You Woke Up Here Again

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

The train pulled into the station just as the sun began to set.

Orange and pink clouds streaked across a sky pierced raw by the tips of fir trees.

Power lines swayed overhead. Wind howled between grimy the buildings nestled along the beachfront, just visible from the tracks.

Dark waves lapped at gray sand, crawled over rocks jagged and half-buried.

Strands of seaweed were strewn like garlands.

To the east, nearly hidden behind verdant hills, the lights of a distant city glittered.

Jack Hazel left the train station carrying a single suitcase, his hat, and a worn leather satchel.

Despite meticulously accounting for these items upon boarding, he somehow failed to notice his missing wallet until after the train departed.

He’d just spent the last half an hour inside the station filling out a return form that the grumbling, eye-rolling employee had probably tossed into a bin the moment his back was turned.

When he asked for directions to his hotel, the employee merely grunted and pointed toward the center of town.

Useless.

Six hours on a train after a long morning of work, and Jack had no idea where his wallet—or his hotel room, for that matter—might be.

His return ticket, slated for the day after tomorrow, was neatly folded into a pair of underwear inside his suitcase, where he could be sure it wouldn’t somehow slip away.

With its rusty hinges, flimsy lock and warped edges, the suitcase ought to have been retired years ago.

But Jack couldn’t afford to get rid of it. Nor could he remember to order repairs, a task that he kept in the back of his mind with the best of intentions and somehow continuously lost track of.

Soon, it wouldn’t matter, because he’d be able to replace all the broken-down things he’d collected and clung to in the endless siege of borderline poverty.

This new promotion would pay well. He’d show Dan that he could handle the probationary period.

Then, for the first time in a long time, things would be alright.

No more ill-fitting suits, warped records, books with torn covers, furniture that had been scratched to hell by someone else’s cat (his own Rainy was a calico angel—she’d never destroy an innocent couch like that).

He just had to hold it together a little longer.

Which meant that tomorrow’s audit had to go perfectly.

Jack was no good at counting, but it didn’t matter. He’d go slowly, be careful to write everything down, and use a calculator. It would be fine.

Probably.

In Billington there were no hills, only flat plains and roads surrounded by the skeletons of once-green trees.

Scorching summers battled frigid winters.

Spring and autumn didn’t exist; instead, two miserable seasons traded off inconsistently.

It was mind-boggling to suddenly find himself such beautiful wilderness just outside this scenic little town.

In the setting sun, the infamous Hidden Hill was shrouded in trees whose leaves were gold as coins, red as foxes.

Jack wandered from the train station to the gas station, a ramshackle affair off the main strip with only three pumps and an attached convenience store.

Despite being one of the only buildings with the lights on, it looked more than a little haunted.

No cars had stopped for gas. He half-expected a tumbleweed to blow by.

The clerk didn’t even bother to look up when Jack stepped inside.

He’d saved twenty-seven dollars for this trip, intending to treat it as a little vacation. Check into the hotel tonight, have a nice dinner, do the audit tomorrow, and catch a movie afterward.

But it didn’t matter what he’d planned, because his wallet and the twenty-seven dollars were missing, likely stolen or stuck between seats on the train. If he was lucky, the wallet might be returned, but he doubted he’d ever see the cash again.

For the next day and a half, he would have to rely on the three dollars and thirteen cents crammed inside his pocket.

Perhaps the hotel included free breakfast.

The clerk directed him to the Beachfront Hotel with a grunt and a jerk of his thumb. “Two blocks west, right off Main Street. Pink stucco, neon sign. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, digging through his pocket.

On the counter, he placed a hot dog—tonight’s dinner.

Save for a gleaming coat of grease, it was dry as jerky.

Beside it, he added a muffin for tomorrow’s lunch and a candy bar for tomorrow evening.

All the food he could reasonably afford for the next twenty-four hours.

The clerk handed him a dollar-fifty in change, and Jack saw himself out. Clouds blotted away the magnificent sunset, and with it, the magic.

In brochures, Hidden Cove was a picturesque getaway starring quaint cottages, cobblestone walkways, window boxes overflowing with flowers, and a majestic beach lined with towering pines.

These were nothing but lies. While the town was pleasant in a rundown, tired sort of way, it was nothing like the spectacular advertisements he’d flipped through on the train.

Buildings desperately needed repainting, their pastel colors chipped and fading.

Chunks of the exteriors were missing. Windows were boarded.

The sidewalks were filthy, nearly as black as asphalt.

Neon signs blinked helplessly, some of their letters missing.

Wildflowers dotted the hills, muted and sparse.

Only a half a mile away, the beach was rocky and grey, its waters angry and murky.

Nothing like the places he’d visited as a child, where palm trees accented white, sandy coastlines, and tropical flowers bloomed.

Here, everything was green, dewy. Even the cracks the road were filled with verdant, fuzzy moss.

It began to rain.

Jack reached the hotel shivering, his mouth stuffed completely full of hot dog. Neither rain nor saliva could rehydrate it, he noted, disappointed but simultaneously impressed.

The lobby was empty except for a figure slumped behind the front desk, motionless as a corpse.

A wrinkled and loose red carpet snagged under the soles of Jack’s shoes.

Tables and chairs were jumbled haphazardly alongside the windows—a grim facsimile of cafe-style seating.

The striped upholstery boasted unsavory stains, visible from across the room.

A bell tinkled overhead.

The clerk grunted, sat up with the dull, listless energy of a vampire rising from a coffin. Check-in, said the flashing pink sign behind him. Jack approached slowly, shaking the water from his hat, hoping that the clerk didn’t hear him gulp down the last of his hot dog.

“Um, hello,” he said, voice thick. “I think I have a reservation—”

The clerk stared at him, unmoving and unimpressed.

A deep green polo, wrinkled and stained, stretched across his broad chest. Tight, short sleeves threatened to strangle the massive biceps beneath, wrapped in veins thick as vines.

A crown of messy, overgrown curls scraped his shoulders, framing a face that wouldn’t look out of place on a movie poster.

His nametag was upside down and faded. Boris, it read.

“You think or you know you have a reservation?” rasped Boris.

“I am fairly certain I have a reservation,” said Jack, hoping to ease the tension. His satchel bumped against his hip as he adjusted his stance to something more assertive. “It should be under Jack Hazel.”

Boris made no move to leaf through the guest ledger. Jack waited nearly thirty seconds before blurting, “I am quite certain I have a reservation here, made for me by my place of business, and I’d appreciate you checking me in.”

“Alright, don’t get all proper on me. Checking you into ye olde hotel now.” Boris gave a snort of laughter and finally reached for the ledger. A smirk shifted his five o’clock shadow. Jack hated that he noticed the way it accentuated his jawline. No one so rude should be so attractive.

“Thank you,” he huffed. “That’s Jack Hazel—”

The clerk jabbed a finger at the page. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right here. Relax. Didn’t you see the sign outside? We have vacancies. Je-sus!”

“Um,” said Jack, embarrassed. “No, I didn’t. It’s, um, raining. I ran here.”

“Huh,” said Boris, craning his neck. “Guess the windows are a little cleaner.”

Jack glanced around, hoping there might be someone else he could speak to, but the lobby was empty. Not even a bellhop.

He sighed.

“You’re in room three-oh-nine,” said Boris, plucking a key from the rack behind him.

“Room service closes at nine. No long-distance calls. If you smoke, open a window or old lady Barnaby will come down and shout at you until we have to call the police. We can’t evict her, so just… don’t do that. Alright?”

“Alright,” said Jack slowly. “I don’t smoke, but if I did, an old lady would come intimidate me?”

“Yup,” said Boris. “Any other questions, or are you gonna fuck off and let me get on with my night?”

Jack inclined his head. Sure enough, he glimpsed the corner of a magazine hidden beneath the ledger, which Boris shoved away with an annoyed grumble. “I need a seven a.m. wake up call.”

“Of course you do,” Boris grumbled. The room key dangled from his fingertips, tarnished and dull. “Fine, yeah. Bright and early. Got it.”

Jack stomped all the way up the stairs.

Room 309 greeted him with a shock of vomit-colored shag carpet, peeling yellow wallpaper, and a lavender duvet stained with what he hoped was only wine.

On the bedside table, a green telephone sat beside a digital clock.

The numbers blinked an ominous red. Pale lamplight flickered.

The edges of the dresser mirror were speckled black.

A single armchair faced the window, which faced the brick building next door.

Dead leaves piled in the fire escape like bodies in a battlefield.

When he went to pull the heavy, velvet curtains, he was met with a spray of dust.

“Spared no expense, I see,” Jack muttered. Dan probably thought this was funny. Put the new guy on a train, send him to the ocean alone for his first audit, buy him a night at a hotel clearly meant for hourly appointments.

At least the toilet looked clean.

Intent on going to sleep before hunger could set in again, Jack turned on the television set and set about unpacking his pajamas. Twice, he was interrupted by static.

There would be no entertainment tonight, he decided, turning off both the light and the television before sliding between the mercifully clean (if somewhat musty) sheets. He’d get a good night’s rest, perform the audit tomorrow, and leave the following morning.

Everything would be just fine.