American Evil

Chapter I: One-Star Hotel

Chapter I: One-Star Hotel

West Coast Midtown NYC, September, Tuesday, 18.00 P.M

Michael Welhaven was the very successful CEO of the famous technology enterprise Welhaven Incorporate. It was his father who had come up with the idea of using small separate chips to extend the memory of cellphones. When his dad had died prematurely, Michael had been set in charge. He had worked very hard to make the chips compatible with every major phone on the market and made great success. Now, even the most popular brands supported the chips.

Michael was proud of his company, but as he strolled down midtown this afternoon, he didn't think much about the future of Welhaven inc. as he used to. He had taken the week off, and set the geeky but intellectual Roland Fincher in charge. All Michael wanted was to get high off psychedelic drugs and surpress the bad memories that terrorized his head. It had truly been a terrible week for him.

He had rented a hotel room for the night and intended on staying there the whole week through. He grudged the thought of setting foot in his own household again after the awful discoveries he had made when he last came home. One final visit would be enough. Michael had used the day to plan it carefully.

The rain splashed down like buckets of water in front of him. It just barely didn't touch his expensive new wingtips that were shielded by his black designer umbrella. The heavy drops of water and the afternoon city noise was shut out by Ray Vaughan's singing into his earplugs. He listened to "The Sky is Crying", a favorite he saved for the bad days. He walked with his head leaned forward, which made him look depressed. God knew he was. In his other hand he held a coffee cup. He had only taken a sip of the coffee and found out he just couldn't enjoy his favorite coffee brand anymore. As he passed a trashcan he threw the cup away.

He had booked a therapy session, but hadn't bothered going. The problems that were going on in his household were not something he was not willing to share with anyone he had figured, not even a psychologist with absolute discretion. Besides it would take months for him to recover. That was too long. 

He tightened his pitch-black raincoat around his waist. it was a luxurious design with nice brown buttons. Although he now lived in a shitcreek, he still couldn't resist wearing exclusive clothes. They were far more comfortable than the rags he had checked out at Quinn's Wear and American Outfitters. At least his coat wasn't made in Pakistan or China.

His phone rang.

He sighed and picked up the call, speaking in his dull business voice, not bothering to see who it was that was calling. It really didn't matter. "Hello, Michael Welhaven" He heard a familiar giggle on the other end. It was Brian Ayers. They had been friends for a long time. "Hey, Mikey, you haven't forgotten about the party this week, have you?" Michael had indeed. The bitch had been responsible for that. "Yeah, no, I haven't. Hey, when was it again, Saturday?" "It's on Friday, idiot." The voice giggled again. "Don't you got keep a calendar?" Michael did, but not with parties. He always used to remember parties was why. "Hey, I'll be there" he said and hung up. Brian was probably scratching his chin at this as they'd normally talk for hours. But Michael was too exhausted to talk.

The hotel Michael was staying on was not very charming. It had a three star rating, although Michael thought it deserved only one. Michael doubted it was even legal to fake the stars, but this wasn't the type of place cops dared visit. It was located in a lower middle-class neighborhood near Harlem. The reason he had chosen it was because it was discreet, and the staff didn't question visitors. Not even the suspicious types.

Most of the furniture in the reception was of wood that looked like it hadn't been polished for years. The entire staff consisted of five old people, three old men and two hags, who had run the hotel for at least 40 years, as noted by a diploma on the wall. Condition- and clientwise it was strange how a hotel could stay running so long. They had to make their money exclusively on people that stayed low.