Reflections in Room 413
Part One
The following is Part One of a series in collaboration with f dot leonora
Part One - The Arrival
Celeste Rivers didn’t believe in ghosts. She believed in heartbreak, though. She believed in lawyers, and damaging courtroom transcripts. She believed in seeing her name dragged across multiple gossip blogs in the space of a week. Mostly, she believed in betrayal and broken promises. Ghosts? No. At least not yet.
The Blue Indigo Hotel was tucked behind a wrought iron gate off New Orleans’ Burgundy Street. It was too beautiful and too hidden to ever be listed on a travel app. The sign out front lit up in gold letters.
The bellhop didn’t smile when he took her suitcase. He respectfully nodded at her, like he knew she wasn’t here on vacation.
Inside, it smelled like a mix of eucalyptus and old wood. The main lobby had velvet chairs and tall windows. The chandelier looked like it dated back to Prohibition. Celeste wore dark sunglasses even though it was already dusk. Even this far from home, she wanted privacy. She kept them on when she reached the front desk.
“Reservation under Rivers,” she said, brushing her hair behind one ear.
The man behind the counter looked to be in his early forties. He had a salt-and-pepper goatee and looked way too sharp to be working reception.
“Room 413,” he said. “The suite.”
“I didn’t book a suite.”
“You didn’t,” he agreed. “But everything else is full.”
Celeste slid her sunglasses down just enough to give him a look. “OK, then what’s the catch?”
His smile didn’t seem genuine. “Some guests say it’s haunted.”
Celeste let out a dry laugh. “That’s just perfect. Add it to the list.”
He handed her a key. It wasn’t a card, but an actual brass key. It was heavy in her palm and had a blue tassel at the end. The tag read Room 413.
“If you need anything,” he added, “dial zero. Or just come back down. We’re always watching.”
She looked at him funny.
He winked. “You know what I mean; available. Always available.”
The elevator was old and slow, the kind with a rattling gate you had to pull shut. She half-expected it to groan “turn back now, while you can” but it just clanked its way up to the fourth floor like it had done a thousand times before.
The hallway was dim. It wasn’t dark, exactly, just… moody. Like something from an old vampire movie. The walls were deep navy, gold trim, floor was covered in thick carpet. The hallway was so quiet it made Celeste’s thoughts feel louder.
Room 413 was at the end.
The moment she opened the door, she felt it. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she could certainly feel it. Not cold. Not warm. Just something. There was a strange shift in the air.
The room was beautiful. High ceilings. A velvet fainting couch. An old four-poster bed draped in white lace. The walls were lined with shadowy art. The soft light spilled through the tall windows that faced the courtyard below.
And on the wall, directly above the bed, hung the painting.
She stopped in her tracks.
It was a woman’s face. Or rather, a collage of two faces; fragmented, cracked, and faded like peeling wallpaper. But her eyes. They stared right back at Celeste. And the lips, painted deep red, looked freshly kissed.
Celeste felt the tiniest chill creep along the back of her neck.
She walked closer.
It was just paint. Just brushstrokes. Simple canvas on wood, with layers of aging lacquer. But something in the face looked familiar, like a dream you couldn’t quite place. The woman was beautiful, but there was damage there. Texture. A crack across her cheek. A smear near her mouth. As if someone had tried to erase her but failed.
Celeste poured herself a bourbon from the courtesy tray and drank it while she continued to stare at the face that was looking back at her. She never brought luggage larger than a carry-on, and all her clothes were still folded. Her laptop stayed zipped. She wasn’t here to write emails.
She was here to stop remembering.
Later, she lay in the quiet. Her legs were tangled in the hotel sheets, and the scent of old jasmine drifted in through the window. The painting stared down at her.
She tried not to look. She turned onto her side. Then her back again. Then, eventually, she closed her eyes.
To Be Continued…
Be sure to follow or subscribe to f dot leonora for the next part in this series.