Bryant O'Neill (corpseofaction) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-09-20 03:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | bryant, complete, cycle001 |
the watch
WHO: Bryant +NPCs (hotel desk clerk, 911 dispatcher)
WHEN: first around 1AM, then just before 4AM
WHERE: The Eclipse Hotel, room 315
WHAT: Bryant’s stay at the hotel is taking several very wrong turns. And it had all been going so well... relatively, at least... not counting the storm.
WARNING: indecision and fear, so trademark Bryant behavior
When he got back to his room after the tour, Bryant tested the springs on his bed before throwing himself down onto it. The fact that there was still the insane thunderstorm going on outside meant that there was still an undercurrent of fear in the large man that he couldn’t shake. Still, for getting stranded by the weather, today had turned out exceedingly better than it could have. Yes, it would have been nice to make it to California for the first night of the conference but there were two more days to go and he still had faith that this wretched weather would clear out and he’d be able to get to the airport in the morning -- ideally after joining Sue and hopefully Marcus for breakfast, possibly walking to the on-site cemetery with Teagan and Tatum -- and leave Indiana behind. But he’d... he’d interacted with people in a positive way. Bryant may have spent some time in the evening sitting in the doorway of the bathroom because doorframes were safer spots in high winds and, though he felt ridiculous, it had been easy to put his back to the jamb and put his hands over his ears and just try to not think about the storm raging outside.
But he emerged from his room to do the haunted tour and hadn’t merely used it as a distraction from the storm but actually spent time talking about ghosts and death and cremation. He’d met more people. If the unexpected layover led to anything good, it was that Bryant knew it was possible for him to try and make new friends. Under controlled circumstances. Where he didn’t pull out any of his favorite autopsy photos. After running his most recent conversations back through his mind and picking them apart -- had he really said the right things? were the young ladies just being nice in the face of shared bad circumstances? -- Bryant decided to turn in for the night.
It wasn’t until after he’d showered and changed for bed, pulling a book out of his bag, that he found out that his wristwatch was gone. He’d taken it off in the afternoon and left it on the nightstand, hadn’t even remembered to pick it up and put it back on before the haunted tour because he wasn’t used to wearing a good watch... though he did tend to get them as gifts, oddly enough. Watches and ties. Hm. Anyhow, he never wore a good watch when he was elbows deep in an autopsy... well, not often, ah, literally elbows deep.
After some time scouring his room for the missing article, just in case it had been mislaid -- though he was certain of where he’d placed it, perhaps for some inexplicable reason a member of the hotel staff had been in to give more towels or whatnot? -- Bryant decided to put in a call to the front desk.
He dialed, sat on the edge of the bed, and fidgeted while he waited for the call to connect.
The voice that answered the phone was female, and surprisingly pleasant for the hour. “Eclipse Hotel, how may I help you?”
Maybe it was the pleasantness that caused Bryant to stumble over his greeting. “Ah, um, er, yes, hello. This is Dr. Bryant O’Neill? In 315?” Why he thought those were statements that needed to come out sounding like questions was anybody’s guess.
“Yes, sir? Do you have a complaint or a request?” The voice had shifted to a slightly more wary note, as though she were expecting some kind of problem.
And it was the wary note that continued Bryant’s verbal stumbling: “Um, well...” A complaint or a request. Why did it have to be one or the other? He tried a pleasant tone of his own, though it came out hesitant and apologetic. “I was wondering perhaps if, ah, if my chronograph -- my-my wristwatch, I mean to say -- had been turned into the ‘lost and found’ or what-have-you? Perhaps it was accidentally mislaid by a member of the hotel staff. Accidentally, of course. I said that already, my apologies.” Maybe he should describe the watch? Not that he’d allowed her to answer in his hasty attempt to make her sound less wary. “It’s a Citizen brand with a brown leather band -- chocolate brown and silver, on the face, with some smaller dials and...” Bryant wound down, finally softly insisting, “I’m sorry to be a bother but it was on my nightstand when I left my room for the haunted tour.”
“Just a moment.” A pause, which became a rather prolonged pause. Presumably, the woman was actually checking lost and found and not just filing her nails. “I’m sorry, sir. The only watch turned in today has a metal band, not a leather one. Have you checked the floor by the nightstand? It’s possible that it fell.”
Bryant sighed, a sound that was more dejection than irritation. “Yes, I’ve checked the floor by the nightstand.” And under the bed. And in the drawer of the nightstand on the off chance one of the nicer watches he owned was somehow smart enough to open drawers and crawl in. No luck.
He paused on the precipice of actively accusing someone of entering his room and stealing his watch. If he didn’t pay such attention to detail and remember the precise moment of removing his wristwatch, Bryant wouldn’t even consider bringing it up... but he did, and it was gone, and that wasn’t normal. “I... this is...” And then Bryant did what he usually did in personally difficult situations... he retreated. “Well, thank you very much for checking. Please do let me know if it turns up.”
Bryant was rather sadly sure it wouldn’t be turning up. Bollocks.
“I’m leaving a note with Lost and Found for the next shift, sir, and I’ll be sure to make a report to the night manager. If anyone turns in a watch matching the description you gave us, you’ll be the first to know about it.” She paused for a moment, and then added: “If it hasn’t been found by the time you check you, I’d suggest filing a lost possessions claim with the hotel.”
All Bryant could do was thank her for her suggestion, exchange goodbyes, and put the receiver back in the cradle.
Well, he could chalk a missing watch up to one of the negatives of the day. Not nearly as awful as the thunderstorm which was really still going and Bryant couldn’t understand how but maybe this was just the way storms worked out in the midwest. If so, he hoped it ended soon. He’d done his best throughout the day to keep the thunder, the lightning, the rain as far to the back of his mind as he could. But his watch was forgotten and the storm filled his mind even as he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
A brief uneasy sleep.
Somewhere around 3:40, 3:45 AM... Bryant woke with all the sense someone who’d gotten about two hours of sleep might possess and tried to place why it was he was awake. He’d been dreaming... something. Someone crying, sobbing? Was there noise from the wall again? In the darkness of his room, Bryant rolled onto his back and looked up toward the ceiling and came back to himself in tired bits and pieces.
When he heard the scream, then, he was fully awake. Fumbling for a light, Bryant found his mobile phone and touched the screen to get the time: 3:52AM. It had to be a scream, he thought as he finally found the switch for the light, his heart hammering in his ears after he sat up. He forced his recall: the loud noise -- the scream -- followed by... followed by...? Machinery. Old gears grinding. That didn’t make any bloody sense, did it?
Trying to puzzle it out was the first thing to delay him in calling someone for help. The other was the idea that he should go to the door and look out, see if he could see a person in distress that needed help. Bryant was across the room and reaching his hand out for the doorknob before he stopped cold, backpedaled. No, no, no... that wouldn’t be smart. If there was an assailant out there, opening the door just gave him or her another target, correct? Absolutely. Quite right. Since he’d long ago believed it was better to be a live coward than a dead hero, Bryant immediately retreated to the imagined safety of the bed, as if the culprit causing the scream would reach out from the hallway, the closet, the bathroom, the very floor and grab at him.
More time was wasted in deciding whether or not to call the front desk. Considering his less-than-successful call earlier that night, though, Bryant was not thinking that a viable strategy. He knew the neat workings of a police office; perhaps a call to 911 was in order.
For the second time that night, Bryant dialed the phone -- an outside line this time, a more important call -- and waited for the call to connect. For the first time since his plane touched down in Indiana, the thunderstorm wasn’t even remotely on his mind.
The dispatcher’s voice was crisp, without any trace of the fake smile that the front desk voice had. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
As insane as it might sound, the professional tone did more to keep Bryant’s head in an appropriately facts-oriented mindset than anything else could. This was an audio autopsy; he had to dissect the sounds he heard. “This is Dr. Bryant O’Neill. I’m staying at The Eclipse Hotel just outside Cantonsville, Indiana. Can you connect me through to the police department; I would like to report a possible crime.”
“What’s the nature of the crime, sir?” Her tone had turned wary, not entirely unlike the woman at the front desk.
There was what he thought and what he knew. Bryant knew telling what he thought wasn’t likely to carry much weight with a dispatcher who sounded like she was used to the denizens of the small town dialing 911 for the smallest of offenses. He chose his words with care. “At approximately 3:52AM this morning, I heard a noise I can only describe as a... a scream. A human scream. This was an actual person.” At least he thought it was, but he knew sounds like that were made by the human throat or animals in distress and he refused to let go of his intuition that it was a person. “The scream was rather abruptly cut off and was followed by a-a-a... groan of sorts. More mechanical than organic. Gears, perhaps, loud ones, like a machine that’s been idle too long, needed a jumpstart. I can explain neither of these noises but I was fully awake when I heard the scream.” A deep breath was taken and expelled. Professional and analytical. Keep it professional and analytical.
There was a pause as she considered the information. The faint sound of keystrokes could be heard beneath the measured sound of her breathing. “This is at the Eclipse Hotel and your name is Dr. Brian O’Neil?”
This was a common problem, so Bryant spelt it out: “B as in bravo, R-Y-A-N-T as in tango. Dr. Bryant O’Neill, room three-one-five at the Eclipse Hotel. I’m a medical examiner in Philadelphia grounded here by the storm.” What storm, Bryant? The one you’re terrified of? It was currently inconsequential. “I do believe someone might have been hurt, though I wouldn’t know where to begin looking. Perhaps other guests heard the sound and will call in with more information than I can give you.”
Medical examiner. Those were key words. Someone with clout, rather than a teenager trying to start yet another rumor about an obsolete hotel. The fact was, there had been other 9-1-1 calls from the Eclipse that night. Several, in fact. Suddenly, the dispatcher’s tone shifted. “All right, sir. Stay where you are. We’re sending a car to the hotel. Okay? The police are on their way. Can you give me your room number, again?”
“Room 315, that’s three-one-five. I will stay where I am and await the proper authorities.” Which, really, Bryant had not planned on doing anything differently. He looked down at his pajamas. Well, perhaps he’d get dressed and wait for the police. Still, leaving the room wasn’t necessarily an option he was considering. “Thank you.”
“Right. Just stay where you are, sir. We are experiencing severe weather conditions, so there will be some delay,” for her part, she did sound apologetic about this fact. “A Watch was issued last night, you know.”
For a disorienting second, Bryant heard the word ‘watch’ and thought of his Citizen chronograph which was likely lost for good. Then he let the implications of what the dispatcher meant sink in and it took whatever scraps of self-control he had to keep from screaming himself. He swallowed audibly, his throat working -- no, no, no, nonononono -- before he managed a reply. “A... yes, a storm watch.” The word Watch like that, where you could hear the capital W, meant hurricane or tornado or tropical storm or really any and all things that Bryant O’Neill could not handle with any certainty of success. “W-well, I shan’t be going anywhere.” Except possibly insane. No. Not now. “Thank you for your time and sending the police and yes, very good, all of that. Thanks ever-so-much. You don’t need me to stay on the line, do you?”
“The NHC has issued a hurricane watch that includes Cantonville, sir.” She couldn’t help correcting him. Their area didn’t often get tropical storm warnings of that magnitude. The storm had been the reason behind the bulk of the calls they’d received that day. It was exciting... not that she’d say that to a stranger on the phone reporting a possible assault at the hotel, of course. Still, it was probably a decent assumption that he hadn’t been watching weather advisories for the last six hours. “Just stay inside, and the police will arrive as soon as they can. Okay?”
Oh, just bloody fantastic! A hurricane!! Bryant barely hung onto a bubble of hysterical laughter; it became a cough as he pulled the phone away from his face. He took a couple of deep breaths. This was not supposed to be how the rest of his stay in Indiana went. There was supposed to be... breakfast! And... and... cemeteries! One, at least. The phone was brought back close enough for a hurried, “Yes, inside, quite, thank you again, job well done, stay safe.” Click.
Bryant looked down at the phone like it had just murdered a baby he’d then have to cut open. No, actually, he could handle that better than a hurricane. Deep breaths were the way to go. A deep breath: the phone was put back onto the table; Bryant hadn’t even been conscious of grabbing the base and holding it to his chest like a teddy bear. Embarrassing.
There were these things to do: get dressed, wait for the police, do everything in his power to ignore the storm-that-might-become-a-hurricane. Bryant focused on doing all of this with continued deep breaths...
...so he didn’t notice, certainly not at first, that his room started to grow incredibly warm... right around 4:40AM.