Chapter 6 - The Ascent to the Forbidden Wing
The service elevator groaned in protest as Rene guided Eleanor’s wheelchair into the narrow, utilitarian cage. The walls were scratched industrial steel, a jarring contrast to the crystal chandeliers and velvet drapery of the ballroom two floors below. Arthur Sterling had stayed behind, paralyzed by the approaching sirens, leaving Rene and Eleanor alone in the dim, humming ascent toward the top floor of the Copley Hotel—the executive wing that had remained sealed behind a wall of drywall and legal injunctions for twenty-five years.
The cable gave a sharp shudder before the elevator ground to a halt with a metallic thud. The digital indicator flickered, displaying a glowing red '4'.
Rene slid the heavy metal gate open, stepping out into a corridor that smelled sharply of stagnant air, old dust, and damp wool. Unlike the luxurious guest floors below, this hallway had never been renovated. The carpets were an outdated floral pattern stained with age, and the crystal wall sconces were dark, their bulbs long since burned out. The only illumination came from the amber glow of the emergency exit sign at the far end of the hall.
“Mind the step here, child,” Eleanor murmured, her voice steady and echoing slightly in the narrow corridor. “The builders were sloppy when they walled this section off. They wanted it forgotten, not repaired.”
Rene pushed the wheelchair forward, her eyes scanning the brass numbers bolted to the dark wooden doors. 398… 400… 402… and finally, directly ahead of them, door number 404. The brass plate was tarnished nearly black, but the number was unmistakable.
Rene reached into her apron pocket, pulling out the heavy brass key she had retrieved from Julianne’s spilled clutch. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the rhythmic thud loud in her own ears. Every step she had taken over the past six months—discarding her real name, taking a low-level waitressing job at the hotel, enduring Julianne’s petty cruelty—had all led to this exact moment.
She inserted the key into the antique lock. It fit with a precise, mechanical click, but the mechanism resisted, rusted from decades of disuse. Rene gripped the handle tightly, planted her feet firmly against the worn carpet, and threw her weight into it.
With a loud, protesting screech of tearing metal and crumbling plaster, the heavy door swung inward, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that shimmered in the amber emergency light.
May you like
Eleanor coughed lightly, waving a delicate hand before her face. Then, as the dust began to settle, both women stared in stunned silence at what lay waiting for them inside room 404.
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