Langley pulled into the hotel's driveway, his jaw unknowingly hanging open. Lagro was considered country in a sense, what with its GED-holding citizens and convicted youths, but this ancient hotel had taken it to the next level. How would they describe this in the movies? Langley thought. A structure frozen in time.
The hotel stood in the middle of seemingly untouched nature, holding its bricked form high and proud. Tall trees Langley couldn't identify looked as if it bowed towards the building beneath. Even the handful of parked cars sitting idly in a neat row to the left of the hotel didn't damage the almost primitive integrity of the property. He shivered from the absurdity of it all.
Enormous sweet acacia trees spread throughout the premises as if its hundred year old trunks were the actual foundation of the estates. Daisies laid on the expanse following no particular order other than what nature decided. He could imagine those damn New Yorkers (who didn't know how to drive for shit around Florida, by the way) spending a fortune for a room in this hotel for what his daughters would consider a "provincial vibe."
Ramos had already arrived at the scene with the newbie, Griffin, and Lagro's one - of two - fire trucks. By the front of the hotel was a rundown ambulance with a patchy decal of Lagro Hospital's logo on it.
"Langley!" Ramos called out as he walked towards him, the newbie following behind. "It's ugly in there. We already called the ME."
"Fill me in," said Langley. Only now was he noticing the paleness on Griffin's face, his deep stare empty yet said so much. He wondered if the new kid perhaps signed up for more than he could chew.
Ramos shook his head and gave Langley a gentle tap on the shoulder. "Just see it for yourself."
Langley could feel the gravity's intensity here as if the hotel followed a different law of nature. Obviously something wasn't right or he wouldn't be here, yet he still felt that something wasn't right. He had unconsciously referred to the scene as a crime scene in his head and hated that the situation was already too open to onlookers. The only three guests the hotel was accommodating (again, probably northerners who wanted to experience a Floridian peace and quiet) were casually watching from their doorways as they openly discussed what may or may not have happened.
Fortunately for him, and the town, leeches from nearby towns' local newspapers hadn't arrived to take advantage of whatever unfortunate event had unfolded in the hotel. Lagro was already associated with the horror of kidnapped children as it was. The town didn't need another kind of horror to turn away the last few guests supporting what was left of its tourism.
A woman, whom Langley recognized as the hotel's longtime caretaker, approached him as he reached the door. "Sheriff," she called. The woman was visibly shaken as she tried to find solace from the thin shawl she wrapped her shoulders with. He remembered her as Ester Aguinaldo, a loyalist who had worked for generations of the Santos family who owned the largest estate in Lagro for decades since the family migrated from the Philippines in the early 1900s. With the Santos family not having any offspring to secure the family's wealth, Langley wondered who would continue to run the hotel when their trustee was gone.
Ms. Aguinaldo was calm but her voice revealed a slight panic. "Three guests are hurt. Fourth floor, room to the right. Room 412."
YOU ARE READING
Night Auditor
Horror"Between 1936 and 2018, Lagro, a small Central Florida town 96 miles south of Orlando, would suffer up to 138 yearly casualties directly related to the deadly hurricanes that would sweep through half of the state. On November 30th, 2019, the offici...
