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It’s your last day at the Baroness hotel; after a nice week get away from everything just to relax the hotel had been fairly well. You enjoyed sipping through mimosas in the morning, napping, and doing some other leisurely activities around the premises, primarily reading. The hotel had a rather robust reputation, something along the lines of never wanting to check out once you’ve visited. You don’t really remember it all too well, but it lives up the sentiment. Although it has been rather empty despite the reviews, most haunted in the tri-state, yet you hadn’t seen nary a ghost, ghoul, or wraith frequenting the establishment. It is on the off season however, so perhaps you’ve happened to plan your trip whilst the premises is mostly vacant.
You’ve already pre-packed even though check-out isn’t for a few more hours. You still wanted to relax while you had the time to before you went back to well… everything.
From the moment you were five and you’d been scouted by an acting company after that your life has been one commercial break to another, playing side characters, in movies, and talk shows. You’re surprised your voice hasn’t given out with how much of yourself has been on film. Vacations are few and far between given your contracts you’re obligated to do, and your family having signed you onto them when you were young and not so knowledgeable many of these bindings do not favor you in the slightest. You’re expected to work long hours on sets, maintain diets, and be perfect photo ready in case any paparazzi come by. You hardly ever even get privacy to yourself. It’s difficult to say the least, and in the first time in a long time during your stay you were pleasantly surprised you’d not been hounded by any prying eyes.
The doorman, as the only help or staff you’d seen on premises had assured you when you checked in that he’d make sure to bar anyone who wasn’t paying for a room and double check the halls for you. However more importantly that you appreciated was that he claimed he didn’t really know who you were, when he asked why you’d been nervously checking into the hotel; afraid of being recognized and a scene being made. He’d just given you a pleasant small smile and helped you get your bags to your room. You do feel a little guilty though, you can’t recall his name, you know you must have asked at some point, or maybe he told you? You aren’t sure, but you are too embarrassed to ask at this point.
Other than that however, it’s been bliss, no managers telling you what to eat, no directors yelling at you for not thinking you weren’t ‘trying’, no crowds around you clamoring for photos or asking rather embarrassing and personal questions. It’s just been you and that lovely doorman, staying be your side refilling your drinks and entertaining small chat here and there. You even found they had some books you could read, and you found you enjoyed it, you like reading. A small fact you hadn’t realized you liked when the only things you could read before were magazines which often didn’t have the most thrilling things to say about you.
You’d also been a bit embarrassed, but due to your early stardom you never got to have a ‘real education’, you never even touched high school so you’d had to ask the doorman occasionally what a few words meant. Gosh, you could only imagine he must think you’re such an airhead, but at least he was kind enough not to laugh in your face or make a snide comment in front of you. You can appreciate that at the very least.
Right now you’re leisurely laying in bed, a pillow beneath your arms as you read, ‘Of Mice & Men’, a classic the doorman told you it was; when you hear a knock on the door. You take a quick glance at the page number to remember where you’re at before closing it. Setting it down beside you, you stretch you arms and back before coming to answer the door. Standing tall, and perfectly poised as always, never a speck out of place on his red uniform, the Doorman greets you with a kind smile. With red curled hair just coming out around the hat strapped around his face, freckles lightly dusting his cheeks and a unique blue eyes. You swear you’ve never quite seen a color like them before. He has beside him a silver cart show casing various delicacies of breakfast items still fresh a top it.
“Good morning Miss,” He greets you warmly, saying your name.“I’ve come to serve breakfast directly to you today.”
“Oh? Is there something wrong with the dinning room?” You question, typically you would go down stairs to get food or order it in to your room. You don’t recall ordering in though. You still step aside though to allow him to roll the cart in. You follow slightly behind him as he wheels it towards the small table by the window to your room.
“None at all. Seeing as how it is so slow, I just didn’t wish to trouble you with having to walk and fetch it yourself when I could just bring it to you directly.” He replies starting to set dishes down over table and various cutlery and even a set of napkins for you to use.
“Oh, well thank you. You know you really don’t have to. I could use with the walking anyways, oh,” You let out a small airy laugh, “My manager’s gonna freak out when he hears about how spoiled I’ve been eating.” However the doorman does not share in your joke, still maintaining that polite smile, yet not humor or joy reaches the bright blues of his eyes.
“You’ve been consuming fairly balanced meals here, mimosas aside that is, the Baroness hosts a wide variety of nutritional foods as well.” He instead stays and you try to still maintain your smile towards him. “I guess it’s just different in my industry, different standard of healthy and what not.” You say, but he doesn’t say anything else as he finishes setting up the table, giving you a small bow, hand over his chest, before pulling out the chair for you to sit down. “Please do enjoy.”
“Thank you.”
He seems to be about to leave before he stops himself short of walking away, “Oh and one more thing, I did want to ask, but how have you been enjoying the book?” He points towards where it is on the bed and your eyes follow his movements, before you reply. “It’s wonderful, thank you again for the recommendation.”
“Of course, anytime and remember just ring the bell should you need anything at all.” He then gestures towards said golden bell, right beside your nightstand. You haven’t actually used it yet, preferring to just call in with the phone. You’re sure there’s some magic attached to it or something to notify him, but you can’t help but feel that it’s a little demeaning towards him to call him via bell ringing. You just nod, and with that he turns and leaves bringing the cart with him.
It’s a bit bittersweet having to leave the hotel now, if you could you’d stay for the rest of your days. However time moves forwards, you still have life-long contracts to fulfill, and long nights ahead. You need to call for a lift back home, so using the hotel’s landline you start to dial up your manager’s number to send you one over.
You wait a few times as it rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Odd, they usually answer right away, and finally the phone let’s out a small dial-up ringtone before saying in a static robotic voice.
‘We’re sorry, but the number you have reached is not in service; please try again later.’
You must have put it in wrong, dialing in again, the phone rings yet still spits out that same message at the end.
Maybe these phones were only meant to be used in the hotel? A bit strange, but you decide it can’t hurt to ask and dial up for the front desk. The phone doesn’t even get a chance to ring once before it swiftly responded to you.
“Front desk of the Baroness, how can I be of service?” You hear the doorman’s voice crackle out from the phone’s speakers.
“Hi, I was just wondering; do the phones here, can they access numbers outside of the hotel? You see I’m trying to get in contact with my manager.” You explain.
“Yes they do.” He confirms.
“Oh, well… I might be having some technical problems with mine, it keeps saying the number is no longer in service. May I head downstairs and use the one at the front desk?” You try to ask instead.
“I am so sorry for that inconvenience, that shouldn’t be at all. Could I offer an extended stay at the hotel to makeup for this error on our part?” It’s a lovely idea, being able to spend longer here, but you really can’t. That choice just isn’t up to you.
“Afraid not, I’m supposed to be leaving today, although thank you for the offer, it’s really not necessary though.” You sigh wistfully, “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“See you soon.” The doorman replies and then the line clicks shut.
You go to make your way down decided to take the stairs over the elevator, just so you can linger around the premises a little longer before you need to make the call. You’re already dreading it, you can practically hear and feel the hot breath of your manager as they chew you out for how long you’ve spent on vacation. Your shoes make a distinct noise on the tile stairs as you move downwards, reminding you of just how empty this place is. It’s really astounding you’ve seemed to have picked the one week where you seem to be the singular patron on the building. So entirely devoid it seems they’ve even limited their staff to just one man who caters everything around here for you. You hope he doesn’t have any disdain for you or that he isn’t bother by your requests. He seems to not mind, he even seems to like his job very much, but you know how people can be with one person than different with someone else. Just the nature of people, still perhaps you haven’t been too much of a bother.
When you finally get to the bottom of the stairs it feels like you walked a lot longer than you should have. Your calves ache a little, and when you look up towards the landing you think you came from it doesn’t look very far at all. Strange, but maybe your minds just playing tricks on you, or maybe you’re not even looking at the right landing.
Pushing through a set of doors you come into the main lobby. Empty as ever, a distant background music plays and echos through the chairs in front for people to sit while they wait for help. A stand of books and magazines on another side. The pristine red carpet starting at the front entrance and rolled all the way over to the front desk. The outside window of the place show the quiet mid-day streets of Manhattan. Cars parked out front, the other business fronts seeming to be a bit empty as well.
The desk is empty for once though, only the bell is there, in all of your week of being here the doorman seemed to always be right where you needed him to be, or rather always where ever you looked first. You guess that convenience couldn’t be maintained forever. He’s probably helping another guest to their room, and you stand there waiting for him to return. You know you could probably just go behind the desk and use the phone, but that seemed extremely inappropriate. So you walk down over towards the waiting seat and sit down and wait.
Your eyes slowly blink open, a yawn leaving your mouth as you stretch out from your uncomfortable position on the chair. You sit there is a daze for a few minutes as you get your bearings your gaze turning to look out the windows of the hotel to see that night has fallen.
It takes you a moment to realize that you’ve just napped through far past your check out time and consequently far past the time you were supposed to be back home.
Your manager was going to kill you. They’d never let you live this down, you might not even be ever able to have a nice vacation ever again. You stand up from the chair, quickly making your way to the front desk to find the doorman still isn’t here. Your hand hovers over the bell, before you do tap it. The bell chiming no more than once before the door behind the desk opens and you see the man come immediately at the call of the phone. You can see his mouth open about to say something, but you speak first.
“Please may I use the phone, I need to call my manager. They’re probably freaking out, I’m surprised they haven’t come in person by now, Oh my God, they’re going to be so upset with me, I-” The words pour out of your mouth, but the door man speaks over you.
“Breathe.” He calmly demands, and you find yourself listening. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling out.
“Good. Now then, you seem rather stressed Miss,” He says your name quietly, still speaking in an even calm tone despite your more manic state. “May I interest you in a tiramisu? It’s made on the grounds.” His hand comes up from the desk itself, a plate of a dessert in hand seemingly from nowhere.
“What?” You say confused, unsure where he even got it from, before you dismiss the offer. “Look, I’m sorry I don’t need any sweets. God the magazine would have a field day if they saw how looked now, please I just need to use the phone.” He sets the dessert down onto the desk off to the side. You see his lips purse for a moment at your refusal, before the smile returns.
“I would recommend against calling your… manager at this time. You seem to be a bit dazed, and confused, please allow me to escort you to the spa room. We have a lovely cucumber mask this week that I think you will find soothing.” He tries to offer instead.
“I-I don’t need a spa, I need the phone. Please.” You try again, eyes flicking from him to the phone on the desk.
“Hmm.” He hums for a moment, his eyes are locked on to you. They don’t for a second look elsewhere as he thinks on something.
“How about a dip in our indoor pool? I know you’re not much one for swimming, but perhaps that could help burn off all this nervous energy you seem to be experiencing.” He tries instead, as if your request was never heard of in the first place. It’s the first time he’s ever acted like this to your knowledge, he’s usually very accepting of your requests, why was the phone such a big deal?
“I don’t need any of that, I just need the phone. Let me just-” Your hand moves to reach past the counter to grab it for yourself, you normally wouldn’t be so rude, but needs must. Your manager is probably fuming right now. However your hand is stopped short right as it grips the phone handle. A gloved handing coming to rest over your wrist, gentle but firm. Silken and cold as his fingers wrap around you, you look up to the man, and see that his eyes are still looking down at you. A small wistful sigh leaving his lips.
“I always wish that it never has to come to this you know.” He admits, and your brows furrowed confused as he keeps talking.“But I just don’t get it. You hate your job, you hate your manager, you hate everything about it. Yet you always so desperately reach for the phone.” You pull your hand back from the phone and he lets you, his grip doesn’t follow settling on the desk instead, his gaze finally drifting off of you rather than burning holes into your soul as he seems to think.
“W-what?” You nervously mumble. He looks down to the dessert on the desk, eyeing it thoughtfully.
“I know you have an insatiable craving for tiramisu, but you never did get to try it this time around, perhaps if I’d given you some prior, or maybe I just need to find out what your other interests are.” He more so mumbles it to himself rather than directly towards you.
“A creative outlet for you, to help de-stress and put your energy into something. What do you think of knitting? Would you like to learn knitting next time?” He suddenly asks louder, looking to you again. Eagerly awaiting a reply as his smile returns to his lips.
“What do you mean by next time? I need to leave.”
“That’s what you think you need, but I know what you really need.” He says, with complete confidence. “So how about painting? Not dabbled much myself, but I can learn for your sake.” He tries once again, waiting for an answer.
He’s a stalker, he must be, an obsessive one, you’ve had letters and stuff sent to you before, but never in your wildest dreams did you think your hotel bellhop would be one. It’s insane, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to you right now, he somehow thinks if you just can’t make the call back to your manager you won’t leave. He’s completely delusional.
You take one unsteady step backwards, before you take another and another, keeping your eyes on him, before you turn tail and run for the front doors of the Baroness.
“They’re locked.” He calls out from behind you, still eerily calm despite your frantic state as you try to pull and push on the doors to no avail. They do not even rattle as you try the handles. You look upwards running back towards the doors of the stairwell, maybe there was an emergency exit you could find. However the doors there also remain firmly sealed. As if they were part of the wall itself rather than an exit. “Also locked.” He calls out again, still standing patiently by the front desk, seemingly self-assured you have no way of exiting. Your eyes dart around again to the windows, running to them try and find a latch or anything before you consider if there’s a way to break them open. You can hear the sound of slow precise footsteps from behind you as you start to bang your hand against the glass. Tears starting to pour down your cheeks as your breaths come in a ragged hot fast pace.
You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want to get hurt, you didn’t want this, God what was he going to do to you? You just want to go home.
“That doesn’t go anywhere.” He says, and you sniffle looking out through the window, tears blurring your vision only to find the view from outside is… wrong. There’s no depth, the image is completely static, like someone just pasted a wallpaper over the window rather than what was actually outside. You place your hand against, sore from trying to beat against it, your legs grow unsteady and you slide down to the floor. Staring off into the picture outside that looks back, offering you no answers and only more confusion.
“Wh-where am I? Who, who are you?” You ask through sobs as you turn to look back at the doorman as he comes to stand just a foot away. He bends down on one knee to meet you at eye level, his brows are furrowed just a touch. A look of pity as he brings as hand up and you flinch away from the motion, but he continues a handkerchief being produced and brought to your cheeks to wipe away the tears staining them.
“You’re at the Baroness hotel, exactly where you need to be. The other part doesn’t matter.” There’s a glow to his eyes, a color of blue you don’t think you’ve ever seen before, you don’t even really know what to ascribe to them other than otherworldly. It’s like it’s a new color all together in a way, there’s just no word for it, no sense, no rhyme, no reason, it just is. You find you can’t look away, you can’t even think.
“Hush, now let’s try again. I so do hope this time you’ll see things my way.” He says as you stare back into his eyes, lost in the impossible color.
It’s your last day at the Baroness hotel; after a nice week get away from everything just to relax the hotel had been fairly well. You enjoyed snacking on cheesecake, napping, and doing some other leisurely activities around the premises, primarily knitting. The hotel had a rather robust reputation, something along the lines of never wanting to check out once you’ve visited. You don’t really remember it all too well, but it lives up the sentiment. Although it has been rather empty despite the reviews, most haunted in the tri-state, yet you hadn’t seen nary a ghost, ghoul, or wraith frequenting the establishment. It is on the off season however, so perhaps you’ve happened to plan your trip whilst the premises is mostly vacant….