The Hotel at the End of Time

Chapter 7 - Emma receives a non-insane warning.

Emma sat in an uncomfortable chair in the emergency room, listlessly flipping through a Field and Stream magazine, although this specific issue contained articles about neither fields nor streams. She filled out a form with her symptoms and was told to take a seat. The admitting nurse seemed concerned about the seizure, but then much less so when Emma mentioned she'd jogged herself to the hospital. It would be a long wait. There were people there in worse shape than her, and she thought they might get in first.

Across from her, a younger man cradled his bloody, bandaged finger close to his chest. Whoever he was talking with on the phone had him more agitated than the horrific damage to his appendage.

"No, don't throw it out," he said. "Most of the blood ended up on the wall and the floor, barely any made it into the pot." He listened. "Right, but it's about four batches of chili." Another pause.

"Why not, though? What do you think I was cutting? I'll tell you what. Steak. Raw steak. And do you know what raw steak is filled with? Blood. So, when you consider it that way, you were ready to eat at least a half-cup of cooked bl—" He cut himself off, his cheeks flushing. "Don't you throw out my goddamn chili!" He looked around, embarrassed, and continued to whisper a series of chili-based threats to the person at the other end of the line.

She tuned out the conversation and tried to focus on the magazine article, but a smoldering wave of energy pulled her attention to a woman coming into the room. She had dark spiky hair; an obvious home-cut, like someone hacked at it with a lawnmower. Underneath, blonde roots poked through the dye job. Her eyes were wide and angry, and all of her features were sharp. The energy coming from her blazed, and Emma shrank into her chair by reflex.

After scanning the room, the woman locked onto Emma and looked straight at her. Despite there being several dozen empty chairs in the waiting area, she walked over and plopped into the seat next to Emma.

"What are you in for?" she asked.

Emma could barely muster an answer and scootched over to the edge of her seat with her jaw hanging open.

"Oh, you know," Emma replied, hoping that would be the end. She flipped through her magazine, landing on an article about the ten best rifles for murdering elk. Everyone knew that with your face in a magazine or book, other people weren't allowed to talk to you.

"I don't know," said the woman. "Are you sick?"

Emma forced a smile. "I'd rather not say. Thanks, though."

"Why not?"

Clearly this woman was crazy, perhaps in the middle of a manic episode. She looked the part. Her clothes were disheveled like she either hadn't slept in a while, or did so on piles of garbage.

"Well, why are you here?" Emma countered.

The woman tilted her head. "Syphilis. Full-blown."

Okay, so she was crazy. "It's been nice talking to you," said Emma, putting her magazine down. "I have to use the washroom. Excuse me." She smiled and got up, but the woman grabbed her forearm in an iron grip.

"Listen," she said. "Sometime within the next little while, identical bow-legged men with cauliflower ears will come for you. I don't know what they'll say, but these men are dangerous. You have to run."

Emma's stomach dropped in that way it did when you found out the person you were talking to was dangerous-crazy, instead of ordinary-crazy. This woman was a lunatic. Emma wondered if anyone would help her, but the chili-man still argued on the phone and the nurse wasn't paying any attention.

"I see." Emma pried her arm from the other woman's grip. "Thank you for telling me. I'll make a note of that. Please don't touch me again."

The woman ignored Emma's request and pulled her closer. "I get this sounds nuts, but you have to pay attention. If you ignore everything else, remember this. Duplicate men. Brown hair. Crummy ears. If anyone like that comes near you, run. Got it? Good."