When I reach the hall leading to the ballroom, I glance again at the staff members guarding the door. I’ll have to get my invitation from my room, find something to wear. I’ll get past them, and once inside I’ll find my family. And then we’re out of here. I just have to hurry.
The elevator signals my floor, but I’m only a few feet down the hall when my legs become heavier with each step. An ache starts in my arm, then continues to crawl over my chest, onto my neck. “Ow,” I moan, putting my hand on the wall for balance. Pain, like a tightening vise, starts across my forehead, making my eyes blur with tension. The air has a dreamlike quality. I look ahead to my room, and the walls of the Ruby expand and contract, like they’re breathing.
Is the hotel trying to stop me? I consider turning around to make my way back to the elevator, but it’s so far—and I’m so tired. So weak. And then it starts: the soft music. The slow strumming of a guitar. The haunting melody, drawing me to it. I rest against the wall, rife with pain and longing for escape. I roll my head to the side and see a light underneath the door of room 1336. The music played in there before but then stopped. If I’m not alone on the thirteenth floor, who else is here?
“Hello?” I call, and push myself off the wall, stumbling forward. My ankle turns and the heel snaps off Catherine’s shoe. I stagger forward, the weight of my right leg causing it to drag behind me in a limp. “I need help!”
Instead of opening the door, they turn up the music—louder, until it’s on full volume, rattling the mirror hanging on the wall. Are they trying to block me out? What sort of person ignores a call for help? Are they the others? I’m only a few doors away when a terrifying thought hits me: What if this is Kenneth? Or what if it’s a trick the Ruby is playing on me?
But the song—the song is so familiar. Around me the temperature starts to drop, colder with every breath. Along with that, my skin feels wet, and I lift my uninjured arm, surprised when I see moisture gathered, like dew on the morning grass.
“What?” I murmur, stepping forward again until I reach the door. I fall against it, my legs finally giving out. I’m slipping toward unconsciousness; I’m slipping away and the terror is crushing. “I’m dying,” I breathe out. “I’m dying.”
I reach behind me, sliding my hand along until my fingers wrap around the metal handle of the door. I pull it down, my eyelids too heavy to see any longer. The pulsing of my heart pounds in my temples. And then, all at once, the door opens and my body is falling backward.
Chapter 17
My eyes flutter open, and at first the world is blurry. Above me is a light—far, far up in the sky, the world black beyond it. I start to ask where I am, but there is a gurgle and I choke. I turn my head to the side, spitting up blood onto a black ground. I try to take in a breath, but it’s difficult. More blood comes up.
I’m cold, and the minute I sense it, the cold is followed by the most immense pain I’ve ever felt. My entire body is wracked with agony, like it’s been dropped from a three-story building, smacking me onto pavement. I moan, struggling to breathe, to comprehend the pain. Then in the background I hear the song again. Only now I can understand the melody. My eyelids flutter again, and I see more light, two round lights below me.
The world is too difficult to understand, and then, slowly, clarity and focus return.
At my side my arm is pinned beneath my hip, a smashing ache at the bone. The fingers on my good hand slide over the ground, touching pebbles and grit and rock. Feel asphalt. A whimper sputters blood from my lips, and I press my cheek to the road and look at the two lights of my father’s car, overturned in a ditch about twenty yards away. The song still plays on the radio, the same song from the CD that we were listening to just before the accident.
The accident. It rushes back—the last moments in the car. Daniel taking my Snickers bar, my mother’s CD in the stereo. I was tired and reclined my seat. I’d forgotten the rest. I’d forgotten my father mumbling under his breath, how he couldn’t do it anymore. I turned to him, tears glistening on his cheeks.
“Dad,” I said, startling him. He jerked the wheel.
The car began to slide, my weight throwing me against the door, my head cracking the glass of the passenger window, and I reached for the door handle. The music continued to play, but over it I heard Daniel scream my name. I heard him scream, his body flying forward. The world upended as the car rolled; my door opened and there was a whoosh as I was sucked out by gravity. Then . . . nothing. We were arriving at the Hotel Ruby.
I’m a broken pile of bones on the side of the road now, unable to move my legs. The song from the car reaches the end and then loops, playing the same melody. “Dad?” I call, although it’s only a thick whisper. We’ve been in an accident and I’m nearly dead.
I blink, my eyelids stiff, and warm tears rush over my face. I lift my hand to wipe them away, and when I lower it, it’s smeared in blood. I need help. I look at the car again and then see, just beyond the smashed-out windshield, a body.
I see my brother’s body. Daniel is turned away, but I can make out his profile, the dried blood staining his blond hair, the wound in his head.
I’m in so much pain, but no amount of physical agony can equal what I feel when I see my brother. “Daniel?” I call, even though I can tell from here he’s not breathing. “Dan!” Sobs overtake me, and I try to roll to my side, feeling a pop in my shoulder when I do. I scream and bring my fist to my mouth, biting down on the flesh to keep from passing out. “Daniel!” I yell again, crying too hard to be understood. My body won’t cooperate, it’s too heavy, and I drag myself, nails snapping off on the pavement as I pull forward.
“I won’t leave you,” I say to him as if he can hear me. “I’ll never abandon you. I never will, Daniel.” I sob. “I never will.”
I’ve only made it a few feet, if that. I won’t be able to reach him down in the ditch, not with my injuries. I stare at my brother’s face, noting his skin has gone gray. In his hair, brain matter has seeped out. The crack in his skull is just like it was at lunch this afternoon. This afternoon . . .
At the Ruby. Adrenaline surges through me, and I take a renewed look around. Clear vision doesn’t return to my right eye, but I’m trying to figure out where I am. How can we be here now? We were just at the Ruby. Are Daniel and my father still there? Is there a Hotel Ruby?
Frantic thoughts, crazy breaks from reality, drag me in and out. My gaze falls on a signpost on the other side of the road: THE HOTEL RUBY—2 MI. Eventually help will arrive, but what does that mean? They won’t be able to save my brother. They can’t save him because he’s still at the Ruby.
My lips pull apart with another heavy cry. In reality I know we may never have walked in those doors. I know it. But I can’t accept it. I can’t accept a life without my family. I can’t leave Daniel. Maybe he’s dead, but maybe he’s at a party in the ballroom waiting for me. Waiting for Dad.
What would he think if I didn’t show up? Would he think I’d abandoned him? Is that what he wanted when he told me I had to leave? Had he figured this all out, kept it from me so I wouldn’t stay?
“Too bad,” I call to his body. “I won’t walk away from you.” Madness seems to overtake me, and I laugh. “I won’t crawl away,” I correct, rolling onto my back to stare up at the streetlight. I can’t wait for a passerby to help, or even an ambulance. Because when they show up, they’ll take Daniel from me. They’ll cover him in a white sheet and I’ll never see his face again. His pale blue eyes, just like our mother’s. My brother will be dead.
And I can’t let that happen.
I stop fighting to breathe, letting out a staggered sigh as my eyelids start to flutter. Heaviness weighs on my chest, and I imagine I’m filling up with blood. I have to get Daniel the hell out of there.
“I’ll bring you back,” I mumble, fluid running from the corner of my mouth. I look over one last time at his body, at the car where the music plays. Behind the wheel I can finally make out my father’s silhouette—the an
gle of his broken neck. I’m the only living soul here. “I’m coming, Daddy,” I whisper, slipping away. I close my eyes.
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.
Black Tie Event
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,” sh
e 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.