Hotel Of Death -

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Hotel of Death - by Cynthia Fridsma
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Hotel of Death: the chosen one


Copyright 2016 Cynthia Fridsma

Published by Cynthia Fridsma


Edition License Notes

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.



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Dedication

 

For Hielke

The first love of my life who was always there for me when

I needed him the most, but passed away too soon.

I will miss you and will always love you.

Rest in peace.



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Acknowledgements

 

I would like to express my gratitude to my mother who always encouraged me to write stories. Above all, I want to thank my husband, Gerard, for the many days and nights that he missed me because of my writing project and I would like to thank him for the many hours of reading my story even though it isn’t his genre.

 

I also would like to thank my Dutch editor Rianne Lampers and Amanda Geisler for her helping me in the process of selecting and editing and I would like to thank all people who provided support, talked things over, read, wrote, offered comments, and assisted in the proofreading.

 

Special thanks goes to my dear beta reader, Stefani Odak, for investing her time and energy for my Hotel of Death project. Thank you so much for your time and effort.


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PART I


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1 – Writer’s block

 

He took another sip from his coffee. It didn’t bother him that it was cold. Tired, he stared at the monitor and read back his words.

 

‘A young woman sat on the sidewalk nearby an old building. She laid the cocaine; she got from her dealer, on a spoon and used a lighter to make it fluid. Then she could inject herself with the drugs. It came faster in her bloodstream with a syringe. She couldn’t wait until it was ready. Only drugs could bring her in ecstasy. Her dealer stood behind her. In exchange for the drugs, she satisfied him sexually. Still, he wasn’t pleased because they agreed that she would satisfy him orally. Instead, she used her hands. He handed her another opportunity to use her mouth, only she went on complaining about a rotten tooth. He stood behind her and put on his gloves. He waited patiently until she squirted the drugs in her arm. Then he slits her throat with a large knife.’

 

Dissatisfied about the result Richard removed everything – shit, what now? He rubbed his hand through his hair. If he didn’t succeed with writing his book, he couldn’t marry Glory. He sighed. He knew why he didn’t come further with his story. The last couple of months he shared the bed with lots of women. Mostly married, it was something he chose consciously because he didn’t want to tie himself down into a relationship. Instead of writing, he had sex and the price he had to pay was a writer’s block. He smiled when he thought about Glory. Maryland’s wife tried to seduce him. She was courting him three months ago. Besides, who was he to resist a beautiful redhead? He forgot the fact that she was the wife of his publisher, and he fell for her advances. Richard saw it as some kind of compensation as the contract he had signed with his publisher, suffocated him. Unfortunately, their relationship brought extra pressure on him because every time they were together, she asked him about the status of his book. As if that’s the only thing that really matters. However, he loved her. He closed his eyes and smiled wryly. Donald told him


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three months ago in confidence that he was in financial problems. At first, Richard wanted to help him by lending him some money in exchange for the contract so that he, eventually, was free to go to another publisher. Then Glory started courting him. Of course, he wasn’t born yesterday, his gut feelings told him that she only showed her interest in him because of the financial troubles the Maryland’s were in – if I let Donald go bankrupt. I can buy their mansion for peanuts and marry Glory. Kill two birds with one stone. He had enough money, since his book made it in Hollywood. The author rights alone put him on the crest of a wave, and he didn’t make the same mistake as Donald by investing his money in the real estate. No, he bought off his mortgage, and the rest was in his bank savings account. He saw his opportunity to snatch Glory away from Donald without much effort. All he had to do was to sit back and relax. It was only a matter of time. He didn’t say a word about this to Glory, but yesterday he lifted a tip of the veil by telling her about his plans. Unfortunately, her reaction was just not in the way he had hoped. On the other hand, it didn’t come to a surprise. Glory held up the appearance that she supported her husband. However, he knew that if it came to serious business, she would choose him over Donald. Glory had an unstoppable lust for money and luxury. If Donald lost it all, then he would lose her too. It will drive her into his arms. Soon, she’ll become his wife – but first, I need to finish my book. Because that’s what she desired from him; and he was more than willing to do his best. Not for Donald, he could go to hell, although he helped him so much. After all, he was the only publisher who dared to publish his first novel three years ago. Still, it didn’t bother him much if Donald were as poor as a church mouse. He was curious how Donald would handle welfare. Richard lived a long time on welfare while he worked on his first book. Quite often, he came across the Food Bank because he had nothing to eat. He sighed as his conscience started to nag. If it were not for Donald, then he properly still would be on welfare and be as poor as a church mouse – okay, then I’ll give my apartment to Donald; once I’m married to Glory. Now he wanted to work on his book to prove to Glory that he has not lost the touch. His book would


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be published after Donald is penniless. He would stand firm, no matter what she might say to him.

He knew that their being bankrupt was only a matter of weeks, perhaps one month at the most. Even if he had to pay the forty-thousand pounds next month if he didn’t finish his book in time. Those were the small prints of the contract. Yesterday evening he was convinced that she would agree to his marriage proposal, but first he had to finish the book, she had told him. You would almost think that this was a good reason for him to start working on it and put his body and soul in it. In reality, he just stared blindly at the monitor. The ritual was the same every time: he started enthusiastically, wrote everything down that popped in his head. After he read it back, he deleted it, as he just did now. A drug dealer killed a prostitute because she did not give him a blowjob. It was a stupid start for a chapter; he decided. What did I write yesterday? It came back to him. Yesterday a dealer killed a bookmaker. It was almost the same, but with different actors – damn!

A month ago, he quit seeing Buffy, Alice, Joyce, Helen, and various other women because he wanted to marry Glory. Now he regretted his breaking off decision. If she did not hesitate to marry him, then he would not have that bad feeling. Now he longed for someone to spend the night with and he toyed the idea to see if Helen was available. However, she was very sad when he broke up with her – what about Buffy? No, she slapped him in his face. Then he thought of Joyce, she was always so understanding. However, that all faded away when he had confessed that he slept with other women. Though he didn’t understand their behavior, they were married. Why should they care that he slept with others? Every man needs a hobby, and he loved women; it was his strength. Women made him feel alive. Still, he was willing to settle down with Glory. He sighed; perhaps it is better to come clean with Donald. He considered it while he closed his eyes and shook his head. The outcome wouldn’t be good. “Goddamn, and now I have a writer’s block. That’s the last thing I need right now!” he yelled, although there was no one around to hear his complaint. The sound of the phone startled him. With a deep sigh, he looked at it.


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In his mind, he had smashed it to smithereens against the wall. In reality, he just stared at it.

Shortly after, his answering machine took the call. “Richard, are you there? Pick up the phone, will you? Well, have it your way! Listen, I know that you’re messing with Glory! I suspected it for a while, but I couldn’t prove anything. That’s why I hired a private investigator and–” the answering machine turned off – goddamn, he knows about Glory and me! Donald’s words echoed in his mind. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest and his blood flowed through his face. Richard closed his eyes and held his breath. He counted to four, than he breathed out. He repeated this exercise a couple of times until he finally calmed down. After a deep sigh, he opened his eyes and had a thousand-yard stare. When he came back to his senses, he complained “It’s over, farewell cruel world,” there was no doubt that Donald would get his revenge upon him. Knowing him, it would come with interest! After a few minutes, the answering machine took another call. “Richard, you cannot continue playing hide and seek! You have cheated on me with my wife. I hold you accountable for missing the deadline! Do you hear me, cocksucker? You ruined my marriage!” After that, he felt a pounding sensation in the neck, throat, and chest. Involuntarily he closed his eyes – this is game over! He just knew it. The answering machine took another call.

“Goddamn, can’t he just shut the fuck up for a moment?” Richard held his hands against his ears but couldn’t block the sound entirely. He recognized Glory’s voice! “Richard, are you there? Donald found out about us, and he hit me! He hit me, Richard,” Glory’s voice ended with a scream that cut through the bone. The answering machine switched itself off, and Richard was worried; he broke out into a cold sweat – that stupid thing we did. I wish that I never gave in to her! Angrily, he smashed his coffee mug to pieces against the wall. The dark brownish fluid dripped down the wall and formed a brown stain on his white carpet.

“Damn,” he swore. Right now Glory paid the bill for their affair. Though it made him shudder, he replayed Glory’s message on the answering machine. Again, her scream cut through the marrow of his bones. Starlet, he stood up, and paced restlessly around the room,


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while he nervously wondered whether he should go to her, or that he had to leave the things, just the way they were. Perhaps she’s already dead! It will not be the first time that a deceived husband kills his wife. Richard wrote extensively about the latter a couple times. If she was dead, he could do nothing for her. Was it not wise to turn to the police? Although he was not sure whether a crime had been committed, though everything pointed in that direction. Her scream alone was enough to convince him. However, he concluded that he was not guilty of this family drama between husband and wife. Glory seduced me, not the other way around; he soothed his conscience. He took a seat behind his desk. His hand reached for the phone to call the police anyway, but then the phone rang, again! Startled, he withdrew his hand – as if he was stung by a wasp – and shouted, “I’m not at home! I’m not at home! I’m not at home!” he pressed his hands to his ears and wiggled like a little boy in his desk chair.

“Help! Richard–” Glory’s voice sounded through the loudspeaker and came to an abrupt stop, in the background sounded glass shattering. Shortly after, he could only hear the sound of a busy signal. A guilty feeling took hold of him, and he nervously rubbed through his hair –it’s indirectly my fault. While he was still wiggling in his chair, he thought of the things that might happen to her and in his mind, he saw Glory laying down on the ground, crying for mercy, in her birthday suit, and covered with bruises. Donald stood in front of her and bent down to hit her with a baseball bat. He kept beating her repeatedly, until she no longer screamed or moved.

“No,” Richard screamed upset. Tears streamed down his face.

Then he had another vision of Donald and Glory. This time they were in the garage. Glory was naked and unconscious. Donald stood behind her and tied her arms to a chair with ropes, nearby his car. Then he woke her up by emptying a bucket of water on her. She couched a couple of times, and Donald laughed as a sick fuck. He walked upon her and used a Taser to electrocute her. He kept electrocuting her until she was unconscious again. He put the Taser away and grabbed a gas mask that he pulled over her face. The gas mask had a long hose that he attached to the gas outlet of his car. Then he woke her up, again with a bucket of water. “Wakey Wakey,


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dear. I’ve a surprise for you,” he smiled and walked to his car. He opened the door, started the engine, and put a brick on the gas pedal. Donald looked at his wife and grinned madly at the sight of her death struggle. After a few minutes, she stopped moving. Richard shuddered at the thought of his vision and felt dizzy. “Pull yourself together, Richard! Damn,” he shouted at himself. On unsteady legs, Richard limped to the bathroom. In there he punched the wall. His ears buzzed, but he felt a little better. The horrific visions were gone, and the pain in his hand calmed him down a little. He turned on the cold-water tap and let the water flow over his bruised hand. His knuckles were scraped and a tiny bit of blood came out, but it was nothing serious. He breathed deeply a few times and splashed some water in his face. Then he looked at his face in the mirror – it’s all because of me. I must go to her! I must help Glory.

With a deep sigh, he dried his face with a towel and left his apartment. In the garage, he got in his car and drove at a full speed to Donald’s place.

 

*

Richard brought his car to a halt with squealed tires, when Donald’s house came into view. If he didn’t wear a seat belt, then he would have launched himself through the windshield. In record time, he had crossed the forty miles that separated him from Donald’s home. He noticed Glory’s car on the driveway. The windshield at the driver’s seat was smashed. An ax was stuck in the windshield. Richard swallowed a lump in his throat and pulled at the ax handle until it was cut loose. Armed with the ax, he walked to the front door of the house. It stood ajar, and he could just walk in while his heart pounded like crazy in his chest, and his forehead went clammy of fear as he cautiously looked around him. After he was reassured that there was no immediate threat he went inside. In the living room – the front door opened directly into the living room - he discovered a huge mess, as if a tornado had occurred. All the furniture was overturned, and Donald’s stereo was smashed to pieces, while the plasma TV showed an immense crack. In his mind, he saw how Donald attacked Glory in the living room. He took a quick glance at the furniture and


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saw how she tried to protect herself from Donald’s blind rage by overturning the couch and the other furniture. Donald was right behind her, and she screamed of fear. There in the corner, he saw the phone. It was smashed in Donald’s rage. That was when she tried to call me, Richard thought sadly. Then Donald, who attacked her with his ax, interrupted her. She ran and ducked while Donald aimed for her head with the ax. Instead, he hit the TV screen, leaving a huge crack. Richard peered outside through the door that still stood ajar. Glory ran to the driveway to get in her car, but Donald stopped her from going somewhere safe, by hitting the windshield with his ax – Glory got out of the car, but where is she now?

Richard startled and held his breath because he thought that he heard something, but it was all in his imagination; he decided because nothing happened. He surveyed the living room very carefully and was quiet as a mouse, but he did not find Donald or Glory. He breathed a little relieved because he had some respite for a while.

 

*

 

He paused at the kitchen door. He did not like closed doors, after all, you never know if there was someone behind it with a shotgun in his hand; like a jack-in-the-box waiting for the door to open. In his heart, he was sure that Donald stood there with his shotgun. When he opened it, he would shoot him. In his mind, he saw how the bullet – like in a slow-motion movie – hit his stomach. The impact made him bent over, and Donald punched forward with his rifle butt on Richard’s forehead. Richard was stunned. Donald stood above him. His gun pressed tight on his head, and re-firing a bullet after Richard opened his eyes. The impact of the bullet pierced his forehead and killed him within the blink of an eye. Richard shuddered, shook his head, and looked at the closed kitchen door. Cautiously, he pressed his ears against the door. A faint hissing sound was coming from behind the door. He tried very hard if he could hear other sounds. Besides the hissing sound, he heard nothing that pointed out that Donald stood there with his shotgun to kill him. Carefully, he opened the door. There was no light in the kitchen, but the light of the living


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room was enough to see everything. The kitchen was empty. He smelled the characteristic odor of natural gas – someone left the stove on!

Quickly, he turned off all the burners, and then he surveyed the kitchen. In the corner of the kitchen, he noticed the basement door; it was slightly open. He swallowed a thick lump in the back of his throat. Ever since his childhood, he has been afraid of dark spaces.

His dad, who often locked him in a closet until he was sixteen, when his father wanted him to be quiet, caused this fear. After Richard turned sixteen, his father was killed in a tragic accident. His death and funeral were a relief for Richard.

A rumor, which came from the basement, caught his attention. Again, Richard had a vision about Glory. This time, Donald was busy to immurement her behind a wall. This scene was so familiar to him. What was it again? Then it came to him: the cask of Amontillado, written by Edgar Allen Poe. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he walked towards the basement and moved slowly, step-by-step, downstairs with his glance on infinity. After each step, he stopped to take a deep breath and squeezed hard onto the handle of the ax to convince him that he was still holding on to it. On the bottom step, he could clearly hear something. Yet, this wasn’t the sound of someone building a wall of bricks. No, it sounded more likely as a dripping water tap. Which was weird for sure, but he didn’t give it a second thought. Instead, he pushed himself as flat as possible against the wall and peered carefully over his shoulder. A tiny light shone in the basement and he thanked the Lord for small favors. He looked very closely, but there was no sign of an immediate threat. Richard breathed a little relieved and braced himself for the worse as he slumped to his haunches against the wall and crawled slowly forward. There was no trace of Donald or Glory, and he dared to stand upright again, but he continued to be wary because you never know if Donald appeared as a jack-in-the-box. At every step, he looked around, and eventually he discovered the source of the drips: there were wine bottles in the racks and many were broken. With his finger, he caught a drop and tasted it, it tasted great, which didn’t surprise him because Donald was a real gourmet; he also loved a good wine.


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*

 

He felt relieved after his ‘adventure’ in the basement. He closed the basement door and decided to survey the rest of the house. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to do because in his heart, he wanted to return home. Then he heard Glory’s scream from upstairs. He was stunned for a moment – goddamn! Then he no longer hesitated and armed with the ax he ran upstairs. It was pitched dark because all lights were off – great, he thought while fear became his master and stood there awhile.

Glory screamed again, now he no longer hesitated! Richard ran further up the stairs and swung the axe wildly above his head. Under the bedroom door, he saw a thin sliver of light. Behind it, he heard Glory’s screams that cut him through his bones. Encouraged by her fearsome screams he went into a frenzy and attacked the door with the ax until he smashed it to pieces. He saw in an instance that Glory was on her knees, and he stared in Donald’s angry face. Donald pointed a gun at him. Richard stared horrified into the barrel of the weapon – its game over for Glory and me.

“You’re too late. Now drop that ax or I’ll blow a hole in that head of yours,” Donald snapped at him, and in defeat, Richard realized that all was lost.

“I can shoot her down, you know?” Donald said, and pressed the gun barrel against Glory’s head and grinned wickedly, “it’s so easy for me to pull the trigger, and then I’ll fire a bullet in your head.” Donald pointed his weapon on him. “I can watch and enjoy myself while you both die! However, that’s too fast because I want you to feel my pain, Richard! Sit on the bed and look at the pictures that you see lying on the pillow.”

Richard felt his heartbeat in his throat and swallowed a couple of times. Because he didn’t move, Donald fired a shot into the air. The bullet hit the ceiling and Richard winced while a little lime dropped on his head. “Hurry up. I haven’t got all day!” With leaden steps, Richard walked towards the bed. He sat down and looked at the pictures scattered on the pillow and recognized the faces in the


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pictures: they were his mistresses before he broke up with them in favor of Glory. Donald pressed the gun barrel against his head. “I can see by the look on your face that you recognize the ladies in the pictures. Take a close look, because it will be the last time you see them. They are all dead. Do you hear me? They are all fucking dead! And soon you will join them in the afterlife, if such a thing exists!” He moved his gun under Richard’s chin. Tears welled up in Richard’s eyes, and he said a quick prayer in his mind. In response, Donald began to laugh sadistically. “Yes, Richard, they’re dead. I shot them down like rabid dogs with this gun. I had to put them out of their misery and it’s all because of you. You’re the one who fucked my wife!” Donald said, laughing like a maniac. Then Donald pointed his gun at Glory, “I know; she’s your mistress. And please, don’t deny that because I’ve seen the pictures,” he snarled and pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

Richard wanted to stand up because Donald didn’t look at him, but Donald responded immediately, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, and fired a bullet that flew past his ear. “Don’t you move, you sick fuck!” he snapped. Donald then took a few steps backward while Richard’s fingers trembled when he touched his ear. He felt some blood between his fingers. “It’s just a scratch,” said Donald with an evil voice, “Glory, stand up and sit next to that motherfucker! Now!” However, Glory didn’t move, all she did was cry and begging for mercy. Her cries properly triggered his anger upon her, because Donald fired a warning shot and the bullet drilled a hole in the floor, nearby her hands. “Damn you,” he shouted, “Do what I say!”

He has gone mad; Richard realized – damn. This is going the wrong direction. Panting, Richard said, “Donald, shall I sit next to her? Glory is paralyzed by–”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Donald snapped and walked up to her. He pushed his gun against Glory’s crying face. A cold shiver ran down Richard’s spine while he had to sit on the bed and watched powerless to Glory and Donald. “Okay,” Donald said, looking at Richard, “fine, you may die together! Richard, stand up and sit next to your whore on your hands and knees, like the dog you really are. Walk slowly or I’ll shoot you.”


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Picture of Cynthia Fridsma


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