Chapter 7 Karia
Karia
Slipping down the stairwell is eerie.
I almost regret being so alone.
I pushed on my Vans back in the room my friends left me inside, peered down the hallway, and when I saw nothing, sprinted to the exit of the stairs.
With the power still out, it is completely dark here, no windows letting in the lighter shades of night.
In my mind, so I don’t lose my nerve, I try to calculate the date as I curl my fingers around the metal railing, my footsteps silent, the only sound my pulse beating frantically inside my head.
Counting forward from the anniversary Sullen went missing, I think it’s Tuesday.
The sixth of October. One of my favorite months, I would usually be preparing to drift from party to party with Cosmo on my arm, drinking at the children of Writhe’s condos or homes bought from their parents’ money.
Letting Cosmo touch me and fuck me as I got so drunk, even the ceiling blurred above my eyes.
If we decided to go to his place, he would have to carry me inside.
He was always gentle in that way, full of an attempt at manners.
Never mocked me for what I did the night before as the sun rose, but maybe because his expectations for me were so low, like everyone else’s.
Pathetic.
The word echoes inside my head.
I tighten my grip on the railing and wince, the cuts in my palm from the shattered glass at the Emporium still fresh.
On the next set of stairs, at the very top, I have to stop. My breath comes in vicious inhales and exhales as I close my eyes tight. The hotel seems to spin in utter blackness around me, my toes perched precariously on the ledge of the step.
The scent of must and cedar and the age of the hotel fills my nostrils as I try to breathe evenly, my heart racing in my chest, and it’s not entirely from sprinting in silence down the stairs.
It’s the memory of Sullen’s teeth along my palm.
How he swallowed a sliver of glass from my skin.
The way he pulled the Jameson from my grip, twice.
Like he wanted to protect me, even from myself.
Cosmo never once tried to stop my drinking. Why would he? It was a benefit to him in every aspect. I made my own choices, and I wouldn’t take them back, but something achingly tender like want and hope wells up inside of my stomach now as I stand in the dark wearing Sullen’s shirt, missing him.
It felt good, to be taken care of in a different way, even if he tried to hide his concern under grotesque threats.
I swallow hard, then pop open my eyes.
I have passed the lobby floor with no plan, no strategy, no weapon, only the warped desire to save Sullen. As I strain my gaze in the dark, I note the stairs wrap around again below me, but there is no door on the landing.
This leads to the basement of the hotel, and if Sullen is still inside, the crypt seems like the place I might find him. After all, if the modern Number Seven had twisted secrets buried beneath the architecture, a hovel for murderers and their meetings must have the same.
I take another breath.
I walk carefully down the stairs, then turn, rounding the landing as I stare into the gloom of the final set.
I can just discern the shape of a door. A thick, metal handle.
Nothing else.
I grab onto the railing once more, the cool metal slick beneath my clammy hand.
I am not at my strongest—I need food, water, more rest—but I make a vow to myself that I will fight as hard and as ruthlessly as I can, if it means getting Sullen out of this place alive.
I will go for the eyes, the groin, the throat, if I can protect the only person who has ever made me feel so clawingly alive even when his pretty words were mutterings of my murder.
I reach the last stair.
The air is cooler here.
A chill laces around my neck, the front of my throat. I drop my hand away from the railing as I step toward the door.
Then the hum of a building breathing back into life startles me, causing me to flinch as I fist my hands at my sides.
Light flares in the stairwell.
I retreat a little from my destination as pale yellow floods around me, illuminating the flaking black paint on the heavy door before me, the off-white cement flooring, the crumbling along the brick walls.
The power is back on.
I glance over my shoulder, my chest tightening as I note the maze of stairs above me, spiraling into yellow gloom.
I hold my breath, turning back to face the door.
He’s in there.
He has to be.
Where else would they keep him? Another room, perhaps, and he would be harder to find. It’s a hotel, after all, with many macabre hiding places. But Stein Rule is of the worst darkness.
He would drag his son closest to hell.
Every limb in my body is tense, but I approach the door again, ignoring how very cold this in-between space is. The little hairs all over my body rise up.
I reach out my hand to grip the rusted metal handle of the door.
And just as my fingertips graze the metallic lever, a haunting, horrible laugh erupts from beyond.