Chapter 3
DAMIEN
After three decades as lift attendant at the Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts, Damien had grown to hate the creak of the lever.
He’d been up and down the same route so many times that he’d started to wonder if maybe he’d been trapped in Hell without realising it.
Monotony made each day stretch longer than the last. But he was almost halfway through his required service to enter Heaven – he couldn’t give up now.
Today he didn’t even have Nefertiti’s company. She came and went as she pleased, just as she’d appeared in his lift one day out of nowhere. Her riddles were his greatest source of entertainment.
The doors dinged as they opened on Floor Greed. Damien often fantasised about taking a hammer to that cheerful chime.
Delilah beamed as she sashayed into the lift. ‘I had fun! I aced the test.’
Damien truly hoped so. His favourite part of the job was taking people up to Heaven, and he always felt miserable when he dropped even the most unpleasant guest into Hell. But, in his experience, the tests were never easy.
‘As soon as the door closes, we’ll be able to tell if you passed.
See these two buttons?’ He pointed above the panel containing the floor numbers.
‘If the white button lights up, then I can press it and take you up to Heaven. If the black button lights up, then you failed – but that’s okay!
You have six more tries. I would then take you to reception so that Heather can assign you a room, and you can put your name down for the next free slot.
The waiting time can be anywhere from a week to around a month for your next attempt, but time flies down here! ’
‘Then you’re both the first and last face that every guest here sees.’ Delilah winked. ‘It’s a charming face too.’
Damien’s ears heated up. He had not expected a compliment from someone as lovely as Delilah, with her heavy-lidded sparkling grey eyes and rosebud lips vibrant against creamy skin.
Her hair had been dyed purple at the roots, with trailing locks of bright red and gold, blazing like a phoenix’s tail.
Her smile burned just as bright, a ray of sunshine in this dingy, mouldy box.
The doors closed, and the black button lit up.
‘Why?’ The beautiful smile dropped off Delilah’s face, to Damien’s sorrow. ‘I gave away all the money I won playing poker back to the hotel. I told them to upgrade the lift.’
‘You did?’ Damien’s breath hitched. In the thirty-two years he’d operated his lift, not once had a customer ever given him a gift. ‘Money doesn’t have any value here – you can’t make donations – but it’s the thought that counts. Thank you.’
‘Oh.’ Delilah’s head drooped. ‘I thought . . . I guess I was wrong about everything.’ Her voice became small.
Damien wanted to slap a hand over his big mouth. Stupid, he should have saved that news for when she felt less down. ‘Almost no one passes the first time. Don’t beat yourself up. I’m taking you back to Heather. She’ll get you a cup of water or coffee and arrange a room for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Delilah’s smile was a ghost of her old joy. As the lift moved, she muttered, ‘Maybe I didn’t win enough money. I got bored too easily. Yes, that’s it. I need to prove that I have the willpower to play longer so I can give away an even greater fortune . . .’
When the lift doors opened, the reception desk had been blocked from view by a tall man whose girth strained the buttons on his suit.
Blond hair had been cropped in a crew cut.
He slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘I’ve been waiting half an hour for the lift!
This is outrageous. I demand to speak to the management. ’
‘We don’t have any way to contact the creator of this hotel.’ Heather sounded exhausted. ‘We only have one lift in this entire building and no stairs. Waiting times can be long.’
The man puffed out his chest. ‘I’m a CEO. I should get top priority.’
‘That doesn’t matter here.’ Heather took a deep breath, then her polite voice returned. She pushed forward a cup. ‘Would you like a drink of water while you wait?’
The man grabbed the cup off her desk, about to throw it in her face.
Damien flinched, wanting to do something but unable to leave the lift.
Delilah ran forward and grabbed the cup. ‘Be careful.’ She slung an arm round the man’s shoulders and faux-whispered, ‘The secret watchers might see you.’
He froze. ‘Secret watchers?’
‘The mysterious people who spy on us to see how we’re behaving outside the tests.’ Delilah patted his cheek. ‘Abusing the staff could get you sent straight to Hell.’
All colour draining from his face, he mumbled something about being tired and ran for the door at the back, leading to the guest rooms.
‘You should apologise to Heather!’ Delilah called after him. She set the paper cup back on the desk without spilling a drop.
Heather burst out laughing. ‘I’m impressed you thought up such a clever lie on the spot.’
Behind his hand, Damien hid his own smile. Delilah was not only beautiful – she was cool.
‘My lying skills come from having a strict mother.’ Delilah’s smile faded. ‘I failed my test, and I need to sign up for another slot.’
‘Oh, honey, don’t stress out. You’ve got six more tries.’ Heather typed on her computer. ‘Greed is a popular floor, but I can fit you in thirty-five days from now, if you don’t mind being here at two in the morning. You don’t need to sleep now.’
‘In that case, I’ll take it. Thank you.’
‘We all get rooms so we can have a bit of privacy. Even if you don’t need the bed, it feels good to lie down sometimes.
You can have room 106 because I like you.
It’s an extra-big room in the corner.’ Heather handed over a key attached to a wooden keyring with the room number.
‘Just go through the door behind me and follow the signs.’
Delilah said her farewells to both Heather and Damien, then left.
Heather walked over to Damien and offered him a package of gummy worms. ‘Will you take a bribe? I need you to check if Jaime snuck into Floor Gluttony again.’
‘I’d be happy to.’ He accepted the sweets.
Glancing at the door, Heather said, ‘Delilah seems too good a person to have ended up in Purgatory. But then so are you.’
‘I’m worried about her. She seems to think her trial is winning at gambling, but that’s not how it usually works.’ Damien ran his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s a test of character, not skill. Gambling is . . . not traditionally considered good.’
‘You can’t give her any hints.’ Heather punctuated this statement with a hard look. ‘Remember what happens to cheaters.’
‘I know.’ As a general rule, Damien took more people to Heaven than Hell.
The seven tries were generous, allowing the majority to pass.
As for the rest, most people got too scared after the sixth failure to try the last time, preferring to lurk in the hotel forever as ghosts or to obtain jobs.
The very first time Damien had sent someone to Hell, the guest had tampered with the computer to take the test on the wrong floor.
She’d passed – but her light had still turned black.
Somehow, the hotel always knew when someone had cheated.
Damien would forever remember the lift dropping sharply and doors opening on the very bottom floor.
There had been no flames as he’d expected.
He’d seen nothing at all – almost as if his mind had blotted out the horror.
But he’d heard the screams. The sound would stick with him for eternity.
The darkness had sucked the guest in as she’d clung to the railing and begged. Remembering, he shuddered.
Heather patted his arm. ‘I’m sure Delilah will figure it out. She has six more tries. She might even just get bored of gambling.’
Damien didn’t have much confidence about anything, so he’d be happy to borrow hers instead.
Never before had Damien wanted any guest to win as badly as Delilah.
She deserved it. She always had a kind word for him when she took the lift to the cafeteria.
Over the next month, she often stopped by to chat.
She told him about events in the living world since he’d left it.
He usually tried not to get too attached to guests .
. . but he craved human connection too much to send her away.
On her second attempt, she brought him a cup of coffee and a chocolate-chip cookie. ‘Here’s a present for taking me to my test.’ The cheer had already returned to her rosy cheeks and long-legged step.
‘You don’t need to bribe me – I’m doing my job.’ Nevertheless, he accepted with a smile.
‘Normally, I’d think I’d need coffee to be up at two in the morning, but we really don’t need sleep, huh?’ Delilah shook her head. ‘Though I do still find it relaxing to lie on my bed sometimes. Do you have a room?’
‘I can’t leave the lift. That’s part of my duties.’ Damien tried to sound lighthearted. ‘I’m the only mode of transportation in this hotel, and there’s an endless demand for my services.’
Delilah saw through the brave face. ‘You never get a break or a holiday? That must be exhausting.’
His shoulders sagged. ‘It’s got boring. At this point, I wish I could do any other job for a change.’
‘That’s tough. I never would have thought even working in a hotel for ghosts could get boring.’ Delilah stepped out of the lift with a wave. ‘Hopefully, I will have an interesting and triumphant story for you when I pass my test.’
After she returned to find another black light, Delilah’s head drooped again. ‘My luck wasn’t as good today . . . but I still made money . . .’
It wasn’t easy to bite his tongue and refrain from giving any advice. ‘Would you like to pet Nefertiti?’ Damien held up his cat.
Nefertiti hissed, unimpressed at being volunteered. Damien quickly set her down before he got bitten.
Delilah knelt and scratched the cat behind her ears. Nefertiti purred, appeased by this offering. ‘She’s beautiful.’ Nefertiti purred louder.
‘Cats make everything in life better.’ Damien smiled. ‘And death.’