Act

1

She poured another glass when Jerold tended the children with his half knotted black bow-tie.  Edith and Christian were almost ready, only Jarold glanced at the hour and resorted to his reflection for the final touch-up on his collar. The room was creamy, rich and had a vast bed placed in the middle of the two night-lamps. 

 

"Charlotte, are you almost ready?" Jerold turned to the table of liquors. 

She hovered her head low over the bottles and turned her back without an answer, standing tall and proud, yet fragile in her silky beige nightgown. 

 

Jarold walked over and tended to her from the back in a lower tone, inhaling the back of her neck 

"are you feeling better?" 

 

"Jarold, ci vous plait , go ahead, I will call you and join later" Charlotte continued with her back turned. 

 

He didn't further inquire, gave a rough sigh, and stepped to the sofa near the door and hulled a heavy coat over one arm. 

"Edith! Christian!" he clicked his fingers opening the door wide "your mother will join us later", his eyes pierced at the reflection of the woman standing parallel to the mirror, with a cold condescending expression.

 

The two humbly walked to the door, no words were said, just a loud thump after the door flew tight-shut.

Act

2

Charlotte poured another glass and took an uneasy shot, turning, she lingered at the door with second thought and hesitated. 

She walked toward the window and opened to take some air, the smell, and the wonder of embraced possibilities in the dark. 

 

There were closed stores and a Copacabana in restoration across the grand boulevard. Charlotte suddenly pulled down the 

stained shutters when the wind started playing with her well-prepared ginger locks. 

 

She waited, working her eyes at the empty room, then grabbing her coat from across the inbuilt closet, almost glided her way 

to the door, through the long carpet-ted corridors, to the elevator. 

It took more than 3 minutes for the lift to arrive, and before it did, she hurried her way through down the 

staircase. 

 

There was no sign of Jerold nor the children. There was a host at the reception, and only old people sitting on the 

chesterfields, eyeballing straight at her. 

 

Making another attempt through the spinning entrance, Charlotte took a right-left

glimpse on the very next street she previously looked up from her room. 

The only difference was, there was no wind, it was ground level, and the world was stagnant and empty. 

 

She looked back at the building, and went in.

Act

3

It was already 12:30, and almost an hour inn after the kids and Jerold made it out of the room.

Before the phone, Charlotte poured once again another glass for herself, this time took her sips little by little.

 

Looking up, Charlotte Donovan caught smudged lipstick in her reflection. Gracefully, she moved her way to the 'tiovellette'. 

There were earrings, lipsticks, hair caught in the comb, little gadgets, diamonds and things, and even self-brought 

black-white pictures and portraits decorative and hung up to compensate the emptiness of the rich room. 

 

While correcting the red on her lips, she noticed below her braw-line, the purple stain on the surface of her white, pale

 skin.

Lowering her silky top, she took a deepened notice at the cracked veins in-graded in the blackness spread allover her small, brittle torso.   

 Lifting her hair, she noticed similar red dots and stains and swellings growing underneath the surface of her scalp.

Working to cover it up, she started powdering, over, over, over, and over, until disrupted, there came two knocks from the left side of the room. 

 

She tended to the door and took a glance. There were corridors of golden carpets, yellow wall lamps, replication of one door after another, disappearing into the dark of the horizon. 

 

Charlotte waited, before shutting, looked straight and then to the left. Nothing. 

 

Peeking out to the last minute, she steadily let the door combine with the wall. Stood there for a split second, her eyes rapidly shifted back and forth (hovered) at the knob, before she made her way back to the 'toilette', where she was about to dial the telephone. 

 

From left side of the room, again, this time one other thump,  textile rubbing, and a quiet cough-groaning reached from behind the door. 

 

She leaped back at the door. Among the scurfy floral wallpapers and carpets, opened, there stood empty halls and intersection.

Nothing.

 

The phone gave a ring, the door was slightly left cracked before she could turn to shut it.

 

"Hello?"

There was not an answer, but just the ruffles of a technical error, slight undefinable moans, then went silent in one second,

followed by short beeps in between. 

 

With her arched eyebrows, she placed the phone and turned to tend the un-shut door.

 

The door was wide open, unlike the position Charlotte last left it before the ring. 

 

Without further due, she made her way to the door with the attempt to immediately seal the room.

 

 

 

At the second glance, her glimpse was caught by a disproportion on the first intersection of the elongated corridor. 

 

Coming out from the very corner of the lower wall, there jerked five tentacled fingers. 

 

"ARE you feeling better?" asked the ruffled voice from ahead, behind the very first

intersection of the lower wall.  

 

A hand slid on the carpet.  It was vainy, with doughy dark freckles.  

It had the very characteristics of an old persons skin texture, only more exaggeration.

 

 

Charlotte stood, didn't answer.  

 

From the very corner, she saw the slight profile of a hooked alien nose, rotating its head in the direction of the corridor. 

"Are you feeling better, Charlotte?" the voice enunciated and groaned, louder, stronger.

 

 

That was the snapping point.  Not a second after, she slammed the door, bolted the lock and reached to the phone.  

 

She dialed hurriedly.  

 

Her accent shook "Re-re-e-ception i want reporting a something, a man, something, in my room, in my door! 

He knows my name et je, je ne comprend pas, what he want...  Ci vous plait, alez-vous un securite!" 

 

With short, overlapping pauses "Oui, plea-ese please, room 2099, please hurry, PLEASE..."

 

Hands shaking, Charlotte once again dialed a second number, waited for the beeps "Hello, I am trying to reach

my husband, Jerold Donovan, he is at dinner-reception tonight. 

Would you tell him, I want to speek him, please, NOW!"

 

Another pause "Oui, I will wait, pleaase hurry..." 

 

Charlotte's eyes searched around the room and glanced back at the door "NO? What do you mean you don't know Jerold Donovan?

He is my husband, he must be at reception t-t-tonight, with t-t-two children...here must be some mistake, he is my husband,

 he wo-work for Jackson."

 

With disappointment after her wait, aggravated "look again!! you are not look again? we received invitations for dinner, he's REALLY not there? ...how could it be, I don't understand..."  

 

Before the conversation ended, there came a knock from outside the room.  "excuse moi, i will call again." 

She slammed the phone, grabbed a pair of scissors from the 'toilette'  and made a reach for the door and flung open. 

 

 

The stern tall figure, stood firmly even at Charlotte's sudden impulse with the scissors.  A heavy voice, 

"You sent for security?" 

 

Before her answer, Charlotte, glanced behind the land-post like man, only to find she didn't see anyone at the intersection.  

 

"Yes, there was someone here. He was not normal, je, I, don't know what the HELL it was, what he wanted,but he was 

NOT NORMAL, he know my name, MY NAME!!" 

 

She took a careful glance back at the steady features standing before her. Unmoved, he was lean, broad shouldered, suited, 

with hair combed, brown hair sideways.  The darks under his eyes somehow didn't stand out to give him a tired look.  

Instead, it complimented his friggid straight eyebrows, high cheekbones, and cornered jaws, 

giving him the naive look of a young child encompassing a grown man's charm.

 

  

Charlotte, corrected the hair blocking her sight, accidently flung loose one of her earrings.  

 

The man lowered his eyes to pick the earring caught in the weaved flowers on her dress "this man you say..." 

 

"...THING! merci" Charlotte corrected.

 

"Thing" re-uttered the man "would you describe him for me?"

 

She went on about explaining the details she witnessed, of the situation she was in.  

She started reevaluating her judgment, questioning, not understanding what it was that she saw. She moved in toward the room, and took a seat on the first sofa, the suited man followed with his notepad, gently clamped the door.

 

 

Act 4

At the quiet moment the question answer investigation continued. 

 

The room was interrupted with a screech sound coming down from the very boulevard.  

 

Both Charlotte and the man approached the window to have a look-see.  

A black Volkswagen was bent, dysfunctional at the mere intersection with the concrete of the nightclub.  

 

At first glance in was unnoticeable, but the ant sized corpse was caught in between the concrete and the black sheer.

 

The man in the room with Charlotte pardoned himself.