I wouldn't do it. They couldn't make me. It wasn't fair. But I had to. I had no choice. I had to do this to save him. Compared to him, my body meant nothing. It was just a lump of flesh and bone. Any mark would fade, any cut would heal. My broken heart would probably remain, but my life would continue, as long as he walked this world. He was the reason I woke up in the morning, the reason I was stood outside The Sunrise Hotel, though why it was called a hotel I had never known. It was more like those crappy motels you see in those cheesy American horror films from the fifties. You know, the ones where the lead actress gets murdered before daylight, usually getting stabbed in the shower or something. Yep, like that. The tacky electric sign was flashing away and half the windows were broken. Still, I was here to do a job and I was going to do it.
My five and a half inch silver stiletto heels clacked against the tarmac drive, the taxi that had dropped me off long gone along with my last ten pounds. I walked up the four large steps to the front door. I was sure that the entrance to this hotel with its slate steps and yellowing columns once looked rather grand, but at this point, the building had withered, grown tired from pollution, years of neglect and vandalism. The chips that covered the pillars made me wonder if it was weathered or simply someone had decided that the kindest thing to do would be to tear them down and rebuild, but stopped when they discovered how expensive the project was going to be. The bushes that decorated the porch appeared to be in full vibrancy under the dim light from the street that barely reached the building. Never mind that the sun was, in fact, still up, I would always say it was the dim light which caused me to miss the fact that the plants were plastic. Looking back though, it made so much more sense. There was no way the plants could be so well sculptured in a place like this. The front door was jammed. The wooden panel was chipped and scraped, the glass panes cracked and smashed, the door handle so loose it jiggled freely in my hand. I grasped it tightly and, rather ungracefully, shoved my weight into the door. It gave in under my weight and I stumbled into the foyer. There was no one at the desk to see me lose my dignity. The wasn't even a computer like there usually is in hotels nowadays to keep track of the guests. All that was there was a small bell and a notebook. I rang the bell and the door behind the counter opened. Another young woman stepped out. Her brown cardigan and skirt were both very shabby, her dirty blonde hair a complete rat's nest. Her face was plastered in make-up and the bright red lipstick that she had pasted over her mouth had smeared across her teeth.
"Good evening, my name is Rose. How can I help you?"
Her smile was so big and fake it could've rivalled a clown's. I had a feeling it was incredibly well practiced.
"I'm looking for Mr Cullen. He is expecting me."
"Ah yes. He comes here a lot. It's room two one three. It's on the second floor turn right at the stairs and go right to the end of the corridor. It's on the right hand side. Don't worry, we've placed the other two guests on the other side of the hotel so that you two will have your privacy. The walls are very thin here."
"Thanks," I said and headed towards the stairs that were to the right of the foyer.
They were incredibly steep. My calves were beginning to ache by the time I reached the second floor, my presence, I'm sure, noticeable to the ghosts and the rats in this place due to the squeaks of the floorboards. The corridor was rather bland; the magnolia walls were peeling and starting to sweat with mould, smelling like my grandmother's feet. The carpet was the typical nineteen seventies retro diamond pattern, red with gold and blue, although the colours had faded to almost pink, brown and grey. Walking up to room two one three, my conscience was running riot.
"You don't have to do this," I thought, "You can find something else. There are other jobs out there. You can make two thousand dollars another way."
There wasn't another way. I had to do this. For him. I needed to be strong and get the money to get him back. Stood before the door, I took a deep breath and knocked. The door squeaked as it was drawn open. There stood a man I assumed to be Mr Cullen. He was tall, I'd have said around six foot four. His shoulders were broad, mirroring the masculinity that emanated from the rest of his muscular body. Only his face betrayed his age, along with his greying hair. I guessed he was around the age of fifty, but it was difficult to tell as his eyes were aged beyond his physique.
"Emma, I presume. Come in."
He stepped aside to let me pass.
"Thank you Sir."
