around. They'd finished a lot and hopefully would be done before the evening. “Thank God. I don't think I have much more strength in me.”
“Hey, it's almost dinner. Chin up!”
“Dinner . . .” she looked at her phone. She couldn't believe it was almost five-thirty already. She looked at the boy. “Is it really almost dinnertime?”
“Nearly there, nearly there.” He'd started mopping the floor. She got her own mop and started working furiously, thinking of dinner.
* * *
“Now we're done, and the dirtiest things in the room are us.”
She stretched. Every part of her body ached and she knew the boy was feeling it too. She looked at him and chuckled. “I think we're going to need quite a long shower. You're looking pretty gross.”
“I guess so. I hope you brought a change of clothes.”
“I have my backpack in my room.”
“Seeya then,” he said, and wheeled the janitor's cart away.
She went back to her room and found her bag. She looked at her grimy hands and clothes and grimaced.
* * *
She turned off the hot water and stepped out of the shower bath. She slipped on a bathrobe, put her hair in a bun, and dressed. Then she headed out.
She found the boy at a dining table, playing with his phone. He wore a white t-shirt and sweatpants.
“Whatcha playing?” she asked.
“I'm actually reading up on how to clean stuff.”
“Huh.” She pulled up a chair and sat beside him. “What do you want to know?”
“Just, how to do it right. I've never cleaned in a hotel before. Shall we eat?”
Her stomach grumbled. “Yeah, let's get some food.”
“You don't have to tell me twice!”
She looked at what was on offer and her mouth watered. “Hm, I'm not sure what to get. What are you thinking about eating?”
He shrugged. “I'll have what you're having?”
She looked at him and sighed. “That's not very helpful. I don't know what I'm getting either.”
“I guess we'll starve.”
“Heh. I'm sure we'll figure it out. What are you feeling for tonight? Pizza, pasta, salad?”
“Is a potato pie any of those things?”
“Huh?”
“I mean a pie crust filled with potato slices, cheese, cream, and bacon, with everything baked until melty and toasty.”
She tried to picture it in her head. It didn't sound bad. “Is it a real dish or did you just make that up?”
“I think it's a Scottish thing. I saw a casserole full of it.”
“I've heard they like their food deep-fried, is that a traditional thing?”
“Who doesn't like deep-fried things?” He went over to help himself to a large serving of potato pie and salad.
“You've got a point,” she said. She followed his lead and took a medium-sized helping of the pie and a smaller one of the salad. She saw a selection of thin-crust pizzas but decided the potato pie would be enough.
Jazz music was playing somewhere. It wasn't her favourite music but it was nice. “It feels like we earned this,” she said, sitting down at the table.
“Yeah, but it's an early night for me.”
She chuckled. “We worked our butts off today. I'm going to head to my room after this.”
They passed the rest of the meal in small talk, then put their plates away.
“Are you really just going to head to your room to sleep?” she asked.
“I do want to look at the arcade one last time, maybe see if I can get a machine working.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You're actually going to do more work tonight?”
“I'll just check!”
She shook her head. “You're going to be sore in the morning, you know.”
They headed upstairs. She felt her legs dragging and knew she was going to pass out the minute she got in bed.
“Wow,” the boy said. Every arcade cabinet was powered on,”
“What—How did this happen?” She'd been dreading doing more work on the arcade the next day, but she never expected this.
“I . . . I guess the hotel finished the last bit of work to reopen the arcade?”
She stepped up to one of the machines and ran a hand over the controls. Her fingers came back clean. “It looks brand-new. Like it's been professionally-restored.”
He gave her a side glance. “Are you saying we don't do good work?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. We did an amazing job. I just never expected us to get the machines looking this good.”
But the boy had forgotten they were talking. He stepped up to the House of the Dead cabinet and inserted his room key into the card reader.
“You're seriously going to play already?” she asked.
“Unh-huh.”
She shook her head. “Well, have fun then. I'm headed to my room to pass out.”
“G'night.”
She gave him a wave and a smile. “Try not to stay up too late.”
“Mmmmph.”
She chuckled and shook her head again. She turned and headed down the walkway to her room.
Her phone chimed and she saw that the Pyramidion app had sent an alert: You can now unlock the library. Her feet started leading her to the library and soon she found herself in front of the doors. She reached out and opened them.
The library was dark. She walked in, sensed a large complicated space but saw nothing, and then she found a light switch.
Click.
Things weren't much better with the lights on. The library was every bit as dusty and disused as the arcade was, with shelves thick with dust and cobwebs everywhere. She stared around the room and her shoulders started to slump as she took in how much work this was going to involve.
“What have I gotten myself into this time?”