"It's down the hall. Last room on the right." Maurice gestured to the corridor that was sealed off with police tapes.
Miles shook his outstretched hand, the right corner of his lips tipped in a small smile. "Thank y-ou."
"No, thank you. For the work you've been doing. I owe you my life." Maurice gave him a soft smile before quickly turning down the other end of the corridor.
Miles inhaled.
Miles ducked underneath the tape, pulling the cap enough for it to cover his face. The lights were off. Darkness pooled around him as he walked. He switched on his torch.
The walls, paneled in brushed steel and frosted glass, reflected the flickering beam of the torchlight as it cut through the dark. Every movement of the torch summoned distorted shadows. Coiling and uncoiling out of existence.
Miles' boots echoed against the pale grey carpet lined with intricate silver swirls. The aroma of jasmine clung to the air. Grasping, struggling to hold on to its farce of strength. Like a house that was beginning to crumble at the foundation.
Because Miles could smell it. Taste it. The aroma of death. The putrid smell that caused his stomach flip. Not once. Not twice.
Miles swallowed.
The stench of burnt flesh.
After a few agonizing seconds, he reached the last room on the right. The doorway was empty, left as an open gaping hole. Flicking the flashlight downwm, he noticed the door was lying flat on the floor.
Did the killer do this?
He highly doubted they did.
Miles stepped past another barricade of police tapes. He raised the flashlight up.
The room was huge.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been paradise. Polished marble tiles. Floor to ceiling windows. Silk upholstered walls. Crystal chandeliers.....
Yet, there was no warmth that the luxury gave. Instead, it felt oppressive. Silent, stale. Barren. Even the horrid stench worsened.
A shudder dragged down his spine. But, despite himself he stepped in.
The windows were locked, curtains drawn.
Miles walked across the room where the bed was. Soot marks traced the soft cotton sheets and duvet of the king sized bed, reminding Miles of his own father's bed.
From there, he turned to look around.
Everything looked in place. No boot marks. No broken ornaments. He walked towards the windows at the other side of the room and wrenched them open. As expected, he noticed the sheen of ice
Miles took a few minutes, checking through each part of the hotel room. For anything. A clue. Something odd. Anything.
Turning up empty, his shoulders sagged. What was he thinking? Could he really do this?
The effects of the Advil seemed to wear off as the headache pounded at his skull with growing ferocity. He leaned against the wall, steadying himself.
He sighed.
This is what you staked your career on -a hopeless case? Let's hope you can find something better to do.
With the realization, it hit deeper, sinking down his gut as the exhaustion took root. What was he thinking? Did he really think that he could ever be good enough?
Could he ever make up for allowing his father to kill that child?
The guilt came in full force, smothering him. Tearing him apart like a cat with newly sharpened claws. Miles shook his head, prying himself away from the depressing cloud.
Miles checked every nook and corner of the room again. Still, nothing. As he wandered past the butter leather arm chairs of the sitting area, he noticed something on the floor.
An envelope. Miles' eyebrows furrowed.
He crouched to pick up the envelope. The envelope was creased and yellowed, giving it an aged look.
There was no address. Only the stamp of a globe sat by the extreme edge. How long has it been here?
He quickly tore the envelope open and pulled the paper out.
"Miles, time is of the essence. I know by now, Roland Cole is gone. Like Henry. Like Andrew. Like Wesley. Like Tom, your father.
You must have realized by now that these murders are too clean. That nothing seems to add up? Yes, it can't.
I can't say much here but all I can say is the person you're looking for isn't who you think it is.
Contact me as soon as you find this. I believe you both are clever enough.
Remember, stories never die-because they are extensions of life in this world, and the ones after."
Miles' hands shook. What was this?
But how...
The letter looked like it had been here for a while. Maybe even before Roland died.
But that wasn't possible.
Did that mean whoever sent this knew me and knew that I would be coming here?
How were they able to sneak past security?
In the midst of his silent musing, the letters blinked out of existence. A lump formed in his throat. He stared at the blank paper.
Clear your mind, Miles.
He chided himself, laughing nervously. He was just stressed. Exhaustion has done a number on him lately. He held his breath, counting to three before he would open his eyes again.
One.
Two.
Three.
His eyes fluttered open. He looked down at the paper in his hand.
Still, empty.
Miles ran a hand through his hair, pulling it by the root. What was going on? First these strange deaths. The lack of solid leads. Then the ice that formed out of the blue on the window in Henry's house. And now, this.
Miles swallowed. He crushed the paper and threw it on the floor.
***
"A letter?"
Miles sat on the sofa, leaning his head back. He felt Bella's questioning gaze on him. He closed his eyes. Despite the Advil, the headache had only gotten worse. Pestering. An ever constant reminder of his pain.
Maybe you really are running mad. I mean, you can't even remember the last time you had a good night's rest. That surely puts a man off his game.
"Miles?"
Bella's voice pulled him out of the daze. She folded her arms over her chest and stared down at him pointedly.
"You mentioned something about a letter?"
Miles sighed. "Yes, I foun-d a letter in the gu-y's hotel room. And, it was addre-ssed to me. Well you too, but mostly m-e."
Bella raised a questioning brow. Miles sat up, meeting her gaze.
"Whoever happened to wr-ite the letter knew a lo-t about the case. More than the general public sho-uld know. They knew each and eve-ry victim. They knew about the recur-rent ice anomalies-"
"So, you think it's an officer?"
"Perhaps, I don't know. The only people that should know so mu-ch are Alice, the chief and two other officers. Tha-t's when excluding tho-se who're heading the case now. These aren't even the only issuses."
Miles sat up straighter. "Ho-w did they bring it into the hotel? No one ca-n just waltz in. Secu-rity's tight. It's only because of the stunt we p-ulled that I managed to make it in and out in one pie-ce."
"What if it's the said Roland that left the letter for you?" Bella offered.
Miles groaned. Thinking was making the headache worse. And he hasn't even reached the worst part yet.
"No, I do-ubt. And the letter-the letter went bla-nk."
"Blank as in?"
"I don't know. The letters disapp-eared. One second the-re was writing on it. The next it w-as gone. All of it."
Saying all of this was a declaration of how he truly had lost his marbles. Miles propped his head with hand, squeezing his eyes shut. What was the next course of action in a situation like this?
Ignore it. Yes, that's it. Ignore it. He could have as well imagined those words in the letter because he was so caught up in wanting to find a clue. To find something. Anything.
"Miles...."
He raised his head, his eyes suddenly felt heavy.
"You know that happened to me too right." There was a slight tremble in her voice.
That made him more alert. "What?"
"The lett-er?"
"Yes. The words of the letter I gave you three days ago disappeared by the time I gave it to you. Exactly like yours did. What if-"
"Do you re-alize how we sou-nd? Print doesn't just dis-appear. That's not how the wo-rld works."
"But that's what happened!"
"That doesn't ma-ke it any real! It co-uld have as well been a halluci-nation."
Bella was about to argue again when the door bell broke the silence. They both shared a look.
"Are you expecting any-one?" Miles whispered, unable to keep out the edge in his tone.
"No, you fool. Do I look like I'd be willing to have nonexistent friends over at this time of the night?"
Miles gave her a look. Bella shook her head, huffing before stomping away. Miles watched from where he was seated as she peeked outside of the doorway.
She stayed for a few seconds. Miles watched her in the doorway until she came back.
"No one was there." Bella stated as soon as she reached him.
"Oh." For some reason, a shudder drew down his spine.
"But, I found this. Another letter."
Bella dropped the envelope on the table. Same globe stamp. No address.
Now, his heart started beating fast. Miles swallowed. A tense silence floated above them, enveloping them. They both stared at it, neither wanting to touch it as though fearing what lay inside.
Miles cleared his throat after a minute. "I think we should ch-eck it out."
Miles took the envelope from where it was sat. Bella came to stand beside the sofa, watching as he ripped the same obviously creased and aged envelope. He retrieved the letter inside and raised it enough for both of them to easily read.
"Are you ready to listen now?
When you're ready, meet me where stories never die.
Remember, every second counts. She's still very much in this race."
At that very moment, the letters blinked out of existence.