Erik

“I don’t believe in ghosts. It’s only good for movies and internet stories,” Erik responded while emptying the bathroom bin into his cleaning trolley.

“Mr Russel,” Hannah said while checking her phone. “I did not ask if you believe in ghosts, but what you would do if you encountered one. Here in the Manhattan, for example?”

Erik took his time to consider the question. He rubbed his finger on the top of the wardrobe for a dust check. There was nothing, but to be sure he brushed it quickly.

“You missed a spot, Erik.”

“Really? Where?” the boy asked before realising his coworker had no way of seeing the top of the furniture and was messing with him.

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “But why this sudden fascination for ghosts?”

“I watched this deranged horror movie yesterday, the one Sarah recommended to me and Alphonso.”

“Okay,” Erik replied, his voice flat, while scrubbing the glass panel of the table.

“In it, a family arrived in a haunted house. And they just stay there even after finding a ghost in their attic.”

“And?”

“And Jessika thinks they should just have locked the access to the attic. But Sarah and I think it’s a stupid reaction and that they should at least get a priest or something like that. Or completely burn the house.”

With the main room clean, Erik moved to the bathroom. There wasn’t a lot left to do except a few sink scrubs.

“And what does Alphonso think?” he loudly asked.

“I couldn’t ask him. He wanted to talk but he ran away when our dear chef’s man-shoe heels announced his venue.”  Hannah responded as loudly, without moving from her trolley.

“A two-hour lunch break, again?”

“Yah, even though the boss is keeping an eye on him closely.”

“And you’re covering for him, again?” Erik asked, worried for his good-hearted friend.

“Yah, but I’m not the best liar. I mean, his food was still there so it was not hard to figure out.” Hannah admitted while packing her trolley. Then she came back to the main topic. “So, what would you do if you found a ghost in your house?”

“I would definitely scream first, then find a new place and never mention it to anybody again. No one would believe me anyway.”

“And what if they followed you?”

“In that case I’d be fucked, I would find an even more secret place, or I would try the priest thing, I guess.”

“You see, it’s the most logical thing to do!”

Erik added his personal final touch to the room cleaning by folding the end of the displayed toilet paper roll in a triangle shape like he’d learned in Japan. Leaving the bathroom, he looked at the clock. 8 p.m. already!

“Damn, time flies,” his colleague observed.

“And you should too, before your mother takes your twins to her poker club, again,” Erik poked Hannah.

“You’re right! But it’s bridge, not poker,” she replied, punching him playfully.

“They would have made good players.”

Erik and Hannah locked the door behind them and pushed their trolleys to the service lift.

“They’re learning how to hold a spoon at the moment so we will see later for the cards.”

“Come on! You told me you learned to play before you knew how to speak.”

“Did I say that?” Hannah replied falsely, not remembering. “Anyways, how many rooms do you still have?”

“Just 2, and some towel changing, on the fifth floor,” he replied, pushing the corresponding button on the lift panel. “It will be quick, don’t worry.”

“Grab something in the kitchen before leaving, I heard Jack made some quiches.”

Just the thought of Jack’s food was enough to make them both salivate. Only illuminated by the neon of the lift, Erik thanked their chef for being motivated enough to make a few more portions every day for the unfortunates like him that stayed late.

“I would be lucky if the others left me something,” Erik realised while waving goodbye at his friend.

“Have a look first! See you tomorrow!” she waved back tired but joyful.

Erik pushed his trolley slowly. The corridor was empty and silent, like always. That was a good rest from Hannah’s absurd questions. She was fun, but talkative. And her movie tastes were disturbing.

The room attendant stepped back to grab new towels from the service room. He didn’t bother turning the light on. First, the corridor light was enough, second, he knew exactly where everything was and could do all of that even if he were blind. Finally, most storage room bulbs had been dead for ages.

It wasn’t that Hannah’s movie choices were bad, just debatable—and not always what you would expect for a casual night with friends. She was currently in an Asian horror period but before that it was French comedy.

The advantage of the fifth floor was the size of its rooms. They were small, one single or double bed and a small bathroom. They were cheap, probably still too expensive for Erik, but cheap compared to the rest of the Manhattan Hotel. Anyway, they were fast to clean.

When Hannah was pregnant, Sarah found the perfect movie for her. A funny French film of a heist done by a guy dressed as a clown with the help of a falsely pregnant accomplice. Strange, old, French, exactly what Sarah and Hannah liked. Because of that, Erik had to give his opinion on heist strategies for weeks. Hannah was lucky he was patient, and that the movie was good despite being French.

Erik hated dealing with this type of guest. The first room Erik had to clean was a two-bed one used by an inconsiderate guest. To be fair It was a mess, but not necessarily dirty, easy to clean. The guests had left all the lights on. He had to clean some toothpaste on the bathroom mirror, the towels were left on the floor. Nothing in the main room was at its original place, and of course there were more peanut shells around the bin than inside it.

The second room was simpler, the 506. It was a single-bed room booked by a man so neat that the room attendant was convinced it would be cleaner after his visit than before. He was a regular. He booked this room every Monday to Wednesday for at least the past year. There was always a black briefcase on the table, perfectly aligned with it, and a dark blue pyjama folded on the pillow. Everything else always was neat, and at its exact place. The only thing Erik had to do was to change the towels, like today, and occasionally empty the bin from some ripped paper notes.

He saw the guy once, and he was, as expected, a long thin bald guy, with a black turtleneck, black pants and small round glasses. He seemed deep in his thoughts, so Erik had exited the room before the guest noticed him. Alphonso told him that he seemed to be a friend of their boss as he saw them talk a lot. Hannah often stated that if this man were planning a heist, it would be the perfect one. Once again, Hannah watched too many movies.

Erik grabbed the last pair of towels from his trolley and knocked on room 528. With no response, he entered the empty double-bed room. He quickly made the bed, realigned the pillows, and emptied the bin. In the bathroom, he was changing the towels when the main door opened. Someone entered, dragging their feet. A faint voice reached the ears of the room attendant, a truly exhausted “Fuck” from the guest crashing on the bed. Erik smiled, he would have this luxury in less than an hour, once at home.

He silently exited the bathroom and saw the woman. She had vintage-style blond hair but with a spider tattoo on the inside of her wrist, perfectly still in the middle of the bed, in a pink nightie with a giant knife stuck in her back and a huge amount of blood tainting the sheets. It smelled bad, sweaty, and wet. In an instant, Erik’s blood rushed to his head, leaving his hands cold as ice. The room was spinning. He staggered, gripping the bed for support. His head was spinning. He pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to steady himself. Wet. Slimy. He looked down—red. Blood. He jumped off the bed. He leaned against the wall, leaving more blood smears. The once clean room had become a nightmare. The heat mixed with the acrid smell put him on the verge of throwing up. Hannah had shown him many stupid movies but this was too real. His clothes were bloody and his handprints were clear on the wall next to his face.

He had barely started to recover when the door opened. A tall guy built like a quarterback rushed in with a bottle of champagne. He saw the guy looking at him, lost and angry. Instinctively, Erik punched him in the face as hard as he was able. The guy was knocked with one hit, falling on the floor next to the exit.

His boots pounded against the polished floor, their echoes bouncing through the corridor. Sweat stung his eyes. Left, right—no cover. His pulse hammered in his ears. Keep running. Just keep running. He wasn’t the killer but everything pointed to him. No doubt he’d be the main suspect. But it would be okay if they didn’t catch him before the real killer. He realised that he just punched a guy. He could not forget it as his hand was painfully pulsing. Who was this guy? Her boyfriend? Her husband? Her killer? Both? It’s often someone really close who kills the victim, no? Erik used the towel to rub his face and hands as clean as he could. But the small piece of fabric was already soaking. It had been in his hand on the bed, probably. He wasn’t sure anymore. He didn’t realise he was pushing his trolley through the corridors. He went into the lift barely hearing any sound as his ears were pumping hard. Fuck he punched a guy, and fled a crime scene. He was fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked! He was gonna get caught before exiting the hotel. He pressed the button for the top floor. As soon as he exited the elevator, he rushed to the service room. He left his trolley on the side of it and crumbled in a foetus position holding his knees tied close to him.

His legs were hurting. He didn’t remember running, so he ignored it. It was dark, as he didn’t think about turning the light on. The bulb was probably dead anyways, so he ignored it. His stomach growled, but he couldn’t move, so he ignored it. Nothing made sense, but he was too screwed to make sense of it, so he tried to ignore it.

“I’m just saying what would you expect from a hotel room except a bed, a bathroom and a chocolate on the pillow?!” the male voice said.

“Just a little bit of fantasy, I don’t know, like your own billiard table. Have you seen the price of a room here?! Sorry, of a suite,” a female voice responded in the corridor, followed by a door slamming.

“That is rarely the point of a hotel room to just stay in it. Forget your billiard fantasy and focus on the guy we are looking for.”

Erik’s brain woke up instantaneously. He jumped. He was still at the Hotel. How long had he slept? No time to guess. He could barely see anything. But they were in the corridor. He had to hide.

“I am focused,” the female voice said closer than before. “But, come on, the guy is probably far away already.”

Erik was trying to find an idea. He didn’t even know if the light was dead here. In such a small room, he would be spotted right away. He couldn’t fit near the cleaning product. He patted his environment. He found the edge of the service hatch. It opened to a space behind the drywall.

“Probably, but he wasn’t at his home either,” the male voice argued as he opened the staff room door.

The fugitive could barely fit in the space behind the drywall with all the water pipes. They had already been to his home. He didn’t have anywhere to hide there but he couldn’t hide there anymore either. The pipes against his back were shaking, some cold as ice and others nearly burning.

Click! Pop! The man just flicked the switch, but the bulb gave up in a flash.

“Damn,” the male voice swore.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, just this old building dying.”

“It’s never truly glamorous behind the curtains. Do you have your lamp torch?”

“Yes,” the male voice replied.

The ray of light broke through the hatch door edges. The light danced in slow up and down waves. Erik managed to move his head enough to finally have a visual on the two cops. They didn’t seem more interested than that about what was inside this small service room. It didn’t require more than a few seconds for them to see there was nothing. But they stopped on Erik’s trolley.

The woman officer plunged her arm deep into the used sheet basket. As if Erik was crazy enough to hide in such an obvious hiding spot. She couldn’t find him but pulled out one bloody towel. She lighted it for her partner to see.

“I think that’s a clue,” she announced, smiling.

“Stop joking around.” He replied irritated. “But it would be a good idea to bring that back down.”

A vibration. Erik’s heart stopped. No one ever called him—his alarm! He twisted frantically, contorting his body in the cramped space, elbows scraping against the rough wall. The second buzz rattled against his leg. Less than a second left. His arm shot into his pocket—missed. Again—failed. One more try—finally! His fingers slammed the screen, silencing it a heartbeat before the first note could betray him.

But the movement had rolled up his sleeve, exposing his wrist to the hot metal water pipe. The burn made him lose his grasp. The phone crashed on the floor.

The flashlight instantly swung toward the sound, blinding him through the cracks without them knowing. The officers looked at each other, not sure what it was. The man made a step forward, when a walky-talky sizzle stopped him.

“Are you finished up there?” a cranky voice reached out.

“Yes, we’ve found a red towel but no trace of Russel,” the female voice explained as her partner left the room.

Hearing his name made Erik shiver. They were looking for him—apparently a whole team. If they found him, he was doomed! The cops closed the door, making it difficult to understand them. In the darkness once more, the only source of light was a distant point in the corner of Erik’s vision. Some light from downstairs was piercing through a crack of this space between the walls. Erik waited one, two, maybe five minutes like that. Then he slowly opened the hatch and exited it. As his alarm had nearly rung, it was just past 8 a.m.

Erik was supposed to be on the afternoon team today. Needless to say, he was earlier than usual. He needed to talk to someone. He could reach someone from the morning team: Hannah.

He couldn’t take either the guest lift or the service one. Both included security cameras. There were multiple cameras all over the ground floor too. He tried to recall if there were more, but as far as he could remember, that was it. They would probably only need a few seconds to react if they spotted him, and Erik was not the fastest runner. His stamina was non-existent. The ground floor was out of reach, except as a last resort. But it should be fine; he could wait for Hannah to arrive at the staff room on the first floor. An easy thing to say. He only needed to not encounter anybody before reaching Hannah.

Erik opened the door and came face-to-face with a surprised guest in a poorly buttoned blue suit. Both froze, caught in the act, though neither knew of what. They sidestepped each other, both eager to avoid further interaction. Erik bolted toward the stairs. He was able to see the guy opening his door with difficulty before starting an “I can explain”. The door slammed behind him.

The stairs were silent, so empty. The fugitive rushed as fast as he could. But he had to slow down before reaching the second floor. First, out of fear of falling, second, because he feared meeting someone else, someone who could recognise him this time. He got lucky on this one as the door to the ground floor opened on two familiar faces. He instantly recognised Alphonso’s bun and Sarah’s long blonde hair. He climbed back a few steps to see where they would be going. He could have stopped them, but he didn’t want to include more people than necessary into this. Plus, Sarah couldn’t keep a secret and Erik didn’t trust Alphonso. He needed to blow off some steam, not the whole situation.

“You know why they are calling us?” Alphonso asked while adjusting his sleeves.

“I think they want to question us about what happened yesterday,” Sarah said, glancing at her phone.

“What happened yesterday?”

“You don’t know?!” the receptionist gloated as she turned her phone away, as it was an important subject.

“No, I just arrived. I barely had time to change.”

“Aren’t you supposed to start at 8?”

“It’s flexible,” the hotel porter protested to avoid the subject, “So, what happened?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Sarah started, as often, “but apparently Erik punched a guy or something. Jessika mentioned there was a lot of blood. She was like -oh, but I can’t tell you more. Oh, but Erik is in deep shit. Oh, blah, blah…-. You know Jessika. “

“Not that much, Alphonso lied, opening the first-floor door.

Erik was pretty sure he’d had an affair with her months ago. Not that it was that much of a deal for the room attendant, but most of the hotel staff thought Alphonso was gay and Jessika married for some reason.

Erik waited a few seconds, which felt like minutes, before opening the first-floor door too. Slowly… No one? Perfect! He moved swiftly toward the staff room. There were a lot of people in it. Hannah was probably there but not alone.

He moved closer to the door and leaned against the wall to listen. A commanding police man’s voice was leading the conversation, speaking loudly to get over the employees’ disruptive chats.

“… was seen by a doctor but he should be fine, mostly shocked by the whole situation, “the policeman stated.

“As for the rest, we hope for your cooperation to keep the death of Miss Ledoyen a secret until further notice,” another deep voice requested.

“And for Erik?” Hannah asked.

Hearing Hannah’s voice was like a relief for Erik. It was the first good thing since yesterday’s … discovery.

“As mentioned before, we are still looking for him,” the officer responded, “We have a guy waiting near the Manhattan’s staff entry if he comes back, or if you have any additional information.”

And all joy disappeared once again with Erik’s only exit being now guarded as well. Jumping out a first-floor window would certainly land him in the hospital—or worse.

The doors opened suddenly. It nearly hit Erik in the face. Everybody was going back to their post. Erik grabbed the door handle to keep it open and stay hidden behind it. Within seconds, the room was empty. The last to leave were the officer and the deep-voiced man.

“We need to make sure he will stay silent, officer,” the deep voice coldly requested.

“I will do my best, mister. Given the description of the guy it shouldn’t be a problem,” the officer accepted without a doubt.

“Thanks for your help. He means a lot to me.”

“Be more careful next time.”

“I definitely will be,” the deep voice concluded in a chilling assured smile.

They walked away, leaving the corridor empty.

Erik was hyperventilating. The food smells of the nearby kitchen burst in his nose, exploding his brain. What was that? Who was it? Was it the killer? The police were helping him! If they caught Erik, he would not end up in prison but in a coffin. Were other people helping him? The hotel staff? Hannah?

Erik couldn’t just explain himself to anybody anymore. He needed something to save himself. Something big. He couldn’t solve this! But he had to. No, he had to find just a way to clear his name. He could do this. There were always some clues, some evidence to expose the true killer. Erik punched himself in the face. He sounded like Hannah mixing movies and reality. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t a detective, nor a Stallone or a Bruce Willis. He couldn’t solve this. But, fuck! He had to!

Erik moved slowly. First, he had to hide.

Once again Erik ended up in one of the staff utility closets. He was surrounded by sheets, towels, soap supplies, flowery scents and dust. Lucky him, or not, the light on the second floor was working, weak but alive. The room attendant was walking in circles, small circles. Who? Who’s done it? He hasn’t read a lot of detective novels but seen a fair share of movies and series. He could activate his little grey cells and solve this. At least find a solution. He was rarely the smarter in the room but not the stupidest either. Then how was not difficult as the knife was hard to miss. She crashed on the bed so the when was easy too. Remained the why and the who. Could it be someone from the Hotel staff? Erik had his doubts he couldn’t imagine anybody he knew to do that but there were many colleagues he didn’t know that well. Plus, what will be the motive, thief? No one he knew would risk it. They were underpaid, overcharged and understaff but the risk was too high. Their boss had zero tolerance on it. Better an exhausting job than no pay. And Erik was in the room when she arrived; Nothing seemed to be missing. Maybe it was the husband, he arrived just after her. If it wasn’t him, he should have seen the killer in the corridor. But didn’t he call her? Or it could be a lover, a love murder? Classic but life doesn’t need to be original to fuck up Erik. After all the husband did not seem stressed at all for someone who just killed his wife. Thinking about it all his colleagues seemed calm for peoples learning there was a murder in the hotel. What the hell?

Walking in circles Erik noticed there was no hatch, no behind the drywall access. He would have to find a better hideout next time. The room attendant patted his pockets and realised his only possession was his phone and his room pass. At least he has it. Next time he would have to try to find an empty room. It would be a hazardous solution as it was the peak of the season.

Speaking of that, his boss knew Erik will be checking the room 528, and around the time the guest was supposed to be at the restaurant. Was he framed for that? Why him? Hannah knew too. No, she asked. Or maybe it was to trick him, she could bluff. Erik didn’t want to imagine his friends doing that to him. She wasn’t cruel. His boss, on the other hand… But why? It was probably just a bad coincidence. He was there at the wrong time.

Conclusion, Erik had no idea. He didn’t even know who the victim was.

His phone vibrated against his hip, making him jump. At least it didn’t ring. Grabbing it Erik knew it was not good. Under his fingers he felt like if there were sand on it. It was smashed. The glass had crumbled into pieces. The screen only lit a small portion; the rest was covered by a kind of black ink stain leaking from the cracks. Obviously, the tactile was dead, but anyways Erik tried to swipe multiple times. He only stopped when he cut his finger. Not deeply but enough to make it bleed.

Erik wanted to throw it on the floor as painfully as he can to make it suffer. But a voice nearby alerted him. He panicked. He stuffed the useless metal junk back into his pocket, turned off the light, and grabbed a bedsheet to hide in a corner.

“I don’t have anything against cleaning all that blood discreetly, nothing new here,” Jessika coldly stated, opening the door.

Erik, hiding in his little corner, froze. Someone else was walking with her. None of them turned on the light. He couldn’t imagine it was not the first time. How many murders did she cleaned? Was he the only one not knowing about it? Jessika was his mentor when he arrived. She has always been slightly odd, kind of superstitious and authoritarian but sweet and helpful. What the heck!

“But that was such a mess. That stain will stay, I told you that.” Jessika added.

“Probably…” Hannah responded vaguely from the corridor.

Hannah was part of it?! She was the one who tricked him? She was the killer? Behind the sheet the fugitive could see the vague shape of Jessika moving around.

“You, you have something in mind,” their former mentor guessed.

“It’s Erik.”

“You’re worried?”

“Yes, I told what I could to the officer but it feels like it’s not enough. I hope they will find him soon.”

Not you, Hannah! After all this time? Seriously! Erik was trapped in this murder case but under that sheet the betrayal was more painful than a knife in the back.

“They will! Now, go!” Jessika pressed Hannah. “I have to refill the shampoos. I’m following you!”

Without a comment Hannah rolled her trolley away. The silence came back. For a long minute, the shadow of his mentor stayed static. Plop after Plop, the thick liquid shampoo dropped in the bottle. Erik was confused. He didn’t know any more if he wanted to jump and threaten her or implore her to help him. But when the sound of the shampoo bottle stopped, Erik’s stomach manifested himself. The brash roar was unmissable. Under the sheet the fugitive frenetically extended one arm without finding a proper exit. He only succeeded in drawing a chaotic web of blood lines that tinted the white bedsheet. Jessika screamed like she saw a dead body. She threw the bottle to the shaking sheet monster. Erik tried to ask her to calm down but the disgusting shampoo flowed into his mouth making him spit unintelligible words. Jessika ran outside and shut the door. When finally Erik escaped the bedsheet, it was to hear the lock fastened. Just behind the door she was panting. Erik tried to open, in vain. As those violent attempts shook the door, Jessika ran away.

Erik was trapped. The bedsheet was a shitty idea and he knew it. But that was worse than expected. He didn’t have time to ask any question. In the dark once more, Erik tried to turn it on again. In a flash, the bulb exploded. Erik’s nerves broke.

He would solve it against the staff and the Manhattan itself if needed! Let’s start with the most stupid useful thing he could think about: checking the crime scene. He knew the Manhattan and can hide here for ages even if the world was against him! The air in his lungs was burning. No time to waste. Erik tried to use his pass on the door, but Jessika had left hers in. The room attendant groped around and found what he was looking for. In his hand was a cold silver chopstick and his delivery. He used it to push the pass away. It fell on the corridor carpet in a muffled sound. Erik escaped thanks to his own pass and saw the light again.

Someone was coming. Erik put the pass back in place and locked the door. He rolled up the stained bedsheet, still tangled around his feet. The noises were coming from the staircase. Erik knocked on the nearest room door. Without any response, he entered.

“It was a monster, a ghost or a demon. I don’t know!” Jessika was pleading in shock.

“Probably some kid making a stupid joke.” Simon replied.

Afraid, Jessika had been getting security. He was a tough guy but not the brightest one. Was security involved in all of this too? Erik pushed that thought away. He needed to focus and find clues before imagining more.

“No human can make such noise and the blood appeared from nowhere,” Jessika shook.

“There is probably an explanation,” Simon said has he unlocked the door. “I can’t see anything. No blood sheet monster, but here is your bottle.”

“I’m sure of what I saw,” the room attendant’s mentor nearly screamed before refraining herself. “It was like on your horrible Japanese film, Hannah. The same gust demon sound. I would not be able to sleep again.”

“It was a stressful morning Jessika”, Hannah replied calmly. “Maybe it was some light stuff plus plumbing noises.”

“And if it’s a problem of sleeping alone, you have my number,” the security guard added.

“Fuck off Simon,” Jessika spitted.

“Just trying to help.”

“If you try too much you will see HR again, Simon,” Hannah picked, visible irritated.

Understandable, after all, Simon had been insistent with Hannah too many times. Maybe he was her next target. Erik quickly dismissed this thought, not allowing it to distract him. He needed to find a better explanation for all of this. If his friend was his blind spot let it be. For the moment his target was the room 528.

Erik waited an hour, to be sure. He prayed hard that the guest whose stuff was still in didn’t come back. He looked around and inside a plastic bag he found some crisps and locale chocolates. It was not a feast but Erik needed it. Once replenish he decided it was time to go.

He crawled silently through the corridors and Slow but safely he reached the room 528. Empty and clean. The room was ready for new guests. The only remembrance of what happened was a fainted stain on the carpet that only professional eyes like the room attendant ones will spot. He looked everywhere. Not a clue. Except dust on top of the wardrobe, it has been nearly perfectly cleaned.

The room door opened. Erik had an impression of déjà vu. He stayed hidden in the bathroom this time. Someone paced the room, searching—just as Erik had moments ago.

“I can’t believe it. Where did she put it?!” The deep voice from earlier asked, seemingly to himself.

The sound and vibration on the floor of a small furniture we moved reached Erik.

The deep-voiced man concluded with a satisfied “Ah” before leaving as quickly as it arrived.

This man was after something. He was Erik’s best lead.  A man capable of killing someone to get it. He had the police in his hand. He used the staff to clean up his mess discreetly. This man was dangerous. Yet, this deep voice, he had heard it before, before this morning. Even if Erik couldn’t put a face on it, he knew him. That was someone from the Manhattan!

*****

After a few days, Erik had hoped to catch his suspect.

He managed to make his way around the hotel. Blending into the shadows was not as easy as in the movies, especially when most of the hotel was illuminated 24/7. So, the best strategy was to hide in empty rooms—whether guest or staff ones. He moved constantly, listening to every conversation he could. Weather, politics, guests’ minor complaints, film festivals, the latest celebrity breakups, and awkward flirtations—he heard a lot of useless chatter, but never that deep voice again. Erik did spy on guests and staff members, up to management and above. He mostly just listened to avoid becoming a creepy stalker. It was a necessity. But in the meantime, he learnt a lot about the Manhattan society. He confirmed his suspicion about Alphonso and Jessika’s affairs, as it was still really going on. He noticed that Simon was not always a prick and successfully got some phone numbers from guests, and not only a woman. He also learned too that his boss, as severe as he was, was truly trying to get a fair rise for everybody. This kind side of him nearly made Erik reconsider avoiding him. But he remembered Hannah’s betrayal and that he couldn’t trust anybody, yet.

He got his way around his former colleague habits. He memorised most people walking sound and schedule. Guests were far more unpredictable. He had multiple close calls and had probably been seen or hear by some of them. But he always managed to vanish before being caught.

One evening, he was starving. Snacks weren’t hard to find, but real meals were rare. So, he wandered around the first floor. It was risky, given the frequent comings and goings, but the smell of Jack’s food was too tempting. In the staff cafeteria, Alphonso sat alone in the staff cafeteria, reading a book as he ate. Erik grabbed two wood door wedges. He put all his effort into it, imitating the distinct sound of a man’s dress shoes. Alphonso hurried out through the staff corridor. Alone in this cold grey cafeteria, Erik savoured his first proper meal in nearly a week. But before he could finish, his boss unexpectedly decided to inspect the cafeteria.

Nevertheless, the fugitive was both refuelled and lucky. In his escape, he managed to find a decent space below the staff restroom. He had become a master at finding those service hatch doors forgotten by time. So far, he had found one in the top floor and third floor utilities closets, one in the gaming room of the fifth floor and this new one between the ground floor and first floor. The other ones were small, he wasn’t even sure to fit in the third floor one. As it was far from comfortable, he decided to only use those hatches as a last resort, plus he couldn’t really escape from them. But then, here he could move a little around. It should have been some kind of maintenance space above the reception cupola judging by the floor roundness. He even had an aeration grill that granted him a partial but existent vision on the entry room. The access was not ideal but having space that nobody will find was relaxing. Dusty, humid, but relaxing.

Through his restricted windows, he spotted the latest local news headlines. In large letters was written, “Murder at the Manhattan hotel, an employee on the run.” Nothing new. Above him some former colleagues started occupying the staff restroom. He was nearly sure it was the cuisine crew playing cards, according to their voices. As he was stuck here, Erik had no other choice than to wait. He had waited a lot lately.

As far as he knew, nobody reported him. He nevertheless heard Sarah and Simon complained about guest reports of ghost noises and supernatural manifestations. This rumour spread fast enough to be stuck with Erik who’s started to fear meeting this ghost one day. He even had a dream of one chasing him with a voice deep enough to make the world shatter. He hadn’t slept well since. Maybe here, he could sleep without fearing someone to find him. But he wouldn’t be able to get outside really often. There was no perfect solution.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the door above slammed open. The noise jolted Erik awake. He spat out the disgusting dust that coated his tongue. The fugitive had been sleeping on a pillow of dust as sick as a constructer shoes sole. The hotel was silent. Bellow, a guest arrived, the door opening with a soft chime. Erik peered through the vent. The guest entering was the bald man in a black turtleneck—the regular from Room 506.

Erik froze.

The guest snatched up the newspaper.

And then it hit him.

“How do they already know that?!”, the too-neat man grumbled in his deep voice.

*****

All day, Erik had tried to access Room 506, but either the too-neat man was inside, or someone else was nearby. Having to hide every ten minutes was exhausting. Since all the rooms were occupied, he had to hide in the play room’s hatch, which had replaced the utility closet on this floor. Unfortunately, the play room was quite popular. Even when it was supposed to be closed, guests sneaked in for a party of pools or darts. It didn’t help that everyone knew the room was never actually locked.

One thing Erik was sure of was that the too-neat man had changed his habits since the murder. He had been at the Manhattan every night since the murder—which was good news for Erik. At least he hoped. This gave Erik a better chance of finding something—anything. That was his goal. He even considered sneaking in at night while the too-neat man was sleeping. But he wouldn’t risk facing this psycho directly—especially in the dark. Erik was playing the long game. Nothing was holding him back, anyway.

Frustrated by his lack of progress—and the awful smell clinging to him like a sickness—he decided to take a break. The play room was being used for a guest’s birthday party. Erik decided to find an empty room to take a shower. Room 412 was empty. Erik knew it as it had been used by Jessika and Alphonso earlier. Erik thought he had plenty of time to shower, but resting wasn’t an option. He had barely been in the shower for a minute before the cleaning service arrived. He stopped and dried himself. The sound of the vacuum cleaner was covering any small noises he could make. Then, he realised his own stupidity. His clothes were on the bed. He slowly opened the door of the bathroom. It was an old room attendant. Erik was pretty sure her name was Maria. She was showing her back. Steadily, he walked to the bed. But the lady stopped the loud beast. Erik jumped under the bed. Maria looked around, unsure if she had actually heard something.

“Ghosts aren’t real. It’s just the old building creaking. Ghosts aren’t real. It’s just the old building creaking,”, she repeated to herself as a kind of mantra.

From there she was practically running. In less than 30 seconds, she had changed the towels, put everything back in place, changed the bedsheets and left the room. And, of course, she had taken Erik’s clothes. In the middle of the room, naked, Erik was despondent. He looked around and there were not a lot of options. He rolled himself in the white bedsheet trying to make it hold like a Roman robe. It was holding. He still felt stupid. The wind could blow where the light doesn’t shine, but the robe was covering him.

When he exited the room, he saw the room attendant leaving the 506. It was his signal. It meant that the too-neat man had left. As Maria had taken his pass with his clothes, Erik wouldn’t get another chance. He rushed in with his makeshift outfit while his former colleague was sorting something in her trolley. This was it. He was inside the too-neat man room, now was time to get inside his mind.

As always, it was only a black briefcase on the table, perfectly align with it, and a dark blue pyjama fold on the pillow. Everything else was always neat, and at its exact place. What was once pleasant to Erik’s mind turned to be disturbingly suspicious. He already knew there will be no hair, no stain, no trace of life.

Erik turned to the briefcase. It wasn’t locked—clean and shiny, without a single fingerprint on it. It smelled and felt as though the leather was brand-new. But on top of that Erik could detect ammonia. It had been meticulously disinfected.

The latch opened with a spotless spring note. Inside, a rigid-covered notebook rested on top of a small laptop. Fastened to the upper part were two perfectly sharpened pencils, a stainless-steel eraser, and a giant knife. It was the exact same knife used in the murder. He couldn’t forget it. His hands started shaking. The fugitive suddenly felt cold. He seized it. There was still blood on it. Behind it, inside of the briefcase, was the name A. Monk. Erik needed more.

He opened the laptop. It powered on, revealing a login screen. With no idea how to hack into it, he ignored it. The notebook proved to be far more interesting. Erik flipped through it frantically, scanning for anything important—but everything was alarming. A floor plan of the hotel, names of employees—most of them crossed out—multiple versions of the murder, and a double-page spread resembling a profiling file. On the left was a section labelled ‘The Husband,’ detailing his habits, past, and a brief description of his hobbies. On the right, ‘The Wife’ had a similar description, with one note circled multiple times: ‘Kill her? YES’. If there had been any doubts or remorse, they were gone now. As an ultimate recall, clipped in the centre was a picture of the victim, Miss Ledoyen. She was beautiful and probably just a few years older than Erik. Now, she was looking at him from the other side. Already in this stolen photo she seemed gone. Her eyes had seen so much. She wasn’t smiling. She seemed sad to be dead, not for her but for the survivors. This picture had a vintage sorrow vibe that absorbed the poor man.

The door clicked open. Erik had let his guard down—there was no time to hide. He jumped behind the door with the notebooks and the knife.

“I know my opinion is not really important, as I only play the husband,” the quarterback’s voice argued while entering the room in a robust walk. “But I’m your associate in this.”

Why was he here? Was he part of this? The more Erik learned, the clearer it became—this had been meticulously planned. But he was determined to be the grain of sand that would ruin it and not its scapegoat!

“I value your opinion, Edmund,” the too-neat man formally responded.

“Okay, listen—you killed her, and that’s a good thing,” the husband said, trying to reassure his accomplice. “Yes, they know she’s dead, but they don’t know who done it, how, or why. Stop freaking out, soon we will be done.”

“Did you touch my briefcase?” the too-neat man asked, ignoring everything else.

“I know better than that.”

As he replied, the husband tried to close the door, confused as to why it wouldn’t shut. Erik’s attempts to maintain his grasp on it was a no match again the pure strength of this man. He recognised the same man as during the night of the crime. He was presenting an unmissable black eye, a gift from their previous encounter. He was as surprised as Erik when this last one punched him, again. Defeated by KO, he crumbled on the floor with a bleeding nose.

In his perfect black turtleneck, the too-neat man turned over when he heard his accomplice fall. He stepped back when he discovered Erik cursing at his painful hand. Then he noticed his notebook and the knife in his other hand.

“What the heck?” he screamed, furious. “Who the hell are you?”

Erik was pissed that he didn’t even recognise him. He ordered his death and couldn’t bother to learn who he was.

“I’m the man whose life was destroyed because of your fucked-up story, fucking retard!”

“You’re crazy. I don’t know you. I’m calling security,” he responded, reaching for the hotel phone.

“Perfect,” Erik bluffed, not wanting to face another accomplice of this maniac. “then I will tell everyone.”

“Were you the one leaking that to the press?” he accused, confused.

But confusion turned to worry, then fear when he recognised his opponent.

“Wait, are you Erik Russel?”

“So, you know my name,” Erik beholden, pointing him with the knife.

“It’s not what you think!”

“Indeed, I thought you were the brain behind that, but you underestimated me.”

“You are not well,” the too-neat man tried to feint Erik while getting closer.

The too-neat man seized the notebook but the fugitive refused to give up. In the fight, the two men were pushed against the walls. A painting jumped from its pin and crashed on the floor. Erik managed to free himself and his proofs. But his opponent was vicious.

“Give me that back,” he shouted, as he drew Erik by his sheet.

“Never, you will end up in prison for life,” Erik enraged as they were both propelled against the desk.

The briefcase fell. Erik, entangled in his own clothes, tumbled. His opponent hopped on him. But Erik pushed him back with his legs. The too-neat man was thrown into the bathroom. Before he could get back up, Erik closed the door, grabbed a chair and blocked the bathroom door with it. Inside the killer was infuriating, but Erik was not in the mood to listen.

He was out of breath. He stepped over the husband’s recovering body and exited the room. It was only in the corridor that he realised he was missing the notebook, having only the bloody knife with him. He swore loudly. But no time to go back, he would have to do with that. The fight had alerted security—someone was coming.

Erik rushed into the gaming room, just too afraid of the parents and their children. He closed the door immediately. The elevator was opening. He jumped in the staircase, nearly missing the first step. Erik sprinted, his breath ragged, exhaustion clawing at his muscles. Sleep, food—he needed anything to keep going. The 4^th floor utility room having no hatch to hide Erik aimed for the 3rd floor. Behind him was running a monster, each footfall shaking the walls. Erik’s slick hands fumbled for the door handle—once, twice—before he finally yanked it open. Too slow. The gap between them was closing.

He dashed into the utility room, spotting the hatch. He remembered its cramped size and the scalding hot water pipe inside. Footsteps thundered on the other side of the wall. No choice. Erik switched the light on, and the light was. He turned it on, off, on, off, on, off and on again. This freaking lightbulb was too stubborn to die. He grabbed a shampoo bottle and smashed it, plunging the room into darkness. The burst signalled his presence.

The husband nearly exploded the door. The room was in the dark but small and lighted by the corridor. Instantly, he sprinted to open the hatch left half opened. Trapped there was pipes and dust. That only there he noticed the viscous liquid on the floor. Erik tried to profit from this moment of confusion to escape from behind the door. But his shadow betrayed him. Enraged, the husband turned around and pinned him by stepping on his makeshift outfit. He was twice his side, and probably more than that in terms of pure strength. The trace of blood coming from his deformed nose was only making him more frightening. But on this instant, he had one foot on sheet-clothes and one on a puddle of shampoo. He understood.

“You’re kidding!” he supplied.

Erik pulled his sheet with all the strength he had left. With an ungraceful pirouette, the husband crashed into a shelf, sending lavender-scented towels tumbling onto him. Erik left the pile of towels and cleaning products behind and entered the staircase once more.

He reached the second floor when the door opened to reveal Hannah.

“Erik?” she asked uncertainly.

“NO, NO, I can’t!” he implored, pushing her away as he rushed down once more.

“Erik! You have to come back!” Hannah screamed from the staircase.

“I don’t trust you. You’re one of them!” Erik admitted as he entered the second floor.

On his right a crowded cantina, on his left the sound of man shoes heels. Only one way. Erik entered the staff restroom, which was miraculously empty. He crawled into the hatch hideout. Before closing it, he dragged a chair on top of it.

“Erik?” Hannah called out to him.

Erik held his breath, his hands covering his mouth as he panted. At one centimetre from his eyes was a murder weapon.

“Are you looking for something, Hannah?”, his former boss asked.

“I thought Erik was here. I saw him just now.”

“Are you sure? He couldn’t have come back without us seeing him.”

“She’s right,” confirmed a deep voice. “He punched my associate no more than 5 minutes ago. That is why I got to get our dear officer here.”

“I’m deeply sorry for that, Mr Monk,” the manager apologised.

“On that note I told Mr Monk you have installed more cameras so we could find him,” the corrupted officer informed.

“More cameras?” Hannah asked concerned.

“Yes, multiples, on every floor, including this one. The rumour about the ghost was getting out of hand, so the direction has decided to have more eyes,” the manager explained. “I will go confirmed with security that they turn them on as soon as now.”

“So, they will not have film Mr Russel runaways,” frustrated the too-neat man remarked.

“We will get him, he can’t go far,” the officer intervened.

“But I guess he can’t just vanish again,” the too-neat man ended as he was leaving the room.

Alone in his hideout, Erik was lost and locked. Someone had sat on the chair above the hatch, making it crackle under their weight, sending a rain of dust down. Everyone was after him. And now they had eyes everywhere. He couldn’t escape. Throughout this pursuit, it was the ghost’s eyes that Erik felt stalking him. They hadn’t left him for days. Then he saw it—two livid, tired eyes on the knife blade. Erik was looking directly at his reflection. And the ghost of the Manhattan was looking back at him.

*****

Erik was contemplating the void. He had been trapped in this dimly lit place too long to have more than a vague idea of the time that had passed. He thought he had slept for a full night.

After that, he panicked and walked in circles for what felt like an entire day. It was easy in a circular room with a dome that took up most of the space. He couldn’t find a good way out. How could he find one with cameras everywhere? His mind bugged several times as he couldn’t decide what to do.

He sat on the dome to rest. It felt like a nap. His eyes were open but his mind was gone. Perhaps he even slept again.

He observed through the air vent for what felt like an hour or more. The guests came and went. He mostly saw the tops of their heads. But the one he saw the most was Alphonso’s bun. Indeed, the porter approximately transported forty-three bags or suitcases and two animal cages during that time. The pile of newspapers decreased quickly at first, but over time, the last few remained, like Erik.

After another mental breakdown—or nap—he returned to his limited view of the outside world. But guests were rare now. Only a couple shown up, but left nearly immediately. One of them was wearing a perfume strong enough for Erik to notice. It had notes of citrus and sweets. It affected Erik in two ways. Firstly, it reminded the fugitive of the humid smell that was his world for more than a week now. Secondly, it surprised him as it triggered his brain but not his stomach. He was not hungry. At this point he was mostly bored. He had left the knife somewhere on the floor, nowhere in particular, he had just dropped it. When no movements were to be seen for too long, it was time for the aeration grille to be cold. Erik had to unglue his forehead from it. Running his hand on it, he could feel the relief of the line and screws carved into his skin.

He switched from thinking, to lying down, to observing the outside world. Sadly, they moved stuffed around and now most peoples were passing outside of his field of view. Even the newspapers were out of view.

He spotted a bag of chips just beneath the grille. Had it been the child from earlier that have left it here, or maybe Sarah during her smoke break? Erik had an idea. He looked around for one of the leftover rusty stuffs lying around. He found one long nail that he bent it as much as he could. Then he ripped a thin strip from his sheet robe and attached the nail on one of the ends. With his improvised fishing rod, he aimed at the forgotten food. Surprisingly, he caught it easily. No one said anything. He pulled it up to the grille. The bag was too big to go through the aeration grille. He tried to crush it to make it thinner, but his fingers couldn’t grasp it properly. His treasure slipped and plummeted out of reach. Someone walked to pick it up and thrown it in the trash. Visible but inaccessible.

That was his last main interaction with the world. After that he laid down for ages. His eyes were open all this time. He couldn’t close them. Too drowsy to sleep. His sky was some kind of grey palette, a dull ceiling. Above him the rhythm of people step, and chairs were challenging the guests’ small talks from below.

He thought he was going to die here, incapable of moving.

But when he heard one specific deep voice downstairs, he woke up. The too-neat man, Mr Monk. His body jolted upward. Erik had to make him pay. He had to give it back to him. That’s the dangerous part of a cornered prey; it will fight with everything when it has nothing left to lose.

Erik opened the hatch door before Maria’s eyes. The room attendant screamed in fear at the sight of the scrawny figure that appeared from nowhere. She fainted.

He exited the room. Aiming for the stairs, he noticed one of the new cameras, a smoked glass ball with a red dot. He ignored it. Under his feet the floor was rigid and cold. It was strange to have forgotten that kind of sensation. He would have liked to try a foot massage once during his life.

The ground floor was crowded with people in tuxedos, suits, robes, and extravagant clothes. There were talking, as if there were some kinds of event. Some guests noticed him. He could feel the weight of their gaze on him, but most were too busy for that.

He continued to move on. He had to act quickly. He couldn’t let him go. Hopefully, his deep voice was easy to target, even in a crowd like that. Erik reached the entrance. People were calling him; he knew that but couldn’t act in accordance.

The too-neat man was there in a pretentious black tuxedo, smiling and chatting like life made sense. The former room attendant charged him with the knife. The lady next to the too-neat man screamed of terror.

Erik froze.

She was blond with a spider tattoo on her wrist. She was her. Without a doubt she was her.

She was in shock. He was hallucinating.

Behind the living victim and the too-neat man was a huge movie poster featuring Miss Ledoyen in the centre as the main character.

Pinned on the ground, he saw the husband with a medical bandage on his nose. He was posing in front of another poster with the same premise but him in place of his co-star.

Face against the floor, he had a close look at the fake knife the officer pushed away.

As they handcuffed him, he could read the insert thanking the Manhattan for offering a place to shout.Tears welling up, Erik read the title of the story he had believed to be real: “The Last Thriller of A. Monk: Confusion.”