Who: Paige and Jasmine When: Early Evening Day 3 Where: Suite 1203
Music seeped through the cracked door and into the small hallway of the twelfth floor. It vibrated through the floor and against the rain splattered windows, the portable amp loud enough to drown out regular conversation within the room. The steady pulse of drums and sound of third and forth guitars also filled the room, curtsey of the mp3 player plugged into the amp. In truth, it sounded more like someone had a stereo up loud than someone playing along to the songs. The only difference was there were no vocals. The practice tracks had been made for each of the band members for when their day-to-day lives couldn't make time for a group practice. And playing with the ghosts of her best friends was about as close to being with them again as Paige thought she'd ever get now. They'd all been in Michigan before Paige, so even if it was only state wide, she doubted any of them were still alive. It was a thought she hadn't been brave enough to confirm, however. In a way, she knew once she called their phones and got no answer, it would kill the tiny bit of hope she was still hanging onto.
That afternoon she'd left Terry and Zane several blocks from the hotel. It'd taken her much longer than it should have to get back, the direct route blocked by three monsters fighting. Paige had been forced to figure out another way round, almost gotten lost, and finally arrived at the hotel to find the halls empty as she walked back to her room. It hadn’t bothered her; she hadn't felt like talking much and simply wanted to get into a hot shower and some fresh clothes. A few hours had passed since she'd taken the lift up to the top floor with her guitar. She would have played somewhere in the main areas of the hotel, such as restaurant, or in her room, yet she loved her music loud and hadn't wanted to disturb anyone. Or, really, draw too much of an audience.
1203, thankfully, had been empty. The complimentary bottle of champagne still sat in the ice bucket and there were mints on the pillows of the freshly made beds. The room even smelled fresh, so far above the street and having been closed for the last three days, which had to be the best thing about it. Paige sat on the neat white couch with its red, decorative cushions as her fingers glided up and down the fretboard of her guitar. It was perhaps her most prized possession now and, she’d realised before she reached the hotel, she would have left everything else behind long before it. Its black polished finish held the band’s name in silver writing along the body, her signature scrawled beneath it. They’d been a joke with the band at first, something Jake had ordered, yet it had eventually become Paige’s favourite guitar due to its make and crisp sound. The green eyed girl reached down to change songs, starting those that allowed her to play the lead guitar, then went back to staring out at the concrete coloured sky.