Chapter 27 #2
They waited. And waited. And waited. Minutes trickled into half an hour.
Lucy groaned. ‘I would simply go to the next floor, except John is our only maintenance man. He’s mission-critical.’
‘Wouldn’t he have ended up in the same place as the rest of us?’ Delilah asked. ‘I have trouble believing that John couldn’t pass such a straightforward test.’
‘Violence is John’s assigned floor,’ Lucy said.
At Heather’s startled expression, she added, ‘He didn’t need to tell me.
I can see it for everyone. It’s possible he received a more specialised test aimed at him.
If he’s facing a personal trial, it might take him longer.
Also . . . given how the floors have been breaking down, there is a chance that something could have gone wrong. ’
Heather paled. ‘I’m going to look for him.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Delilah said. The others moved forward.
‘No.’ Heather held up a hand. ‘John didn’t want everyone observing his test. I understand why – they can reveal private memories. I think it’s better if I go in alone. That way, we’ll intrude on him as little as possible while checking to make sure that he’s safe.’
Heather pushed open the door to Floor Anger.
It was different this time. Instead of a rage room, she saw a thick fog spreading in all directions. With a shudder, she remembered people vanishing on Floor Limbo.
She’d been the one to persuade John to take this trial. Swallowing hard, she lifted up her heavy-seeming feet and forced herself to walk into the testing area.
As soon as the door closed, a cruel, childish laughter echoed. Shapes twisted out of the fog: a group of boys chasing after a smaller one. When they caught him, one gave him a wedgie while the others laughed.
Heather stepped forward, instinctively wanting to do something to stop those brats. As soon as she approached the illusion, it faded away. She caught a quick glimpse of teary blue eyes and a mop of sandy-blond hair.
Had the bullied boy been John?
Heather plunged into the fog, crying, ‘John!’
More visions spun around her. A group of pre-teen boys surrounded John, emptying out his wallet then tossing it at his head.
In high school, they dumped his entire backpack into the river.
She watched John sitting at his desk, working on a dozen different people’s homework.
At lunch, he crouched on the toilet eating his sandwich quickly, eyes darting around.
At gym class, a ball unerringly went into his face, leaving him with a black eye.
No wonder John hadn’t wanted everyone to see this.
Heather winced. But why would John’s sin be violence?
In all the images, he’d been the victim, not the perpetrator.
Was this a story about a bullied boy pushed too far who snapped?
By the third time she watched his head get dunked into a toilet, she thought it could hardly have been a sin if he’d given them a few punches, only self-defence.
The next visions showed John’s phone getting stolen at his high-school graduation, without any consequences for the bullies.
An adult John appeared, fixing a broken doorknob in an apartment building. In the break room, the rest of the maintenance crew ordered him around the building while they mostly watched TV.
‘Still being bullied even as an adult?’ Heather sighed. ‘I guess old habits are hard to break. At some point you probably got used to everyone telling you what to do.’
A particularly bright vision stood out ahead. Heather hastened forward.
There she saw the head of the maintenance crew, clearly John’s boss, put an arm round John. ‘I need a huge favour. We’re friends, aren’t we?’
John’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course! I’ve never had a friend before . . . I’ll do my best.’
‘I took the company van out yesterday and got a parking ticket.’ The head of the maintenance crew sighed deeply and dramatically.
‘I’ve got a few too many traffic violations.
One more, and they might take my licence away.
Wouldn’t that cause trouble for the entire crew?
’ His fingers tightened on John’s shoulder.
‘Pretty please, won’t you put your name on the sign-out book for the van instead? I’d owe you, Johnnie-boy.’
John twisted his fingers together. ‘Um . . . Will you still pay the ticket? . . . I don’t have much money . . .’
‘Sure I will. Aren’t we friends? I just need you to pretend it was you.’
Heather said, ‘This situation stinks. Don’t do it.’
But, of course, past John couldn’t hear her. He was already nodding along.
Heather had a horrible feeling as she approached the next vision.
A sleepy John opened his door wearing a bathrobe. The cop on the other side barked, ‘You’re under arrest for the hit-and-run incident killing a ten-year-old girl.’
John backed away. ‘But . . . I didn’t . . .’
‘We already checked the records. You’re the one who took out the company van yesterday. A witness copied down your licence plate. You’re going away for a long time, as you deserve, you animal.’
There was a dumb look in John’s eyes, like a coma patient. He kept up the weak protests as they put him in cuffs.
Heather backed away from the horrible vision. It was so much worse than she’d feared, worse than the average bullying. ‘That bastard framed John for murder!’
But why had John ended up in Purgatory? Human law might be fooled, but the hotel’s visions could not be. This manslaughter had not been his sin.
The vision suddenly shifted, a bright light and loud noise bombarding her senses. At the roaring of the car motor, she whirled round. A white van bore down the road, towards a solid wall. John’s eyes were wild as he spun the wheel.
He growled, ‘I got locked up for crashing this van! It’s only fair if I actually wreck it!’
Standing next to Heather on the pavement, the head of the maintenance crew screamed. Having gotten the reaction he wanted, John slammed on the brakes. His eyes widened as the wheels slid on wet tarmac. The van was moving too fast. It swerved towards Heather and John’s tormentor. John couldn’t stop.
Heather screamed too as the headlights burned into her eyes. Then there was only blinding light once more.
The van screeched to a stop a hand’s width from her face. The lights died. John leapt out and hugged Heather. ‘I’m sorry. I would never run you over. I – I got lost in the vision.’
The van and the ghosts faded away, leaving them in a shadowy empty landscape. Cheeks tinged red with shame, John tried to pull away.
Heather held him. ‘It’s okay. Everything happened long ago.
No one can truly get hurt here, not you or me.
’ His body felt warm. It had always struck her as odd that ghosts had body warmth.
Now she thought it a mercy from the hotel, to allow them to still share warmth with each other.
She did not ask him about what had happened in the past. She could guess how he’d died .
. . and how he’d obtained the sin of violence.
‘I’m so ashamed,’ John whispered, his eyes wet. ‘I spent my entire life avoiding conflict. I let everyone walk all over me. No one in authority ever believed me back in school, so I didn’t even try to fight the false charges. Then the one time I lose my temper . . .’ He shuddered, unable to speak.
‘I’m sorry for intruding on your past.’ Heather didn’t blame him for wanting to scare his tormenter.
He had made a terrible decision, and had already paid the ultimate price.
Her role in this hotel was not to be a detective or judge.
She could not bring herself to accuse him.
‘What happened to you wasn’t fair. I’m sorry you were falsely accused.
I’m sorry you were mistreated by everyone around you.
I’m sorry you fell so far down that you couldn’t see a path up. ’
‘I committed a grave sin.’ His gaze was sad. ‘He survived,’ he mumbled, looking down. ‘They told me right before I . . .’ His voice broke off. ‘But I still thought I’d end up in a worse place than this.’
‘Someone or something thought that you deserved a second chance. I agree. You went through suffering that no one should have to endure. You’re a good person, John.
You deserved better.’ Heather held out her hand.
‘If only someone had offered you a helping hand, then it could have been different back then. I’m offering you a hand now.
Come back to the hotel with me. You have friends now. ’
‘Thank you.’ He spoke softly, wetness in the corners of his eyes.
It all made sense now, why John had been so desperate to fit in with the rest of the maintenance crew and scared to go against them even when he disagreed with them.
He must have feared becoming the group outcast again.
He must also have feared standing up for himself – after all, the one time he did, he took it too far.
Heather imagined that he didn’t quite trust himself any more, not having learned the art of standing up for yourself in a more moderate way.
Heather said, ‘Godfrey is annoying and lazy, but he’s not an evil person like your last boss. I can’t see him ever treating you like that. Even so, if Godfrey or the others try to bully you for helping us, then I’ll beat them up. You saw how fast they fled from me when I swung the table around!’
John laughed. ‘You’re even more terrifying than Lucy.’
‘Humph. I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.’
‘You should. It was meant as one.’ John released her.
There was a fond smile on his lips. ‘I’ve made up my mind.
I will help you repair the hotel, even if it means going against the rest of the crew.
I don’t understand why they’ve decided to put everyone else in danger, but they’re wrong.
Helping you is the right thing to do. And this time . . . I want to be on the right side.’
A creaking sound drew both of their attention. They turned to see a door hanging open in the fog.
Heather smiled. ‘You passed your test.’