Kill The Beast

The Fragments of Past | Part 2

He arrived at a hotel owned by his family, his hair a mess, eyes red, and his clothes still stained from the street.

As he approached the counter, he was greeted by Katrina, her fiery red hair confidently tied back, with a few delicate strands dancing gently around her face. She wore a kerchief around her neck, neatly tied, which matched her uniform.

She smiled at him, but he didn't notice and nonchalantly asked her for the key to the top floor, which was supposed to always be vacant for him as he had informed the manager in advance of his arrival. She was aware of this arrangement but didn't assume that he was the person for whom the room had been kept vacant. She replied, "I'm sorry, but all our rooms are fully booked."

A chuckle escaped him in response as he clarified, "I'm not a regular customer. I need the keys to the top floor - the Owner's Suite." His laughter was accompanied by unsteady legs, nearly causing him to lose his balance.

Hesitation clouded her judgment as she considered giving him those keys. His disheveled appearance, with dirt-stained clothes, unruly hair and bleeding nose, created an impression that gave her pause. However, her commitment to providing the best service prevailed. Despite her reservations, she took a step forward and asked him for his ID, determined to follow the protocol.

His annoyance flared visibly as he fumbled through his pockets, desperately searching for his wallet. A scowl crept across his face as the wallet eluded his grasp, likely forgotten in his car. Still, the thought of going back to retrieve it was out of the question.

In a voice that held an unspoken demand, he instructed her to issue the key, conveying through his demeanor that he expected compliance, wallet or no wallet.

Her suspicion was palpable as she regarded him, her eyes scanning him thoroughly. After a thorough inspection, she delivered her verdict, "I'm sorry, but access to that top floor is restricted. I'll need some form of verification to grant you access."

His anger surged to its boiling point, and the alcohol had fueled the fire within him. With reckless impatience, he lunged forward and grabbed Katrina's collar. In a low, threatening voice, he hissed into her ear, "You're seeking validation? I'll give it to you; tonight marks your last shift at this hotel's reception. Verification will be completed by morning."

His outburst ignited a commotion, capturing the attention of everyone in the lobby. He couldn't contain himself any longer, and his words reverberated through the hotel as he shouted, "Where's the fucking manager?"

With a swift, forceful kick, he sent the reception table crashing to the floor, the impact landing perilously close to Katrina. Chaos ensued as security guards swiftly approached from behind, seizing his arms with the intent of removing him from the premises. The once tranquil lobby had transformed into a scene of turmoil and anger.

As they forcibly escorted him toward the exit, the manager finally spotted him and comprehended the gravity of the situation. He rushed over, nearly stumbling in his haste, and began to apologize profusely. The manager was well-acquainted with him, recognized him, and his fear was palpable.

With a firm grip on the manager's collar, he exerted a commanding presence as he pointed a stern finger in Katrina's direction. His voice carried an air of undeniable authority as he declared, "I don't want to see this girl anywhere near my hotel. Throw her out immediately, or you can pack your bags and leave with her."

The manager, his nerves frayed, assured him nervously, "Of course, sir. Don't worry; I will take care of it. I'll settle all the accounts and ensure she's removed. Please, go and relax; I'll send you some red wine and strawberries." The manager's haste to rectify the situation was evident, and he was willing to go to great lengths to make amends.