10:43pm

June 27
California desert-land

The Chevy pulled to a stop underneath the sign. It flickered a few times. The dark sky was starless and a cool breeze rustled the brush. A lone coyote yipped and gave a long mournful howl. Not exactly the kind of night you want to be driving a convertible to Los Angeles in! He'd been all right until he'd seen that sign. Then his eye-lids had drifted closed; his head had wanted to rest on the steering wheel and never lift. Had he been so focused on the road that the only things to make him realise his tiredness were the tacky, blue-neon lights advertising the Hotel California? That was dangerous! Black Docs crunched on the stones that constituted the driveway. 'Nearly falling apart these things' he noted absently. He'd have to get new ones when he made it to LA. Why did the thought 'If I make it to LA' choose that time to wander through his brain? Shoving the car keys in the pocket of his jeans, and slinging the black bag over his shoulder, he stared through dark glasses at the hotel. Why was he wearing sunnies at . . . the dial of his watch read 10:43pm. Was it still so early?
Walking up the board stairs, he glanced at the night-man, sitting in a wicker chair, hat pulled low over his eyes, smoking a corn cob pipe.
"Hey," the night-man just grunted. Dangerously unequipped brain-wise was this one. "Can you tell me where the check in desk is?" the night-man gestured his head towards the ancient fly-screen door. Isaac turned, and there she stood. The most divine creature on the earth's face. Her raven hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall and pooled on the polished wood floor; her lips were the colour of rubies; her eyes the deepest forest green; her skin like alabaster; her hands delicate and smooth; her bare feet slim and small. The black dress she wore looked almost as old as the hotel itself. Laced between slender fingers was a brass candelabra.
"Come," was all she said. Her voice was low and soft . . . and seductive. A bell rang. She did nothing but smile. 'This could be Heaven –'
'Or Hell' the little voice chose to remind him. Ike smiled to himself.
'Right now, either's welcome!' she took a step closer. It was all he could do not to grab like an over-eager school boy.
"Come," she whispered . A tiny shiver worked it's way down his spine.

The sound of Docs on the floorboards seemed strangely out of place. The pale-dark figure was silent up ahead of him. Raven hair trailed behind her like a cape. And he remembered, he'd not told her his name. Nor had she volunteered hers.
"I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm –" he began politely, earning himself a side-glance – that sent his pulse racing – as she finished for him,
"Isaac Hanson," smiling, he acted embarrassed, when he was thrilled. This Goddess of a woman knew his name! But still, she did not tell him hers.
"What's yours?"
"Once, I had a name; now I do not,"
"Well then," he was baffled, "What do people call you?" Ike had the strangest feeling that he was hearing voices. What were they saying? He couldn't quite make it out . . . it sounded like . . . um . . . 'Welcome to the Hotel California . . . such a lovely place. . . .'
"Such a lovely face," he thought he heard her murmur, before she approached him for the second time. Gentle hands rested on his shoulders. He was tall, but so was she. They were almost on eye-line.
"You may call me what you wish," her warm breath tingled over the skin of his neck. Certainly knew how to tease, did this one! Soon – too soon for Ike's liking – she stepped back. Her smile was guileless, but somehow knowing. Secretive. There was something she wasn't telling him.
The corridor seemed to go on forever. This hotel was big; it had seemed so small from the outside. And it looked deserted. Besides the night-man and this . . . Goddess . . . he hadn't seen a single person. . . . He had to get her to talk again! The sounds of her voice stroked his soul.
"Is this place always so empty?"
'Real good Ike! The perfect insult, imply that this hotel's a piece of shit! Real good!'
The Goddess turned and smiled at him. The words melted in his mind.
"There's always room here. Any time, you shall find me here," and she walked once more. A door that seemed somehow different to the others came into view; she stopped by it.
"Call if you need anything," the Goddess ran a gentle hand down his arm, "Anything at all," pushing open the door, she dropped a small brass key into his palm. So beautiful! About to answer her, two fingers over his lips silenced him. He gave his full attention to the Goddess. Neither shy nor open, her fingertips lightly explored his lips. His eyes drifted shut; did she know what she was doing to him? His hands itched to reach out, but something was holding them back. Was it fear that she'd stop? Fear she'd reject? Or something else? Her fingers gently lifted, he expected her own lips to replace them . . . waited . . . waited . . . he opened his eyes. She was gone.


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