All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older. Thanks for reading!
*
"So, does anybody speak French?" Anna looked around the small group of survivors hopefully. "Or understand French? Even a little would be helpful."
People shook their heads. Roy stared daggers at George. Constance looked down the hall at nothing, her cheeks bright crimson. Fortunately, there were no bodies in her sightline. The maintenance robots had picked them all up and carried them off for disposal.
Where would Océane put thousands of bodies?
She focused on that question, rather than the conversation. She knew her husband was about to blow, and that would just compound her embarrassment. The teenager had seen her naked. He had seen every bit of her that wasn't covered by her gloves. Thank goodness she'd kept those on. He had probably heard her and Roy's secret game. It was mortifying. And when Roy blew his top, everyone was going to know that George had seen her in such a vulnerable position.
George tried and failed to catch Edith's eye. She had shown him her bare hand, but now she didn't seem the least bit interested in him. He noticed that she'd changed out of her hotel uniform into a flattering bodice. Her skirts fell all the way down over her feet.
"That is disappointing." Anna frowned. "If no one speaks French, perhaps Ms. Pemberton has codes to access Océane's systems in the nerve center." She turned toward Edith. They were all standing in a circle in the hallway, between the mirrored walls. "How about it, Ms. Pemberton? Do you have access?"
"Phhhtt." Edith rolled her eyes. "I work the concierge desk. They don't give me codes for their billion-yen computer system. Your son's smart. Maybe he can crack those codes?" She looked over at George.
George beamed at Edith when he finally had her attention.
She complimented me.
Edith gave him a quizzical look, like she didn't know what he was smiling about.
George glanced at the glove on her left hand in a meaningful way, but that didn't change her nonplussed expression.
"Georgie?" Anna nudged her son in the ribs. He was staring oddly at Edith. Teenage boys were a handful. One moment he was a hero, the next he was a slave to his hormones. She had no idea what was going through his head sometimes. "Sunshine, can you crack those codes?"
"Um ... no." George shook his head. "I don't think that's possible. But maybe some of the tech staff in the ring, or the other spire, survived. Someone else must have thought of using the Faraday cages. Certain staff would have the codes. They might even have the comm net working in those other parts of the hotel. Océane is isolated in this spire from the rest of her system. There should be one or two other Océanes, depending on if the other two nerve centers are connected. I think we should -"
"Can our personal comms translate French?" Albert interrupted George.
"We tried that. The network is down, so our personal comms aren't working as they normally would. The translation apps run off the net, so ..." George shrugged. "The good news is that the food system seems to be back up, so if anyone is hungry, one of the restaurants should -"
"You are a scoundrel, sir!" Roy shouted. His eruption finally burst forth. He pointed an accusatory finger at George. "You are a peeper ... and ... and ... a voyeur. You spied on the most intimate moments between a husband and wife. And ... you stand there pretending like nothing happened. Did you save our lives just so you could exploit us for your amusement?"
"I ... I ..." George had really hoped that they had put the whole misunderstanding behind them.
"What does he mean? Is this true, Georgie?" Anna put her gloved hands to her hips. She could see from George's stricken face that it was true. "You didn't ... you didn't see Mrs. Haversham's bare fingers?" Anna thought it fortunate that she was a strong woman, because otherwise she might have fainted when she saw the discomfiture written on Constance's sweet face.
"She had her gloves on, Mom." George turned to his mother to plead his case. "It was an accident. I didn't -"
"How dare you!" Roy bellowed. "I have yet to hear an apology."
"I knew it." Lillian folded her arms with a smirk on her face, watching her brother squirm.
"Apologize to Mr. Haversham, son." Ernest's gaze grew dark. His voice was a low rumble.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Haversham. It was a mistake. I was following ..." George glanced at Edith, who was looking at him with her mouth hanging open, aghast. "I followed a woman out into the hall. Your door was open -"
"Our door was
not
open." Constance stomped her foot. "We are not perverted."
"I apologize, Mrs. Haversham. It was a mistake." George looked down at his shiny, black shoes.
"Someone here is a pervert." Lillian leaned closer to her brother. "It's you," she whispered.
"That apology will not do." Roy shook his finger. His wedding ring shone in the bright hall lighting as it danced. "What woman were you following? There are no
other
people alive in this hotel. I will not have -"
"You are correct, we are standing in a mass grave." Ernest's voice dropped even lower. "My son made a mistake. He apologized. We have much, much bigger issues to deal with."
Anna gave her husband a thankful glance. "We need to find a way to talk to Océane. We need to see about the other nerve centers. We need to call for help. The good news is that with food, water, and air, we should be fine until help arrives."
"Was there another woman? If so, we need to look for other survivors." Albert stared at George.
"There was no other woman," George mumbled.
"Océane can help with finding other survivors. But in the meantime, I have a couple suggestions." Rose stepped forward, trying to assert herself. "If you'll listen to some thoughts I have ..."
George tuned out the group discussion. His cheeks were hot, and his mind felt fuzzy. How odd a thing that he had saved all their lives, and
still
so much hostility was headed his way. He raised his eyes from the floor and looked around their circle. The mirrors on either side created an odd feeling of many more people than the ten they had. His gaze worked around the circle. His sister, arms folded, lips pressed together. His mother, trying to engage the group in a productive way. His father, trying to prod them all toward salvation. Albert, rotund and disapproving. Edith, still looking confused. Delores, silent as usual. Constance, gazing up at the Roman mural on the ceiling, her cheeks still flushed crimson. Roy, staring daggers at George, his cheeks red with rage. Albert, standing a few paces behind Roy, looking rotund and glum. Rose, trying hard to make people take her plan seriously. She wanted to visit every dock to see if there were any lifeboats, or other transport, left.
Not a bad plan,
George thought.
"There should be docks on the ring, and the other spire, too." Rose continued. "If the elevators still work, we can ..." She continued to pitch her plan.
Something was wrong. George scanned back around the circle in the opposite direction. He froze. His skin crawled. Was he going insane, or were there two Alberts? There was one in between Edith and his father, and one behind Roy. George looked behind Roy. There was nobody there. His legs felt weak. He had seen Albert standing in both places, hadn't he? Was he hallucinating? His mind fuzzed further. Layer after layer of cognitive dissonance had been slathered on his brain. It was too much. Saving the lives of this group ... all the dead littering the now empty hallway ... seeing Edith's bare hand ... his mother finding out he'd been spying ... two Alberts. George wobbled and fell to the lush carpet, his mind going blank. The last thing he heard was his mother's scream.
~~
Anna's Diary August 13, 2197
All those poor people! Dear Diary, how can I express how terrible this all is. Thousands of dead guests ... no way to call for help ... only a handful of survivors.
The only bright spot has been the way Georgie has stepped up. He saved our lives! What a gem of a son I have. Even at eighteen years old, he's a natural leader. People look to him for answers! I know the incident with the Havershams will be difficult for George to bear. I believe my son, however, when he says it was an accident. They must have left the door open, and his teenage curiosity got the better of him. He
did
apologize. And clearly, the accusations took their toll, because he fainted. I am at his bedside, writing at this very moment. He looks like he's sleeping restfully. I would have the computer run a diagnostic on him, but it won't speak to me in English. Oh ... he's waking up! He seems well. I'll write more later.
Ernest's Diary August 13, 2197