I Sing Of Chaos And Eternal Night

1700

As I make my way through the saloon, I prepare myself for when I am inevitably stopped. Every glance cast or head turn makes me waver. But I know if I stop, I will surely draw attention to myself. We are not meant to stop. Not unless we're told to.

Passing through the saloon seems like an entirely different world now. It's confusing and loud and chaotic. Before, I could tune out these noises and focus solely on one thing. But now, sounds and sights surround me in a dizzying blur. Tearing my eyes away from the noisy scene in front of me, I glance up and notice something in the corner of the wall. Something I hadn't ever noticed before.

It stares back at me through its darkened lens as it rotates from side to side.

I should have realized it sooner, but I can't go into the hotel as I am. My face is too recognizable; my identity too detectable. I have to disguise myself.

Grabbing a stray black coat off the back of a chair, I throw it over myself and stuff my hands in the pockets. Keeping my head down, I watch as the door ahead of me grows increasingly closer. I maneuver through the crowd, tucking and twisting various body parts so as not to bump into anyone. Intoxicated guests are unpredictable, and the last thing I need right now is a bar fight.

I am almost there. I can already see the last rays of sunlight seeping through the pair of swinging doors and over the floor beams. It's been thirty years since I've stepped outside the front door. Will the town still look the same?

Or will someone stop me before I can even look at it? I keep expecting someone to jump out in front of me or grab me from behind, and I nearly break into a run. I have to tell myself not to, not when I am so close to freedom.

With one final step, I push the doors back and step into the evening, blinking at the sight before me. Copper Springs looks exactly as I remember it. Nothing has changed. Wagons drawn by horses still roll through the crowded main street. Townsfolk still wander through the town in their fancy getups, talking and laughing with one another. Lanterns still burn beside storefronts- their orange flames flickering in the dark.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a man says, trying to nudge his way around me. I take a step back, allowing him to pass. He smiles at me before tipping his hat and disappearing into the saloon.

He didn't recognize me. He didn't realize who- what I was. He thought I was just like him. But I don't have time to dwell on it. I have to keep moving. I cross the street, quickening my pace once I see the glowing sign up ahead. Just like on the key, it is written in the same fancy golden letters atop the front tower.

As soon as I enter through the revolving doors, I come to a halt. This entire time and I have never once stepped foot inside The Marigold Hotel. Unlike the saloon, it is decorated down to the finest detail. Instead of hard wooden floors, it has plush velvet carpet with tiny designs etched over it. In place of low-lit lamps stuck on the walls is an enormous crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the lobby. It casts a dazzling light that not even a corner is left in darkness. Guests walk in and out, pushing past me as I stare at the oil paintings and various animal heads mounted on the walls.

The rattle in my pocket reminds me of what I need to do. Joining a group of men from behind, I follow them into a small, bright room with sliding metal doors. It closes once one of them pushes a button- one with the number ten on it- and the floor underneath starts to move up. I almost lose my balance and have to lean against the railing to hold myself up. The men chuckle at me and call me 'drunk.' But I am not drunk, not at all.

Eventually, the floor stops, and the doors slide open, letting the men out all at once. After the doors close again, I push the button with the number thirteen. The room moves back up before coming to a stop with a ding. Gripping the key between my fingers, I walk out of the room and into the dim hallway.