𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙇 𝙊𝘽𝙇𝙄𝙑𝙄𝙊𝙉 [Xanaphia x whitechapel]

[whitechapel]

---

HORROR • MODERN • READER DISCRETION ADVISED​

---

In his dreams, he was in an eternal hallway.

Flanked on either side by unmarked doors, the dreamer stumbled forth as the hum of unseen machinery echoed all around. The hallway stretched on for an eternity without end, other hallways adjoining themselves to the main thoroughfare every few feet to create a labyrinthine system of identical corridors. From a bird's eye view, he must have looked like nothing more than a rat in a maze searching for the last few scraps of cheese. His heart was beating faster than it should have been, breath approaching hyperventilation; the dreamer knew he wasn’t alone and he knew he had to escape by any means necessary.

Scritch scratch, scritch scratch, scritch scratch…

That sound grew closer and closer from somewhere behind him, the taunt of an unseen hunter to his unwilling prey. The dreamer looked over his shoulder and steadied himself against the floral print wall, biting anxiously at his lower lip. Another intersection of hallways was just ahead; he considered whether he should turn or stay on the same path. One false move meant death and death meant the end of everything. With quaking hands and bloodshot eyes, he staggered onward. The further he walked, the more the laws of reality as he knew them began to bend to the will of something all together different. The floral print on the wallpaper began to move and weave on its own accord. The ceiling rose and fell as if it were the belly of some great and mighty beast. The floor began to feel like trudging through ankle deep mud, the carpet clinging to the soles of his feet with every step.

Scritch scratch, scritch scratch, scritch scratch…

The sound of approaching footsteps. He felt the panic rise up in his chest, his legs suddenly freezing in place and refusing to move. Rounding the corner up ahead, dressed in the vestments of a priest, came The Grinning Man. A buckshot face and black holes eyes, teeth the same color as rust. A skeletal figure draped in loose fitting skin. The Grinning Man’s complexion was ashen gray. There were stars peppered in his beard and his head was adorned with a crown made of flames. He spoke with a mangled tongue, a droning incantation that meant nothing to a sensible mind. Spiderlike hands drew sacred geometry in the air, threads of light weaving off his fingertips. The Grinning Man was the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End of All Things, the Great I Am made flesh.

The dreamer tried to run, but it was as if the soles of his feet were melded with the floor. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were felt like they were full of sand. A scream clawed at his throat, but it refused to leave his lips. He wanted to beg, but all words were lost. The Grinning Man just grinned all the wider as he approached with one outstretched hand, fingers widening to impossible angles and dimensions, the letters ‘INRI’ tattooed between the lines on his palm. That hand wrapped around the dreamer’s head, fingers digging into his skin, as he squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. The Grinning Man’s laugh echoing through the halls…

…and then the dreamer woke up.

---

His heart was beating out of his chest and sweat poured like rain down from his forehead. He sat up in bed, ripping away the soaked sheets from his skin before swiveling his body and placing his feet on the floor below. His face fell into his hands as his toes dug into the carpet, trying to gain his bearings and will his breath to calm. When he reopened his eyes and looked around, he realized he had no idea where he was or how he got there. Even worse, he couldn’t remember who he was.

The room was a thoroughly modern hotel suite; slate gray walls with woodgrain accents, matching furniture that highlighted form and function in equal measure, an abstract light fixture on the ceiling that resembled a mobius strip pierced with shards of glass. On the bedside table, a built-in alarm clock read ‘9:00 AM’ in bright red digital lettering. The room was mostly dark, but a sliver of light bled in through a crack in the blackout curtains. He rose on baby deer legs, wobbly and clumsy as he tried to regain some semblance of balance. He half-walked half-staggered across the room, pulling back the curtain to reveal a window view of an endless sea stretching out into the horizon. The sky was baby blue and cloudless; serene, calm, picturesque. The ground below could have been a million miles away or more.

Everything felt wrong.

It was like he had been drugged, like someone had placed an opaque veil over his brain and left him with nothing more than a vacant mind. With the confusion apparent on his face, he began to look around the room for any signs of who or where he was. On a nearby table, he found a piece of cardstock paper decorated with an ornate letterhead. It read:

Hotel Olvido. Wilhelm Crease. The names sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place them; just distant memories on some forgotten shore. He pushed his hair back away from his eyes and sat the piece of paper back down where it had been found before wandering towards a nearby white door. He tried to turn the handle, but it was locked. On the other side, he could almost swear he heard the faintest whimpering; someone or something crying. “Hello?” He asked, his own voice surprising him before he knocked on the door. “Is someone there?” He put his ear against the wood, but the sound immediately stifled itself out, replaced by more of the same old silence.

He tapped his fingers on the door frame, glancing around the room once more in some dumbfounded attempt to make sense of anything he was experiencing. On the far wall opposite of the bed, there was a sliding closet door just barely cracked open. As he walked towards it, he flicked a nearby light switch and the room was suddenly enveloped in soft light from the overhead fixture; at the very least, it made the shadows less foreboding. He pulled open the closet door and found a suit hanging from the rod inside. Below it, a pair of dress shoes and a briefcase sat on a small shelf. The briefcase was locked with a combination; four numbers that he couldn’t even begin to guess. There were no clothes other than the suit in the closet. It had to be his, right?

It fit him like a glove. He patted away the creases on his lapel, looking at himself in a full-sized mirror hanging on the wall. He didn’t recognize his own face, the lines and their symmetry, the way his hair and beard were grown out with abandon. He looked like he could be somewhere in his thirties, but even that was only a guess. There were deep bags beneath his eyes, a clear indication that despite having just woken up, he hadn’t experienced a particularly restful sleep. His own dreams could have told him that. Reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a small piece of torn paper. On one side, scrawled in messy black ink, it read: “your name is ABRAHAM”. On the other side the letters "INRI" in gothic script.

Abraham. That was as good a name as any. Looking into the mirror, he didn’t look like an Abraham. He barely even looked like an Abe. He questioned why the paper had been in his pocket and why it made reference to those four sacred letters, but there were more pressing mysteries already at hand.

Tucking the piece of paper back into his pocket, he looked around the room once more. The greeting note on the table had indicated there was a concierge in the lobby; maybe they could help. If not, at the very least, they would be able to call someone who could. Abraham had a feeling that he was not well. He bit as his chapped lips, picking up the suitcase from where it lay on the bed. Even though he had no idea what was inside, that didn't mean he didn't want to find out. He approached the only other door in the room. Turning the knob, he pulled it open and peeked his head out beyond the threshold.

A hallway like any other hotel hallway. It was similar to the one from his dream, but at least it lacked that same sense of foreboding. The faint sound of classical music played from unseen speakers overhead and only served to add a sense of elegance to the overall ambiance. The fluorescent lights cast everything in warm, welcoming light as if to say 'Hello. You belong here. Welcome home'. The wallpaper was a honeycomb pattern accented by flecks of gold leaf, the flooring a distressed wood that gave the entire space a ‘rustic’ charm that was as aesthetically pleasing as it was comforting. Stepping out and closing the door behind him, he looked both ways. To his left, the hallway ended at a small elevator foyer and sitting area. To his left, the hallway stretched on until it hit the far wall. Just as he was about to turn and walk towards the elevators, he heard the knob of the door directly in front of him begin to jiggle and turn. The door swung open and his breath caught in his chest.

That was the first time he saw her.

 

[Xanaphia]

If she hadn’t been dreaming, she would have sworn she’d already died of thirst.

The dumpy bathroom she found herself in wasn’t familiar, but it was reminiscent of dozens she had seen before. Grimy tile and faded wallpaper and tarnished fixtures. Where she was and how she’d gotten here took a backseat in her mind to the pain that left her parched. Her throat burned, scorched. Every swallow scratched like gritty sand. She needed to drink, something –anything! Water. God, just a little water.

Blindly, she groped at the counter, groping for purchase to pull herself up. Instead, she knocked over an open bottle, amber liquid catching the light as it tumbled through the air. It landed with a weighty thud, and then a glug, glug, glug as amber liquid poured out. The scent hit her nose before she could even think to pick up the bottle. Burning, and sickly sweet. Nausea clawed its way up her throat, adding an acidic burn to the brittle dryness, but she swallowed it down. Water. She just needed water.

She made it to her feet, leaning heavily on the counter. A shattered mirror reflected hundred of faces back at her. Pallid faces, with dark eyes and purplish lips, all stuck in a patchwork web of broken glass. Ignoring the faces, she turned on the faucet, and cupped her hands underneath. Amber liquid spouted out, sticky on her skin and stinging her nostrils.

She jumped away, splattering golden droplets across the mirror and countertops and trying not to gag. The hell was that? Stubbornly, the scent stuck to her skin, clinging and cloying even as she tried to shake it off. It was probably safe to drink, but she couldn’t imagine being able to gulp it down. Even now she fought against her gag reflex.

The lights flickered, from a sickly, unnatural yellow to a faint off-white. Glancing to her left, the only option that remained was the shower. Not entirely practical, but better than nothing. Once she soothed her throat, she could leave this disgusting bathroom. She twisted the knob, but for a moment, a heartbeat, nothing happened. Shit, of course it was broken. She tried to turn it back, turn it off, but it stuck. She turned harder, straining against rusted metal and stiff fixtures, until it broke off in her hands. Then, it started.

Amber liquid streamed from the showerhead, filling the adjoin bathtub. No… no… no, no, no! Desperate fingers gripped the broken knob, and shoved it back on the pipe. Metal clanged on metal, echoing under the hiss of the showerhead. Banging, again and again, to fix the broken pieces back together, but they didn’t fit. Had they ever fit together?

Amber liquid sloshed in the tub and spilled over the side. It splashed about her bare feet and drenched the hem of her dress. She had to get out of her. Now. The knob clattered against the porcelain wall of the tub and landed on the floor with a moist dunk. She turned, slipping on the slick floor, and pushed towards the door. She could leave. She had to leave. She just had to open the door.

The doorknob jangled and rattled, but would not turn. She jerked at the door, but the lock held it firm. She pushed, shoulder square in the middle, but it wouldn’t budge, and her feet slid on the slick floor.

“Help!” she squeaked, but the word wouldn’t come out. Wouldn’t even form, not with her lips and her mouth and her throat so dry. Feeble fists pounded the door, the wood rattling in the frame, but it did not budge. Amber liquid sloshed her thighs now, thick and viscous. She’d never get out. Not now. Not ever.

Sinking down into the amber liquid, she tried to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. There was nothing left to cry.

---

Her eyes snapped open with a start. Okay, not a bathroom. A hotel. A nice hotel, if the plush comforter and soft sheets told the truth. Well, waking up in a nice hotel was better than waking up in a dingy bath. Pulling away the cover, she slid out of bed and to her feet. 9:00 AM glowed red on the bedside clock, and she expected some reaction to that. Some panic that she’d overslept and was now running late, or some relief that it was still so early, and she had plenty of time to relax before… before…

Nothing came. No schedule, no calender, no dates, not even emotions. What day was it, even? And why couldn’t she remember? She rubbed her eyes and yawned big, overcome with an uneasy restlessness. An exploratory jaunt of the room brought her to a letter on the dresser, sticking conspicuously out from the frame of the wide vanity mirror. In simple, clean handwriting, the front fold read, “Serah.” Was that her? Who else could this be for?





We’re so glad you were able to make it, hun. This trip is exactly what you needed. What we all needed, really. Your dad and I headed out early this morning, but we’ll make sure to get together for dinner, this evening. Take it easy now, hun. You’ve worked so hard, and you deserve this. All of it.

Love,

Mom and Dad



Okay, some pieces began to fit together. She was Serah, and she was on vacation with her parents. Parents she couldn’t begin to place, except to guess that they might resemble her, somewhat. Would her mother share her bright red hair? Did her father have her same deep blue eyes? Surely she’d recognize that if she saw them, right?

Right?

Nerves churned in her gut, and that parched sensation returned from her dreams. She just needed some water, to settle her stomach and clear her mind. That’s all. Stepping in the bathroom, she turned on the faucet without a second thought to her dreams. But, clear water streamed out, as expected. Of course. This was real, even if it didn’t make sense. She wasn’t going to drown in a wave of amber liquid in reality. A handful of cool water soothed her throat and calmed her stomach and a splash of water on her face invigorated her.

Everything would come back to her soon enough. Maybe, if she left now, she’d even run into her parents, and everything would start coming back to her. Hanging in the closet was a maroon dress. Short, and likely slim fitting. It went well with the nude heels on the floor, and slipped easily onto her feet.

As she gripped the doorknob, another door in the hallway opened. Maybe her parents? They were probably in a nearby room, after all. But opening door didn’t reveal a middle-aged couple who might happen to resemble her. Instead a man stood there, handsome in his well fitted suit and wide eyed as their gaze met.

Did she know him? Maybe… he was almost familiar. Or, maybe, she just wanted to get to know him? She flashed a smile, and brushed loose strands of copper hair back behind her ear.

“Hey,” she greeted with a light laugh, “Um, do you think you could help me? I’m, uh, lost, I’m pretty sure.” She laughed again, positive she was making a complete idiot of herself, but pushed through regardless, “I’m Serah.”

 

[whitechapel]

Serah.

She immediately seemed familiar, but in a distant, hallucinatory sort of way. If Abraham knew this woman, he couldn’t begin to recollect where they had met or the exact dimensions their relationship might have held. Not wanting to let on that he was in the middle of either a possible existential crisis or an outright medical emergency, he put on his best smile as he greeted her.

“I’m Abraha---” He stopped himself, reaching a hand up to nervously scratch at the scruff on his chin. “Sorry, Abe,” he said. “I’m Abe.” He let the diminutive version of his name test itself on his tongue, rolling across his lips and to her ears. It suited him. He cleared his throat, straightening himself up as he tried to present himself in a way that was less awkward than he was feeling. Unfortunately, this attempt was not at all convincing. “Um… Yeah. Yeah, sure. I can try to help. I’m uh…” he paused. “I’m a bit lost myself, if we’re being honest. I was about to try to find the concierge, if you want to…”

Abraham let the invitation hang in the air between them, eyes crinkling as his shoulders lifted in a shrug that only served to punctuate his own bemusement. His body language seemed all wrong, his eyes peering back and forth between the redheaded woman standing before him and the spaces that existed at either end of the hallway, an external reflection of the internal tempest that was drawing a path of destruction in what was turning out to be an already tattered mind. How else should one feel when they wake up a find themselves in a strange hotel, stricken with amnesia, and every indication that something is terribly wrong? How exactly does one contend with the hypnagogic state of being a stranger to themselves?

Anxiety crept through his veins. The hallways were so still, lifeless, immaculate in their placidity as they made their way towards the elevators, walking by other hotel rooms with all their doors closed. There were no signs of so much as a maid’s cleaning cart. The only music was the gentle lull of the classical music from overhead. As they passed into the foyer, they were flanked on either side by two elevators. Abraham pressed the button and looked up to see the indicator light come on.

The entire walk from their rooms to the foyer, Abraham had been trying to figure out how to delicately put his next question. Biting at his lower lip and fiddling with a loose thread in his pocket, he eventually arrived at the conclusion that there was no delicate way to ask. No matter how he phrased it, he was going to sound absolutely out of his mind. “So, uh… You said you were lost, right? Confused? Like… you don’t remember checking into this hotel, right?” Waiting for the elevator to arrive, he glanced towards his newfound companion, searching her face for some sort of validation, some confirmation that he wasn’t alone and that they were two bodies tied to the exact same mast. If nothing else, he searched for pity or concern or something that would let him know everything would be okay.

Everything wouldn’t be okay, though. That was a bygone conclusion, even if neither of them had reached it yet. They were at the edge of something strange and new and horrifying that they couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The elevator doors slid open with a bright ‘ding’. There was no one else onboard, but a recorded female voice spoke over the interior speakers: “Please, step inside.”

 

[Xanaphia]

Oh good, he didn’t find her request strange. Nervous perhaps, as he stumbled over his name, choosing mid-syllable to give her the shortened version of it. “Thanks, Abe,” she replied, trying his name on her tongue. “The concierge. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” She offered a smile; a smile meant to sooth his nerves and thank him for his assistance and to maybe even hold his lingering gaze. Anything to push away the creeping terror that nothing was right.

Not that it would stay gone for long. The hall was long. Impossibly long, and impossibly quiet. Serah found herself walking quietly in response, as if to not disturb the environment. Even the music playing confounded her. She listened, trying to place the melody. It lingered at the back of her mind, familiar notes and rhythms flowing, but true recognition remained elusive. Was it just generic music, made to sound like something else? Or was it another sign she’d lost her mind?

Abe broke the silence between them once they reached the elevator, “So, uh… You said you were lost, right? Confused? Like… you don’t remember checking into this hotel, right?”

She glanced up to him, eyes narrowed lips parted, every so slightly. He was fucking with her, right? This whole thing was some elaborate prank, to fuck with her head and question her reality. Were her parents the type to pull such a stunt on her? And why couldn’t she still remember?

But no, he seemed earnest in his questions, in his concerns. Earnest, because he had experienced the same bewildering morning that she had. His dark, soulful eyes held the same confusion as hers and sought the same answers. Perhaps if she stared a bit longer, the answer would materialize. Maybe she’d discover that they didn’t matter, that nothing mattered anymore.

But the elevator dinged, and a disembodied voice bid them inside. Her body brushed against Abe’s slightly as they stepped through the yawning doors, before taking their places a polite two steps apart. The doors closed before them, and his questions hung in the air between them.

“Yeah, I, um, can’t remember anything,” she agreed, slowly. “I mean, I found a note from my mom, so I must have checked in with my parents. Not that I can even remember them.” She bit her lip at the nervous admission and looked away, catching her own confused reflection in the polished elevator walls. “I doubt I would have gotten black out drunk with them around.” She forced laugh at that joke, and cleared her throat. “Besides, I don’t drink very much. I don’t really like alcohol.”

And there it was. The first true thing about herself that she could remember. She didn’t like alcohol. It fit her better than her name, or her story about vacationing with her parents or even the dress that clung to her curves. A piece of jarring clarity that broke through the numbing haze. That bit of fact turned itself over in her mind, as if she could divine other facts about herself from that starting point. What sort of person goes on vacation with their parents well into adulthood, and also doesn’t drink alcohol?

Maybe she was religious? Conservative? Her dress didn’t feel very conservative, not with its mid-thigh hem line or cinched waist line. The three-inch pumps weren’t very conservative, emphasizing the tone of her long legs or the curves of her ass. She didn’t feel any guilt at being alone with a strange man, didn’t feel any guilt about the flickering urge to grip his shoulders or caress his face.

No, religious didn’t seem to fit her, not well.

Clearing her throat, she turned her attention back to the mystery at hand. “So, do you remember anything? Did you come alone?”

 

[whitechapel]

“Not… really?” he admitted, his answer becoming a question in its own right. “I don’t really remember anything, I mean. I don’t know if I’m here alone or with someone or… what.”

The admission of that came easier than he expected. There was no tremble on his voice or fear in his words. It felt… natural. Horrifying, but natural. Abe leaned back against the wood paneled wall of the elevator, looking up at the ceiling and the almost carnival-esque music that started to play from somewhere up above. It was only after the doors closed that he realized there were no buttons to speak of. All the same, the elevator began to move on its own accord, as if it knew exactly where to take them. Abe bit at his lower lip, looking over at Serah with glassy eyes.

“Maybe there was like… a gas leak or something,” he said, trying his best not to acknowledge the seemingly sentient elevator descending them to who knows where. “Have you seen anyone else? Maybe there was an alarm and we… slept through it? I don’t know. I feel like I’m… fucking losing it, y’know?”

That particular admission came with the slightest quiver of a nervous voice.

Looking across the elevator at the redheaded woman in that dress that clung to her body for dear life, there a thousand different thoughts spinning around in the miasma of his mind; chief among them was how very much he’d like to take her right then and there, to pull her in close, to throw all caution to the wind, to accept his lot in this new unknown life and feel something, anything just to put his mind at ease. He didn’t, of course, but the birth of those thoughts begged the question of where they had been conceived. Was that who he was? A womanizer? A lothario? The very embodiment of toxic masculinity, always looking for his next sexual conquest?

That didn’t seem right and he felt the choke of guilt around his neck, but all the same. His eyes wandered the curves of her body on their own volition.

When the elevator finally slowed and stilled, Abe’s hands clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white as he waited for the door to open. He kept seeing visions from that dream in his head, the grinning man dressed in holy raiment, the name of Christ tattooed on his palm. The same monotonous voice once again spoke from the interior speakers, a rasp around the edges of every word, “You have arrived.”

The door opened and golden light flooded into the small space of the elevator, so bright at first that it was almost blinding. As soon as his eyes adjusted, Abe saw that they were at the threshold of a palatial hotel lobby. Everything from the floor to the ceiling was cast in gold, the expanse of room bathed in yellow light from the overhead chandeliers that only accentuated the effect. Smatterings of people gathered around sitting areas in suits and dresses that made them look like they had just marched out of a high society soiree. As Serah and Abe stepped out of the elevator, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face them, smiles on their lips as they watched the couple step across the mosaic floor.

Abe gave Serah a side eye, an unspoken question of ‘this is fucking weird, right?’ In one corner of the room, a man sat at a baby grand piano playing “Für Elise”. The concierge desk sat to the side, out of sight and out of mind from the other guests. A man in a grey suit with a pockmarked face and a terrible combover sat behind the desk, stroking the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index fingers. As Abe and Serah approached, he look up and quickly seemed to snap back to reality, straightening himself up in his chair, clearing his throat, and taking a deep breath. “Well, hey there, you two! Welcome to the Hotel Olvido! Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

He had a smoker’s voice that sounded like every syllable was about to cave in on itself. A name placard sat before him and read ‘Harvey Garvey’, which was… an unfortunate name, to say the least. When he smiled, he had a mouth full of yellow teeth.

“Um. Hey,” Abe said. “We’re both having… uh… some trouble, I think. We were hoping you could help. Right, Serah?”

He glanced towards her, clearly looking for backup as he struggled to articulate exactly what they were experiencing. How does one even start to explain a sudden rash of amnesia without sounding like a complete crazy person?

“We’re… having trouble remembering things,” Abe said. “Like where we are. And who we are. And what we’re doing here. Everything.”

 

[Xanaphia]

The elevators doors opened to the lobby, the room filled with smiles and dread. Everyone was looking at them. Everyone was smiling. Not some, not most, but every last person in that lobby stared and smiled. Serah’s hand twitched, and she just resisted the urge to grab Abe’s. He was a stranger, as much as anyone in this room, and yet he only person who made any sense. The only person who understood what she was going through. Still, fellow amnesiac or not, he was a stranger.

And yet, even the concierge greeted them as a pair, as if they were supposed to arrive together. Supposed to be together. Serah glanced around as Abe spoke to the man, catching more staring faces.

“Um. Hey,” Abe said. “We’re both having… uh… some trouble, I think. We were hoping you could help. Right, Serah?” She nodded, letting him explain their situation, crazy as it sounded. It sounded less crazy coming form someone else. “We’re… having trouble remembering things,” Abe said. “Like where we are. And who we are. And what we’re doing here. Everything.”

Harvey seemed almost bored by the revelation. “Oh, is that all? That’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Serah leaned into the counter now, certain he’d heard them wrong, or she’d heard him wrong. Hoping that simple miscommunication could explain away everything. “We don’t remember anything.”

“Forgetfulness is our specialty. We take you away from the outside world, away from the tedium and monotony of everyday life. Cares and concerns and memories, they just melt away. Who you were is not who you have to be. Not here.” He smiled again, wide enough Serah could have counted his teeth. Whatever she was going to say was lost in the confusion of his words. “But first, perhaps, breakfast? I’m sure you are just hungry, yes?”

Hungry. The word conjured the sensation, and identified the growling emptiness in her stomach. She was hungry. When has she last eaten? “I, uh… yes. I, we, should get some breakfast.”

“Together, yes. Let me call over to the in house restaurant, get a table ready for you two. Or perhaps a booth?”

“Together,” she repeated, and glanced up at Abe. Going along was easier than worrying, easier than… “Wait, no, we need help. First aid, at least or, or something.”

“Not now, your table is ready. Erin here will get you settled.” He motioned with one sweeping hand, and despite herself, Serah turned and then flinched at the sudden appearance of another person, a young woman with a faded tan and blonde hair tied back into a neat ponytail.

Another smiling face greeted them, but it wasn’t the vacant expression of the rest of the guests, but the forced hospitality of employment. “Right this way,” she instructed them, with a practiced bubbly air of service, gently nudging them to turn around. Directly across from the lobby counter were the glass double doors of the in-house restaurant. But, that wasn’t right, was it? No, the elevators where over here, weren’t they? Serah glanced around again, as if even her memories from just a few moments ago were also suspect, but came to no answer. Just smiling, staring faces. Swallowing hard, she followed Erin into the restaurant.

The dining room was filled with modern decor, tan half walls and muted bronze fixtures, around sleek tables. White cushioned chairs and couches surrounded each table. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing the great expanse of blue ocean waves. No land to found, no sand nor rocky cliffs, just ocean, as far as the eye could see. Stunning, and disturbing vistas.

Serah hardly felt as if she had taken it in before Erin motioned toward a table, “Here we are. Shall I get you two started on some drinks? Nirvana sunrise? Ego espresso? Artisanal sparkling essence water?”

 

[whitechapel]

It was like walking through a strange, strange dream.

The words Harvey spoke only made sense in loose, malleable ways. His dismissiveness, his laissez-faire attitude towards their collective amnesia, his carefree handwave and the promise of breakfast acting as a misdirection. Almost immediately after the words left Harvey’s mouth, Abe could feel his stomach begin to grumble and churn. Food. Food would be good. Maybe a cup of coffee. Something to take the edge off. Something that he could touch, he could taste, he could feel.

Soon enough, they were being led towards the dining room by the ever so bubbly Erin. Even though he could almost swear they were being led through glass doors where the same elevators they had departed once stood, Abe was more preoccupied by another revelation as his eyes glanced around the lobby, looking past all those smiling faces: Where was the exit? Every hotel lobby Abe had ever set foot in had a clearly designated area that led outside. A hotel as seemingly fancy as this one would almost assuredly have revolving doors plated in gold, a doorman waiting to help with your bags, all the trappings of luxury and opulence.

There wasn’t one. His eyes followed after wall from left to right. There wasn’t even an emergency exit sign hanging from the ceiling.

Abe felt that old monster anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach, living there alongside his hunger and confusion. His hands involuntarily balled into fists as he passed the threshold alongside Serah into the thoroughly modern dining room. It looked like a room that had been directly ripped from an artist rendering of what heaven might look like. Abe could smell fresh coffee brewing, applewood bacon cooking, a whole miasma of all the best scents making his tongue salivate as he shot Serah a haphazard look out of the corners of his eyes. The lapping waves that could be seen through the windows weren’t lost on him. Were they on an island? Precariously perched on a cliff side? Did the hotel rise out from the ocean depths and tower above the waking world?

Breathe. Just breathe.

Taking his seat across from Serah at the table, Abe gulped so hard that the indention of his Adam’s apple rising and falling could be clearly seen in his throat. As Erin listed off a whole cacophony of insufferably named drinks, Abe should his head and barely looked up at her as he said, “I’ll just have a regular water. Thanks.” If there was one thing he trusted less than the smiling hotel staff it was the drinks they might provide.

After Serah placed her order and Erin scurried away towards the doorway to what Abe could only guess was the kitchen, he looked around conspiratorially before leaning across the table as far as he could without looking conspicuous. “Hey,” He whispered. “I think we need to get out of here. Now..”

It was hard not to feel paranoid with all those smiling faces staring at them. Abe looked Serah dead in the eyes, his hands still curled into fists beneath the table. “It’s not going to take her long to get back with our drinks,” He said. “Food should take longer. We let her take our order, we stand up, and we walk out of here. Okay?”

Abe couldn’t explain why he felt like he should tie himself to her. He couldn’t explain why he cared if she came with him. Maybe it was because she was his only anchor, his only point of reference for where reality began and where… well, whatever the hotel was ended.

Maybe he just felt like he needed to protect her…

 

[Xanaphia]

“Two waters,” Serah added, hardly able to hear herself over her own pounding heart. Beyond the restaurant, dark blue waves crested into foamy white surf and crashed back into the dark ocean, going out in every direction, as far as the eye could see. A sublime vista that inspired as much as it frightened her. Civilization began and ended here, and everything outside was vast and untamed and impossible.

She stared blankly as the menu, hardly able to concentrate over anxious thoughts buzzing in her mind. Was she really going to go along, have brunch and pretend that nothing was wrong? It was a chance to get a hold of herself, of her surroundings. Maybe even begin to remember something. What did she like to eat? What did that say about her?

Abe had different ideas, however. “Hey,” he whispered. “I think we need to get out of here. Now..”

“Go?” she whispered, trying to look like she was reading the menu to anyone looking on. To everyone looking on, because the entire restaurant was still looking at them. “Go where?” To the hospital, her brain filled in her for her. Or a police station. Anywhere but here.

Still, Abe was a stranger, and her parents were here. Parents she couldn’t recall, couldn’t place, couldn’t even begin to imagine. They were strangers, just as much as Abe was. More than Abe was. At least she knew what he looked like. But what kind of girl left her parent to run off with a man she barely knew? Not a good girl, certainly.

But then again, she wasn’t a good girl, was she?

“Yeah, okay.” She turned the page in the menu, mentally plotting out their course, “Right after she takes our order, we’ll leave. I’ll follow your lead.” Her eyes met Abe’s, just over the menu, and held it for a heartbeat, then two, before she glanced away. Just behind him, Erin was returning with their waters. She hid her guilt and guile by turning the page on her menu, ignoring the bubbly waitress’ intuitive gaze.

“Do you need a minute?”

Again her eyes met Abe, the enormity of his plan weighing on her. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, so hard and so loud she was certain Erin could hear it. What was so terrifying? It was a hotel, not a prison. Not a place they were bound. They could at any time. And they would. Simple as that.

“We’re ready,” she insisted, drawing some strength from Abe’s certainty. She handed her menu to Erin, “I’ll have an omelet, with toast.”

 

[whitechapel]

The world is, above all things, a terrifying place.

Sometimes, that's an easy fact to forget. It's simple enough to distract oneself with all the diversions of modern life. You can sit on the couch and watch your favorite TV show. You can smoke a cigarette and daydream about being a non-smoker. You can even write on a roleplay site, if that creative itch comes gnawing at you ankles... but when that terror comes creeping out of the proverbial woodwork and you can't avert your eyes, it becomes crystal clear in a hurry how unavoidable it really is, how a darkness will always find a way to work itself into your life, how you are utterly, completely, hysterically defenseless against the festering anxiety eating away at your tiny lizard brain.

Holding the menu between trembling fingers, Abraham felt that in his bones.

His heart pounded in his chest, words clawing at his throat to stay unspoken. He didn't even humor the idea of looking up at the waitress for fear that she would see right through his paper thin charade. "I'll have the eggs benedict," He said. "Please. Thank you kindly." Folding the menu and laying it flat on the table, Abraham slid it towards the edge still without so much as glancing up at Erin. It felt rude, but necessary, somehow wise to avoid her gaze, as if that oh-so-fake smile and customer service cheer was a mask hiding unending malice. Once the waitress scurried away, Abe nodded his head towards Serah and mouthed a wordless countdown.

Three.

Two.

One.

Stand up. Act casual. Act normal. With all of those sets of eyes still staring almost longingly in their direction, Abe took hold of Serah's hand, fingers entwining themselves between her own before rushed feet guided them between the booths and the tables, back towards the very same set of doors they had first walked through. The whole plan was executed without a single word spoken, as if the folly of speech would render the whole scheme a failure.

He didn't know why he took her hand.

It just felt right, didn't it?

Through double doors, the couple reentered the hotel lobby… Well, what should have been the hotel lobby. Gone were the golden accents and hanging chandeliers, the well dressed gentlemen and ladies of good fortune, even the elevator doors and concierge desk. Instead, Abe found himself staring into a seafoam green room void of people, furniture, and even windows. In the middle of the room, a single solitary handrail stood in stark contrast against the monotone walls, indicating a staircase leading downwards into the unknown. From somewhere beneath them, the sounds of shuffling feet and hushed voices echoed upwards.

The doors closed behind them. They were alone.

"I… What the hell?" Abe asked out loud. "Where the hell are we?" He peered over towards Serah, all wide eyed and jaw agape when he finally let go of her hand. He turned and tried to pull the double doors open once more, but they wouldn't budge. Slowly, saccharine sweet and unnerving to the ear, the same classical music from the hallways above began to flutter into the room from unseen speakers.

"Where the fuck are we?"

It was the only question worth asking. Peering towards the stairwell and then back to Serah, Abe could feel the lump in his throat growing, the sweat on his forehead beginning to trinkle, the bags beneath his eyes becoming ever more weary.

Danger, cried his very being. Danger all around.