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     Memoriae

       Rex Clark
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Memoriae

By Rex Clark
Copyright 2017 Rex Clark

Other titles by Rex Clark:
Seduction
The Horror From Beyond the Outhouse
Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep
The Guest in 519
Waters Rise
Blood Doll
“And here we are at our last stop of the evening,” said the man in the long black coat as he gestured to the hotel in front of them. “Our final destination, if I might throw that joke into the mix.”
There were thirteen of them, not counting the guide who had turned his back to the rundown hotel in order to face the group.
“Behind me is the Sunny Brook Hotel. Doesn’t look like much anymore, does it?” He spared the old building a quick glance. “At one time, this was the place to be here in town, before the chain hotels set up shop on the roads in, to catch the tourists early. Needless to say, it’s seen better days.”
The guide paused with a thoughtful look, then threw his arms wide with a theatrical shrug. “But then, I said it anyway, didn’t I? Go figure,” he said, letting a rueful smile play at his lips. The joke used to get laughs, when the crowds had come to be entertained, and he didn’t like to let it go; it was one of his favorites, even if it was a little worn at the edges.
The shutterbugs in the group raised their cameras and began snapping pictures of the hotel’s crumbling gray exterior and shattered windows. The guide didn’t turn away from the strobing flashes of the cameras; he’d been doing this four or five nights a week for the better part of a decade. The flashes had long since ceased to be blinding.
He gave them half a minute to take pictures before he started his story. “If you’ll look at the third floor, the next to the last room on the right,” he said, pointing to the rust-pocked railing of the balcony and the darkness behind the broken door that opened onto it, “I’m going to tell you about a young couple whose wedding night took a tragic turn for the worse.”
“Another one?” one of the college kids at the back of the group muttered with a smirk. The girl hanging onto his arm sputtered a tipsy giggle, while the other couple that was with them gave a predictably mixed reaction: he snorted laughter at his friend’s rudeness, while she rolled her eyes and tried to inch away from the others. She’d been the only one of the party who had shown an interest in the tour from the get-go; the guide suspected it had something to do with her being the only one of them who was sober. He guessed there had been some moonshine sampling earlier which she hadn’t participated in.
The guide was used to rudeness in general; he’d been doing this long enough to not get ruffled by it, and on most nights, would have just let the comment ride. He was a firm believer in letting assholes sort themselves out by shooting their mouths off. But this bunch had been a pain in his ass all night, and he had reached the point where enough was certainly too much
“Yes indeed, Mister Tedesco,” the guide replied with the most genuine fake smile he could muster. “Another one. Because, as we all know, alcohol and young love are the perfect recipe for ruining peoples’ evenings, amIright?”
He looked to the rest of the group for support, mugging like a game show host, and was not disappointed to see some nods and pointed glances at the drunks. “Damn straight,” an older gentleman near the back of the group said; he’d had the displeasure to end up beside the kids at almost every stop, and was clearly even more fed up with them than the guide was. The sober girl in the party had taken another step away from them and was giving them the same look that the rest of the group was.
Tedesco snorted but kept silent, cowed for the moment by the glares from the people around him. His face slackened back into the expression of bored disinterest that had decorated it all night.
The guide gave it a few more seconds to sink in before continuing. “Now, with Mister Tedesco’s kind permission, we’ll continue.” He caught the shrug-and-snort out of the corner of his eye, but decided to let it drop; he had gotten his point across.
“All right. Now, back in the day, the Sunny Brook made a name for itself as a popular destination for wedding receptions. They had two large meeting halls and a top-notch catering staff, so they were able to accommodate just about any size party you could think of. Sometimes, the actual wedding was held here; more often, the couple would tie the night at the wedding chapel up the street, then everyone would congregate here for the after party.
“On this particular occasion, both bride and groom came from large, and from all accounts, quite boisterous families. She was vivacious, outgoing, and charming to a fault, while he was apparently the black sheep: quiet, bookish, not really one for social gatherings. He liked to keep to the background, while she took center stage. They were so opposite, these kids, that balanced each other perfectly.
“And, most importantly, they were madly in love with each other. They dated through high school, on into college, where he graduated summa cum laude, and she was in the top ten percent, guaranteed jobs the minute they walked off campus. His graduation speech consisted of two things: thanking everyone who had been there to help him get through school, and proposing to the love of his life.”
The guide paused for a handful of seconds, waiting for the ooh’s and aah’s that usually accompanied such a sappy pronouncement, but caught only a muffled gagging sound and a tipsy giggle from the kids in the back. He let this one slide; he suddenly felt too tired to pursue it.
“Six months later,” he picked up again, “they tied the night right here, in the West Hall, and went straight from wedding to reception with quite the mighty roar.
“It was a pretty happening shindig, as the story goes; both families went in with deep pockets to pay for food and booze, and the party ran well into the night, with the maintenance guys carting some of the drunks up to their rooms in wheel barrows when the time came to close it down and clean up.
“Somewhere after midnight, but still well before things started winding down, the young couple announced they were going up to their room. They managed to slur out some heartfelt thank-you’s and a couple of quick, and probably not very comprehensible toasts before departing in a flurry of catcalls and well-wishes.
“Now on their way up from the hall, the young lady realized that she was in need of a pitstop, and that she probably couldn’t hold it until she got to the room. So, she stopped on the next floor up, which was the lobby, and made her way to the ladies’ room, while her new husband went on up to their room to get ready for their ‘special night’.”
He could see from the looks on some of the faces in the group that people were guessing where this was going, but they were still going along for the ride, and that was alright with the guide; sometimes it was okay to let them think they had it worked out before the end of the story.
“I’ve heard different accounts on how long she was actually in the lobby bathroom, but the guy who was working the desk that night swears that it was a solid forty-five minutes before she stumbled back out into the lobby, where she tried to pull herself upright and look presentable, and managed to snap one of the straps on her wedding dress in the process.
“She made her way across the lobby to the desk, which she used as a prop to keep herself from falling over, and told the night audit that she was staying in room such-and-such, and that she was headed there now, but had discovered that she had left her key in the room, and could he give her another one, please? She didn’t want to knock and have her new husband come to the door, because she was certain that he was ‘waiting’ for her, if you catch my drift, and she wasn’t about to let him down.
“Well, the audit gave her a look, but he didn’t say anything to her; he just handed her another key to the room and wished her good night. He said she blew him a kiss as she staggered away from the desk and got on the elevator, and the last thing he heard as the doors closed was her singing ‘Here Comes the Bride’ in fluent Drunkenese.
“Now, when she got off the elevator, she made it down the hall and to the room without causing much of a disturbance, and let herself in quietly. The disturbance didn’t really begin for another ten minutes, when she apparently woke up the entire floor with her enthusiastic consummation of her wedding night. By all accounts, she was heard in the lobby two floors down, where some of the less inebriated wedding guests gave each other some knowing winks as they made their way upstairs.”
The guide said this last with a wink of his own. While he was still professional enough to not let things get too risqué, there were some nights that he was glad that there weren’t any children present; he hated having to tame it down any further than he needed to.
“Now, after a couple of hours of expressive and carefree ecstacy, our young bride finally got her fill of marital bliss and passed out, much to the relief of the hotel’s other occupants.”
Now that he was closing in on the end of the story, the guide felt a lump rising in his throat. It was the same every night, even after all the years that he had been leading these tours, and as always, he turned to face the dilapidated building to cover the wave of emotion.
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