Night Auditor

Meredith (11)

11:00 p.m.

The night was, in fact, quiet.

But not too quiet. The rain refused to show any signs of it dying down and the occasional (and unnecessarily loud) thunder made my heart almost jump out of my chest a few times. Amy was somewhere in the hotel, either cleaning or spending time with her boys, and the guests, fortunately for me, decided to remain in their rooms for the night.

The hotel somehow felt larger now as if the space behind the front desk went on and on like the long hallways in the top floors. For a moment I thought of Miss Ester, my late predecessor on the job. All the nights she spent by herself workig in the hotel, probably thinking of her family in the Philippines, probably had nothing but the Santos family's best interest in mind, the family that had unreservedly taken her in from the beginning.

Despite its long history and the fading exterior paints, the hotel was well-kept. Even the interior walls had no spots of paint fading away, and the deepest corners of the smallest rooms were spotless (most likely thanks to Amy). The building had an elegant feel to it, and most definitely too elegant for Lagro itself.

No, I wouldn't mind working in such a beautiful space if it ever came to that. While the pay was decent at best (not that I needed the money anyway), the deal came with a complimentary room of my own and free meals throughout the day.

And I liked my co-workers. Certainly much better than my co-workers at the office back in Clovis. Amy was a talker but she minded her own business enough not to press on mine. Richard, on the other hand, was like a nicer version my abusive grandfather (may he never rest in peace).

In Lagro, everything was nice and peaceful and quiet, and I found myself in a great mood all the time. City chaos and its blood-boiling traffic seemed as far away as Clovis was while Billy felt as close as he'd ever been in death. I was calmer, more at peace with myself. No longer did I passively think of people as imbeciles. Instead I thought of them as people much like Amy; people with families, people who carried traumas as souvenirs from the past trepidations of life. At night the nightmares stopped visiting and I almost forgot how fulfilling it was to wake up with the sunrise instead of falling back to sleep as soon as the light was in the sky.

Judging by the clock on the bottom right of the front desk computer, I had eight long hours to contemplate.

Then behind me were heavy footsteps far too familiar to miss. My good mood was about to be cut short.

"Excuse me," said Ron Petrie as he came up to the desk. He was no longer in his expensive suits (though he looked silly in his striped pajamas) and it his hand was an empty paper cup. "How long ago was the coffee made?"

How the fuck am I supposed to know? The coffee station, which also offered a pitcher of cold, fruit water, packs of tea bags and hot chocolate, and both regular and decaf coffee, was located by the guest stairs. Unfortunately for me, Richard's tour didn't include this part of my duties which was now the subject of Ron Petrie's latest complaint.

"I'm not sure but I can--"

Ron Petrie scoffed. "Don't you work here?"

Yes I do, dumbass. "Sorry about that. I can make you a fresh cup if you'd like."

"Great," muttered the dumbass. "Now I have to wait just for coffee. Send it up to my room."

I watched Ron Petrie walk away with his paper cup empty of any caffeine (which he clearly didn't need) and heavy drag of his slippers. I made a mental note to make him a fresh cup of decaf coffee to send to his room later.

Now I was alone again in the stillness of the night and the ruckus of the hurricane. No Ron Petrie to bow down to and I was beginning to hope that Amy would come down and keep me company while waiting for the last person to check in.