The third time I returned to the Hotel Prometheus I finally got to talk to the receptionist. Until then, all I had ever seen of her was a silhouette behind that weird screen, or her pale hand as she passed me my room keys through the slot.</p>
Tonight, there was no screen and the receptionist was sitting there, her head turned to the left as if listening to something only she could hear. She held a cigarette blithely in her left hand, as though it were an ornament made solely to adorn her long fingers.</p>
I moved closer to her desk. At this time of the evening, the reception area was always deserted: the regular patrons of the hotel were either drinking at the bar down the hallway, or safely tucked away in their little rooms. Right now, the place belonged to us. I looked at her. She was wearing a business suit, cut into a very retro 1940s style that accentuated her very fine figure. Her lips were colored a deep, striking scarlet, an alluring focus away from her otherwise completely monochrome appearance. I suddenly felt I had been flung into the role of a film noir detective.</p>
And, right then, I’d found the femme fatale.</p>
She cut me a look that said she knew about money, and I wasn’t it. She put her blonde cigarette to her lips, and then let a long, languid plume of grey smoke rise up the side of her face that was visible to me. I padded up to the desk, smiling, with a row full of insecurities showing.</p>
“Hello there at last, Miss-”</p>
“You’re back again, Mister Ketch,” she interrupted without looking at me. “The Hotel Prometheus is certainly becoming quite the haunt for you, isn’t it?”</p>
I recovered as gracefully as a drowning man would when faced with the prospect of Niagara Falls. “Um. Yes. Well, I er… don’t really have anywhere else to go. I guess I’m, er, kinda lost right now.”</p>
The receptionist let out a low, purring chuckle that sent a pleasant whisper through my body. “Oh, honey, that’s what delivers all of us here. You know, I was a pretty good singer, once upon a time. Rising up through the usual circuits, getting attention in all the right places and fun from all the wrong kinds of people. And, lemme tell you, it was a blast, Mister Ketch. A real blast. So anyways, one day I’m singing in some hotel dining hall joint, doing my usual stuff, getting the crowd nice and hot on a cold day. I’m making them forget about their worries, you know how it is when music can make bad things disappear? That’s what’s happening. Back in the day, I don’t mind telling ya I had real talent, and people could see it, feel that certain spark that electrifies every nerve. Just like having sex with a brand new partner who’s got the skills to really open your eyes.”</p>
Things were getting hotter in the room, especially with the receptionist looking at me with her green eye, full of emerald fire. I cleared my throat, and she flashed half a smile.</p>
“Now, this gig itself wasn’t that important- pretty standard, as far as any gig is concerned- but what happened afterwards, well that was so much more… stimulating.”</p>
“Really?” my throat had gotten awfully dry all of a sudden.</p>
“Oh yes. Very. You want to know what happened to a young, slightly mischievous girl on that hot, dark night, Mister Ketch?” Another deep inhalation, another slow plume of smoke, the glitter from her single visible eye smoldering into me. I was hooked.</p>
“Please.”</p>
She smiled her half a smile at me, a professional to her mark. “Late into the evening, after the encores had been performed and the guests were all neatly tucked up in their beds, there I was, in my dressing room, enjoying some of life’s nasty little habits, when a knock happened at my door. It was late: usually by this time, my manager had gone to bed with Larry, my pianist, and I’d specifically told the hotel staff I was not to be disturbed. This was someone entirely different. I cleaned myself up as best I could, then answered the door. A tall, thin-looking guy - a regular scarecrow to my Dorothy - greeted me on the other side.</p>
“‘I loved your show tonight,’ he told me, in a voice that just oozed confidence. ‘And I just couldn’t resist being a little bit bad and coming backstage to see you. I hope you don’t mind.’”</p>
“‘Well, I’m usually all for being bad, mister-?’”</p>
“‘Generally, people call me Nick, my dear lady. I’d very much like for you to do the same.’”</p>
“I ask you, what’s a showgirl to do, Mister Ketch? I’d already been quite a naughty girl, and Mister Nick was downright bad. It only took one look into his eyes, and things went completely out of control. I don’t mind telling you, Mister Ketch- the gig was good, but this was so much better. Afterwards, he went and got himself dressed, then went into his coat pocket. I thought to myself, after that, he’s going to pay me, like some two-bit hooker?</p>
“‘Hey Nick, what’re you doing?’</p>
“‘Just tying up some loose ends, sweetheart. You got some potential in ya, I gotta say. More than I ever saw in anyone before.’</p>
“All the while, his back’s turned to me. Coward won’t look me in the eye. I get up, saying the usual stupid, angry things you say in the heat of the moment, that you always mean and consistently regret saying afterwards. But hell, I was the rising star, and this backstage jumper was talking to me like I was hardly nothing. By God, I’d make sure he’d face me, and look me square in the eyes. I grabbed him by the arm, pulled him round…”</p>
Suddenly, silence fell. The air around us had become so much colder. My breath quickened, began to fog. The hallway had darkened, shadows lengthened. I had never felt more uncomfortable, all of a sudden. I couldn’t help but move in closer.</p>
“What happened then?” I asked, in a voice that was barely above a whisper.</p>
She laughed, but that purr it had previously had vanished. “It felt hot, you know? Like being burned with a branding iron kinda hot. Then it was all cold. As cold as a winter alone. I suppose it musta hurt when it happened, way back then. But, then again, that was the forties, and this most definitely isn’t. Hell, time can make fools of us all, can’t it, Mister Ketch?”</p>
I felt my skin whiten. “The forties? But that’s impossible, you’re still so young.”</p>
She must have ignored me, continuing her story unabated by my outburst. “All I wanted was for him to face me, Jack. Can you face me, Jack? I wonder if you can.”</p>
“What do y-?”</p>
That was all I could get out, as she finally turned her hidden half of her face towards me.</p>
First, I looked at the ragged socket where her eye, pulped and mashed, looked back at me. Her left temple, the right side fair and pale, was instead torn apart by some incredibly violent force, mauling the top half of her face into a vile effigy of destruction. The still fresh and glistening gunshot was still leaking blood, ichors and pieces of dried bone traces horrifying lines down past her cheek to her ruby red lips. I couldn’t even scream as I gazed at the corpse receptionist.</p>
“Being shot only hurts for a second, Jack. But still being on this Earth when I should rightfully be six feet under it? Well, that’s a pain that sticks.”

