They have No Idea...(Joey)
It's the bell.
The bell from the reception.
I freeze completely, almost as if i was dead.
I swallow a lump in my throat, my nails digging into my palms.
The bell rings again, and i remember that Mr. Miller isn't here. So basically I'm running this hotel.
I rush to Mr. Miller's room closing everything and placing every single detail back to wear it was. The cupboard and everything about it i did with my eyes slightly closed, without breathing, my heart thudding when I'd sneak a small glance at the horror.
The bell keeps ringing again and again, but i don't rush myself, hoping they'd go away before i reach them.
I'm doing this for there own good. If Mr. Miller comes back then they won't live for long.
I sigh in frustration, as the bell continues to ring.
What if it's just a night stay, Joey? I think to myself.
What if...
"Alright." I mutter to myself, "Just a night. Hopefully."
I ruffle my hair with the towel one last time before opening the front door and walking to the reception.
"Finally!" A woman cries, out as i walk towards her, "I thought everyone was dead here."
I smile, thinly, "I'm...I'm sorry for responding late. I couldn't hear the bell from the apartment."
"Apartment?" She asks, curiously, brushing away her blonder hair from her face as i remerged through the cabinet behind the reception desk for the room key and some papers for her to fill. "You live here?"
"Y-yeah." I reply, for some reason, feeling nervous. "My Dad owns this Hotel.
She nods politely, as i hand her the papers.
"Did we get a room yet, Abigail?" Says another voice, the sound of the door pushing open as i watch the person entering.
The lady turns her head and beams, "Did you get my purse, Ian?"
The man nods, lifting up a red leather bag, "Right here."
"Um so, just sign here on the form and I'll hand in the key to you." I mumble, feeling awkward for some reason.
But the pair didn't really seem so interested now, staring at the hall with wide eyes.
"The lights are really dim." The man, Ian comments to which I only shrug, "And there isn't anyone around."
"We...we weren't expecting someone this late..." I reply. "So my Dad sent some employees home."
Gillian sends some of his people here at times when guests arrive here - to make it look more "convenient". Not tonight.
"But," Abigail scowls, perplexed, watching Ian write in the papers, "But this is a hotel. Shouldn't you be expecting guests at any hour?"
"Ha...ha... You're right." I force out a fake laugh.
How the hell do I get out of this situation?
"What's your name?" Abigail asks me all of a sudden.
"Uhh. Joey." I blink. "Joey Miller."
"How long have you lived in this town?"
"Long enough." I scoff, taking the filled form from Ian.
"How is this place? This town?" She just keeps on asking questions.
But it's fine. I can get some information about them through her questions.
"It depends on a how long you want to stay here." I say bluntly, handing them the key to room 11.
"Oh, just a night." She informs, smiling. "We're actually going to go meet my husband's little sister. She just got married."
Too much information for me to care. But at least i know they don't plan to stay here long. For their own good.
Mr. Miller won't ruin them. He isn't here. And that realization makes me feel more relief than I'd thought it would have.
"That's nice." I mumble.
"Yes it is," She continues to speak, "But she lives so far away now that it takes days to cross the country by road, you know? But it's still fun. I persuaded Ian here to ditch the plane ride since it isn't as thrilling!"
Out of impulse, I whisper, "You should have taken the flight."
"Pardon?" Abigail's ears perk up.
"Oh no, nothing." I say, quickly.
I look at Ian, holding the "purse" which looked more like a suitcase.
"Let me help you with this." I offer, walking over to him.
"Oh no.. not thank you." He grunts, straining to hold it, realizing how heavy it is, "I think I can handle it."
"Not when there's no elevator, you can't." I point out, sarcastically.
"Oh.."
***********************************************
I hand over the bag to Ian, nodding off a goodnight as Abigail opens the room.
"Oh my god, Ian, I love how old-fashioned these rooms are styled in!" She gushes. "Don't they look like the medieval times or something?"
"I don't think that's what you'd call it." Ian says, flabbergasted.
Why wouldn't he be? A large white bed with thick blankets, a velvet rug resting on the wooden-tiled floor with to comfortably soft chairs and a small elegant table resting next to the fireplace.
Mr. Miller was never short of money. And according to him, luxurious rooms draw in more guests. More preys.
But he isn't here. He can't do anything about this weird couple. Which strangely, I'm starting to like and probably will miss. But obviously, I don't want them to come back.
"I love this place!" Abigail announces, making me snigger as i walk away, down the stairs, carelessly taking out my phone when it rings with a new message - not really paying attention.
They'll go tomorrow morning.
They'll go and Mr. Miller will never-
I stop.
I stop midway, my hands dropping by my sides, my mouth slightly open with shock.
The stare he gives me turns my blood into ice. Every part of my body throbbing with pain, regret and fear. Fear, not for me. But the couple in their room, who have no idea who has arrived. They have no idea.
Mr. Miller.
He's back.
He's back but with a dangerous looking glare plastered on his face.
"Mr. Miller..."
I don't want him to find out about the guests! Maybe if he just goes to sleep and they leave early-
"Didn't I tell you to call me 'father' in front of guests?" He hisses, pushing past me, with a menacing smirk, "I saw a car in the parking lot. I was getting bored anyway. So this will be fun."
Why did these words feel worse than a stabbed wound?