Extended Stay by Juan Martinez

Author:Juan Martinez [Martinez, Juan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC009060 FICTION / Fantasy / Urban, FIC056000 FICTION / Hispanic & Latino, FIC015000 FICTION / Horror
Publisher: University of Arizona Press
Published: 2023-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“But you don’t,” said a pale man in a black turtleneck. “If you did, we wouldn’t be here.”

The man had shaved recently, his neck red and raw. Angry bumps dotted the skin, and when the man scratched, Alvaro caught a glimpse of his neck tattoo, words in an old-fashioned script that looped and curled around the flesh. The man could not stop scratching. Alvaro followed the whorls as they dipped in and out of view and then resolved into a readable phrase: “Serve all, save none.”

The man was too pale for Vegas, his skin clammy, freckled, and doughy. Press your finger against it and the indentation would stay in place.

The other men in the group were also built for the Pacific Northwest, strangers to the heat and sun of Nevada, uncomfortable in the recycled air of the yellow pit. They wore too much fleece. They checked their smartphones. They frowned. They scratched at their skin.

They all had the same neck tattoo.

Winifred cocked her head and smiled. “Steven,” she said. “Steven? You’ve got nothing to worry about. The passages are all open, everything’s fine.”

“I don’t think you’re hearing me.” Steven looked like he wanted to cry.

Winifred’s posture was fixed. Her smile too. She dropped her cigarette and didn’t pick it up. A band of sweat shone high on her freckled forehead. A terrified woman, doing her best to look not at all terrified.

“I promise you,” Winifred said. “We’ve got everything under control.”

She extended her arm. Alvaro recognized the intent of the gesture. She meant to pat Steven, to reassure him. Touch him and he’ll scream, he thought. Her hand remained just out of reach. “Isn’t that right?” she said, nodding. “Don’t we?”

She won’t touch him, he thought. She can’t. Touch him and the indentation will stay. He’s uncooked dough. There’s something wrong with his skin.

With him.

Something wrong with all of them.

“Alvaro?”

The pale men were all looking at Alvaro, as was Winifred, and it was only because he had the foresight to nod when Winifred had been nodding that he had a moment to catch up, to realize that she was addressing him now, and that he was expected to offer reassurance.

“We’re on it,” Alvaro said, sure that he was lying, and that Winifred was lying too, also sure that the hotel had just swallowed more of his life. Whatever troubled him below troubled him still. He missed cues, time skipped, he daydreamed blood and hurt, he wasn’t quite himself.

People spoke and he did not listen.

Steven tapped on his smartphone. “Because they’re saying the locks aren’t in. And no one’s finding passages where the oracle promised us passages. The passages spring elsewhere. The tributes can’t find their way. Our sacrifices are nowhere near on target. We follow the oracle and chart the growth and we protect the new passages, but nothing’s on target. Nothing. And you can’t speak for the person we need to speak to. We need to hear from Melmot. Where is he?”

Winifred’s smile stayed in place—wide and dazzling in its beauty, and wholly unconvincing.

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