Room 224

MONDAY.

The electronic lock buzzes. The light on the box shifts from red to green. The door opens.

In the darkness, I see her for the first time.

She flips on the light switch. I assume she is in her early twenties, though tiredness betrays her youthful face.

She wheels in luggage behind her; there's another bag over her shoulder. After the door closes, she takes a few steps forward and looks around: first, behind her, where the bathroom is, on the right, soon as you walk in; to her right, at the kitchenette area with stove, fridge, sink, and coffee maker; to her left, where the little writing desk is next to the TV stand; and straight ahead, where she has the luxury of a queen-sized bed, a dining table, and a doorway to the balcony.

She sighs, wipes her brow, and drops her bags. She kicks her shoes into a corner and uses one foot to slide the other's sock off. Then she digs her toes into the carpet, making her feet into claws.

She throws herself onto the bed. Her shoulder-length blonde hair fans out over the made comforter. She remains still a while before reaching into her jeans pockets to pull out one of those 'things.' Phones. I still call them 'things,' even though guests have brought them in here for years.

How many years? I've lost track.

She pokes her finger against the screen's glass. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. The phone makes a noise. She pokes it again. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Puts the phone down. Stands up. Stretches. Leaves the phone on the bed. Walks toward the hallway door. Takes a right. Enters the bathroom. Closes the door behind her.

I move, taking myself from the corner above the safe (left of the TV), past the bed, and past the kitchen.

I hear the toilet flush, and then I enter the bathroom. Her shirt leaves her body, joining her pants and underwear. She reaches behind her, and her cotton white bra falls to the floor in the corner. She is nude in seconds.

As she reaches for the knobs in the shower/bath, I admire the bare body before me. She is short, but not petite. Her naked breasts are pale compared to the rest of her tanned skin, not oversized, but appropriate for her slender build.

I always play a game in these situations, guessing my guests' personalities by their grooming habits or tattoos.

Yes, I know it's rude to generalize that way.

Whatever. She has one tattoo of a blue jay on her upper elbow. What does a blue jay have to do with her backstory? I come up with my own explanation: she turned eighteen, and her friends pressured her into getting a tattoo. She went to the tattoo parlor with them, not really wanting to go through with it. They kept pressuring her, so she flipped through the catalog and landed on the first picture she saw—not an old boyfriend's name, but a stupid blue jay. "Here, this one. Let's get it over with."

She needs a moment to figure out how the shower works. Then she tests the stream's temperature before stepping under it, one careful leg at a time.

She pulls the curtain closed.

I enter the shower with her.

The water plasters her hair to her skin. She stands in place, eyes closed, water running down her body in rivets.

I drop down to her slightly parted legs. She is shaved, almost bare, save for a golden patch above her two folded lips.

So, we have a natural blonde—no need for highlights here. She keeps herself trimmed, but not to the point where there is a need to show it off. No clit piercing, either, nor any artwork of a tiger or an arrow pointing down.

She probably isn't a virgin, but she isn't too casual, either.

She reaches for the complimentary tiny shampoo bottle and applies a liberal amount to her hair.

I keep watching, enjoying my new guest.

Now, at this point, you might think ill of me.

You might even have some names picked out: pervert; creep; voyeur.

But while you're browsing your list of names, let me ask

you

a question.

Can you blame me?

I'm dead.

#

I don't remember 'how' it happened, but I have some ideas. There's a vague sense that I knew the person responsible.

There was a flash. A flash from—a gun? Blackness. A mental disturbance. Racing thoughts of, "Wait, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Not in this way. Not like this. Happens to every man, doesn't it? But not this way. Still more. Still more to go, right?"

The blackness rolled away. I was still in the room—in two places. I floated in a corner above the floor, where I shouldn't have been after waking up. No one wakes up 'above' a room.

I looked down from this corner I was in. I saw me, myself, but not me, because 'me' was up here. The me that was not me was on the floor, in a pool of blood. He wasn't bleeding anymore, but he'd sure made a mess. He was cold.

The housekeeper walked in and discovered the other me. Then yellow tape. Then people in uniforms. Then little numbered cards. They drew a line around the other me in chalk.

I saw them put the other me in a black bag and take it away.

Except they didn't because I was still here.

Uniformed people erased the chalk. They took the numbered cards. Hotel staff replaced the carpet.

The room remained empty. Nobody touched it. The lights stayed off.

But I was still here. I wandered about the kitchen, the main area, and the bathroom. I didn't have 'hands,' so I couldn't interact with anything.

I tried to leave through the hallway door. I tried that a few times. There was always a flash, like the gun. I'd go flying back until I bounced against the wall beside the air conditioner.

When that failed, I turned toward the balcony door.

I heard...waves? I smelled...salt?

I could see, hear, and smell. Three out of five. I knew touch was out. I realized I was 'thinking' as well.

Waves. Salt. I was at a beach. Somewhere in a bleary void, I remembered...beaches. There were fond memories. I could not recall specific experiences, only the sense that the beach was a place where I was once happy.

I longed to float along the shoreline, cutting through the hot, salty air. Now that I was in this state, maybe I could even fly across the ocean, fearing nothing mortals did that far out, and see what I could discover if I went far enough.

I dashed at the balcony door.

I went blasting back toward the kitchen, not stopping until I bounced against the wall above the stove.

I beat to death that old definition of insanity, getting the same result, the flash and the bouncing, until I came to terms with the truth: I was trapped here, forced to occupy the same room forever.

I could float. There was that. I could fly up to the ceiling and fall to the carpet. I could visit every upper corner.

But I was trapped in the same room, looking at the same walls, the same fridge, the same bed, same toilet, same TV—a TV I didn't have the power to operate. As you can imagine, this new arrangement wasn't the most wonderful prospect. After a while, my boredom ate at me.

You ever had an itch, either in some place you couldn't reach, or couldn't take care of because you were in public?

That was my boredom. That boredom itch grew and grew as the days passed, grew until I was screaming. Nobody heard me, of course. Nobody came to help.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months. The sun rose. It brightened the room during the day. Then it turned orange, and red. It faded, ushering in long and lonely nights. I screamed and screamed.

And I lingered here.

#

Then, one day, shortly after sunrise, the hallway door opened. People came in. I watched them dust every inch of the room. They cleaned cobwebs from the corners. Now, that wasn't exactly on my terms; I was so crazy by now that I'd

named

those cobwebs.

Regardless, people were here now, just as I wondered if I was in Hell, where it turned out that instead of perishing in flames or drowning in rivers of shit, you were just bored for the rest of your un-life. But the people cleaned. They changed the bedsheets. They scrubbed the sinks and the one toilet.

They replaced the TV, too. Ever since I'd been here, the TV had been a big box with a heavy tube in the back. Now it was a rectangle that no longer reflected the room. That reflection had been my favorite show.

The hotel staff had cleaned the room, though. That meant there was a likelihood that guests would be staying here with me soon. If they turned on the TV for me, that would make up for losing the reflection.

Life is full of surprises.

Well, as it turns out, so is death.

#

The door opened. I directed my attention to three laughing, overlapping voices.

The light popped on. The girl—short, thin, and with long raven hair—was in the middle. Two guys flanked either side of her. The one on the left, redheaded, looked like he spent some time in the gym. The one on the right, whose hair was more of a chestnut color, was just slightly overweight for his height. Raven had a bag slung over her shoulder; I assumed she was the registered guest and the other two were visitors.

"He did not say that," Raven said.

"I swear to God he did," Chestnut said.

"Was he drunk?" Raven asked.

"Yeah, he was drunk!" Red replied.

"Well, if he wasn't, he was fucked up on something," Chestnut said.

Red sat at the desk. Raven and Chestnut sat at the dining table—next to me. I was still getting used to the concept of invisibility.

"Oh, that was fun," Raven said.

"Yeah, it was," Red said.

"But you know," Raven said, "I've always heard that it's, like, fake."

"What do you mean?" Chestnut asked.

"They decide the outcome before," Raven said.

"Oh, right, I've heard that too," Red said.

Raven got up and stretched. She walked to the kitchen area.

"So, like wrestling then," Chestnut said.

"I still don't believe wrestling's fake," Red said.

"How?" Chestnut asked.

"You wouldn't put that much effort into beating each other down if it really was fake," Red said.

Raven leaned against the counter.

A light—a faint, tiny green spark—appeared between her breasts.

"It's fake," Chestnut said.

"Nope," Red said.

"You're in denial."

"So are you."

At first, I thought the green spark was just an optical illusion. Then I noticed Red and Chestnut also had them.

"You guys seen the new

Pirates

movie?" Raven asked.

"Yeah," Red said.

"Yep," Chestnut said.

"Wish I hadn't," Red said.

"Why?" Raven asked.

"Because I'm getting tired of them," Red said. "They're running them into the ground just like everything else."

I focused on Raven again, with the intent of identifying the green spark.

It pulsed a few times, brightening and dimming, brightening and dimming. Red's spark did the same thing. A few seconds later, so did Chestnut's.

"That's Hollywood for you, man," Chestnut said.

"Yep, nothing but remakes and sequels now," Red said.

"And because of that, nobody's going to the theater anymore," Raven said.

The sparks brightened and they didn't dim.

Chestnut said, "But instead of fixing it, they're blaming puss—"

He swallowed a lump. "Pu-iracy."

"Blaming anybody but themselves, of course," Red said.

Raven's spark expanded to where it was no longer a 'spark' but a 'small light.'

"Movies just suck now," Red said, as his spark grew to match Raven's.

"They suck whole rows of dicks," Raven said.

"They ought to just suck mine," Chestnut said.

He opened his fly and whipped his dick out.

"And mine too, and they can stick my balls in their mouth while they're at it," Red said.

He also exposed himself.

"And while they're doing that, they can just suck on these titties, too," Raven said.

She lifted her shirt—bra along with it—signaling her open invitation to Hollywood. Her small breasts, brownish nipples standing at attention, went on display for the other two.

If air could have gone out of my lungs, then, it would have.

The light expanded from their bodies, turning the whole room pale green.

Raven strode toward Red with no sign of any hesitation, tossing her top the rest of the way off.

Chestnut left the table and walked toward the others.

Red's cock was already hard and dripping when Raven dropped to her knees. Without wasting the shortest breath, she sank her mouth onto him and bobbed up and down like a demon possessed her.

Silent, as if in a trance, Chestnut worked Raven's pants down.

"What the fuck," Red said, resting his hand on the back of Raven's moving head.

"Why. Are we. Doing this?" Raven managed to say between sucks.

"I don't know," Chestnut whispered. He had Raven's jeans and panties down to her ankles now. Wet, distended folds glistened in the room's light.

"Something's not right," Red whispered, his voice husky with pleasure.

Indeed, something was 'not right.' They had gone from acting normal to out of control in an

instant. I had too many questions that needed answers, but for now, all I could do was watch.

"It's like, we're out of control, and we can't stop!" Chestnut said. Ambivalent as he may have been however, he held his cock in his hand, poking for Raven's entrance in desperation.

They all moved quick, from the desk over to an empty spot on the floor. Bewildered, confused, I circled round to get a better view of whatever was about to happen.

Red fell back and hit the carpet hard enough to hurt. I almost felt the impact; everything was quickly escalating to a boiling point, and Raven's hunger staggered me.

Raven draped over Red, grabbed his dick, and shoved it back in her mouth. She pushed her ass up in the air. Chestnut lined up behind her. He brushed his hard cock against Raven's pussy; then, with a push, he sank inside with an audible squish. A mouthful of cock muffled Raven's pleasured outcry.

Chestnut moved with fast, slamming thrusts. Raven got more creative with her blowjob, kissing and licking Red's shaft while she stared into his eyes.

"Shannon," Red gasped, "you'd better stop. I'm about to—"

Raven—Shannon—let out a stifled moan like his words made her come a little, and she nursed harder while Chestnut smashed into her, hands gripping her cheeks, balls slapping her ass with smacking sounds.

So fast. Too fast. Again, watching was all I could do, but even that was becoming difficult.

"Shannon, I—"

Red's voice became a loud, animalistic grunt. He dug his fingers into Shannon's hair as she took his dick as far into her mouth as she could get. She held herself there while his face darkened to the color of his hair.

Chestnut's thrusts slowed down to stillness. His face went the same color.

For what felt like the longest time, they were frozen like that, Red's cock buried in Shannon's mouth, Chestnut's deep in her cunt. Then Shannon, gasping for air, released Red.

Locking eye contact with him, she swallowed in one graceful gulp.

Chestnut pulled out. A thread of thick white connected his cock to Shannon's pussy before severing. They all rasped for breath like they'd been underwater too long.

"Um," Red said.

"Uh," Chestnut said, scratching his head.

"Yeah," Shannon said.

As Red and Chestnut looked at each other in puzzlement, she walked across the room to gather her clothes.

The room slowly returned to its regular color, but the tension was thicker than ice. I looked between everyone from my vantage point, wondering how they were going to react now that this incident was etched into history.

She reached down to pick up her pants, but then stopped, hand trembling.

Her light erupted in a silent explosion.

The room snapped back to green in an instant.

"Oh," she said. "Oh,

fuck

."

She rushed Chestnut. Chestnut, who was getting his pants back on, spun around.

Shannon dropped like a stone in front of him. She grabbed his cock, shimmering with a mixture of both their juices, and sucked it in a crazed fever.

Before, I'd rushed to get a better angle of this savage threesome. Now I found myself unable to move; it was so shocking that it had the power to render a ghost immobile.

Red ran over. Shannon used saliva and cum as lube to jerk his dick with her free hand.

Every time she tried to withdraw from Chestnut or Red, she went back to sucking and jerking. After a long bout of losing this game with herself, she flopped backwards onto the bed and spread her legs, shamelessly exposing her drenched and dark-haired pussy. Her scent was rich, and her juices matted down her pubic hair. I could see the changes it brought to Red and Chestnut's faces, turning their expressions into something not quite human.

"Fuck me," she said. "Please. Hurry up. Fuck me!"

Red dropped onto her and positioned himself between her legs. He had no trouble finding his way inside of her. His hips moved in a fury.

"Oh, yes," Shannon said. "Yes, yes. Oh, God, yes!"

Chestnut stood up on the bed. Shannon took him into her mouth.

"Yes, oh, God, do ir-umphmmph."

She sucked him while Red fucked. For the next few harrowing minutes, the sounds of sucking and slapping filled the room, not to mention the distinctive smell of sex.

All three of them came in half the time as before. Shannon swallowed Chestnut's load while Red pulled out at the last second to decorate her stomach.

Surely, it was over now, I thought.

They switched places.

It was almost dawn before they fell asleep.

For the rest of that night, the only sound was the gentle hum of the air conditioner. The three naked bodies were strewn all over the bed like discarded dolls. I watched them sleep, wondering just what in the hell had happened.

#

Wrapped in a towel, she walks to her suitcase.

Her light is already brightening.

She finds drawers and closet spaces to put her tops, underwear, and socks. She doesn't notice any green light. They never do. Now that my 'eyes,' or whatever they are, have fallen on her, I am powerless to stop it.

Once she finishes organizing, she picks two tops. She examines one and then the other. She stops her decision-making to tilt her head upwards, and to the right a little. Has she sensed something is off?

She picks a winner and puts it on the bed.

She touches her breasts through the towel.

She opens the drawer to pick through underclothes.

She runs her hands down her stomach.

The whole side of the room she is on is green.

Before she realizes it, she's cupping her breasts again.

"What."

She rolls them in her hands. "What am I—?"

The towel loosens. One hand works on kneading and squeezing a tit. The other drifts lower.

"But this morning," she says.

The towel drops to the floor.

"This morning, before I left, I—"

Two fingers brush her clit, and then they travel lower, digging into her pussy lips.

She breaks out in a light layer of sweat. "Oh."

Her nipples swell a quarter inch. "Oh, shit."

She almost stumbles on the towel. She sways and pivots as if drunk. She walks further and further backwards, stopping at intervals to touch her naked body in various places.

Her back hits solid wall. She sinks until she is sitting on the floor. Her breathing becomes erratic.

"Oh." She licks her hands until they are sloppy with saliva. She plops different fingers in her mouth, vacuuming them like she's cleaning off barbecue sauce.

Her legs part. Her pussy is already so turned on that her aroused aroma billows outward from corner to corner.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she chants, her fingers going squish, squish, squish in unison with her swearing. She plunges them in and out of her pussy, fast and rhythmic.

Her face reddens to the color of an apple. A matching rash spreads from her upper chest to her neck.

"Oh fuck. Yes. Oh, yes, yes,

yes

!"

Her final "

yes

!" echoes off the walls. Her muscles tighten, her body convulses, her head snaps back, and her stomach quivers.

She remains on the floor until the convulsions cease. Standing on wobbly legs, she walks toward the bed with some difficulty. She falls onto the comforter, gasping for air.