Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts Read online

  She stepped out of the shower and tippy-toed across the cold floor to the cabinet, leaving a wet trail on the tiles. The gel dildo was on the shelf where she'd left it, clean and wrapped for emergency use. She flexed it, feeling the subtle plastic yielding to her fingers, and then held it up.

  "Martin's not here, little dil-friend, so you'll have to do the job," she said with a sigh. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye and she wiped away the condensation with her hand. "Talking to inanimate objects, girl? Damn, but you've been without a man too long!"

  Giving the blurred image a friendly parting wink, Claudia returned to the shower, grateful for the warmth after the cooler air of the bathroom. She leaned against the wall, gasping at the touch of the cold tiles on her back, and adjusted the shower head until it played over her breasts.

  "Mmmm!" It felt good. Bracing herself, she ran the tip of the dildo over her breasts, tracing lines and circles around each nipple, and along the crease below the flesh, working downwards. "Oooh, Martin!" she cooed, fluttering her eyelids. And down, sliding the dildo over her wet skin, over ribs, and belly, to her thighs. "Mmmm, yeah, babe."

  Up and down the inside of each thigh, imagining his cock there, that it was Martin playing games with her like this. Bringing the toy up, closer, and closer to her pussy, until she drew it across her swelling lips and shuddered as ripples and ribbons of pleasure surged through her body.

  Her breath quickened. Unable to tease herself any more, she hefted the thick end of the dildo and drew it up into her pussy as if she was sheathing a sword. Her most tender flesh parted before the cool phallic bulk of the dildo. Claudia shuddered and jerked forward, biting her lip and drawing the toy up as far as it would reach. Water sprayed over her face and she gasped and shook it away, flinging droplets of water from her hair. Drawing a breath of hot, steamy air, she began to fuck herself with the dildo, drawing it up, deep, and out, until the bulbous head showed between her pussy lips, and up, and out, and up…

  A fierce, hot tingling grew between her legs, spreading out further with each thrust, and withdrawal. She braced her feet hard against the shower floor, and quickened the pace. Droplets of her juice began to mix with water in the wiry red curls on her mound as her hand brushed against them.

  "Uhhh! Martin, oh yesss, oh yess please!" Giving herself up to the moment, her imagination, feeling the water substituting for Martin's hot body against her breasts and belly, his cock, deep inside her, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting… “AAAaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"

  Claudia came, shuddering and jerking like a woman possessed, her legs suddenly weak, thighs closing around her hand, pussy clamping around the dildo, until the flash and flare of fireworks died behind her eyelids, and the sensations faded.

  * * * *

  Checking the instruments for the day's results took Martin an hour, spread as they were over the hotel. Martin hoped to gain as much data as he could. So far results had been negative, but not disappointing. The experiences he and Claudia had been having were entirely different from the normal run of his work—as far as his work could be said to be normal. He had more than enough material already for a new article for Occult Times. Any information would help tie the case together; any sensory feedback or lack thereof, was useful.

  Which was why he was puzzled to find some of the recording devices showed slight shortfalls in their running time. A quick check showed them to be working properly, yet he couldn't account for sporadic gaps of five or ten minutes.

  As he passed through the foyer to check the last device which he'd located in the kitchen, one of the night watchmen leaned out of the office door. "Hey, buddy? Would you like some coffee?" he called.

  Martin nodded and went over to him. "Yes please, I could murder a cup."

  The man laughed. "No need to kill it, feller! It's right here ready for you. C'mon in and sit a while," he said, gesturing to a chair.

  He sat, and the watchman passed him a steaming mug. Martin sipped it appreciatively and smiled. "Good coffee!"

  The man grinned. "Yeah, it's from real beans. I bring my own from home. The company supplies some for us to use, but frankly, it's crap."

  "Company coffee usually is, no matter where you are in the world." Martin nodded, shuddering at the memory of innumerable machine-made brews lurking in his past.

  "Damn straight! A night like this, it's good to have something warm when we're done patrolling for a while," he added, sitting down and putting his feet up.

  "How often do you patrol this place?" Martin asked.

  "Every two hours; we make one circuit of the ground and first floors. Takes around fifteen minutes."

  "You don't bother with the higher floors?"

  The man grunted. "Nah. Not worth the effort. The fire escapes are all secure; they're the only way anyone could get onto those floors without coming through the foyer."

  "Do you have much trouble with squatters?"

  "Nope. Never used to, either." The watchman shook his head. "Nor druggies. Most other places don't have trouble now either, since old Mayor Guilliani cleaned up the city. It's stayed that way, thank Christ, but this always was a good, quiet detail."

  Martin nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose Mike has little else to do during the day either apart from letting in the occasional caller."

  "Mike? Yeah, he always liked the cushy numbers, ever since he got kicked off the force."

  Martin looked at him keenly. "Kicked off? I thought he retired."

  "Yeah, that's what I meant," the watchman said, with a non-committal air. "Mike's okay. He has his round, we have ours. We hardly ever meet, except when we're changing over of an evening and morning."

  "He helped us earlier, in an indirect way," Martin told him. "His experience in homicide gave us a clue of sorts."

  "You don't say?" the man said, giving him a direct look. "By the way, how's the ghost-hunt going?"

  "It's progressing," Martin said slowly. "I think we're getting to the bottom of it."

  The watchman chuckled and drained his coffee. "Not my kind of work at all," he said, putting down his mug. "Gimme something I can see and touch any day."

  "Oh, you'd be surprised at what you can see and touch in my work," Martin replied with a smile.

  * * * *

  Some hours later Claudia lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. A glance at the clock showed 1:33 a.m. and she felt tired after a long day at work, a great date with Martin, and two sessions with the dildo. Yet she couldn't sleep through thinking of him, wondering what he was doing, virtually alone in the haunted hotel.

  She rolled over and closed her eyes, determined to push all thoughts of the day from her mind and settle in to some much-needed sleep. Three minutes later she sighed and reached out blindly for her cell phone. She would call him.

  The phone proved elusive; her questing fingertips finding nothing but the cold wooden surface of her bedside cabinet. Swearing softly under her breath she reached up to turn on the light over the bed. Waiting a few moments for her closed eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, she opened them and turned to look on the cabinet.

  With a yelp of fright she rolled violently to one side, pitching headlong out of the bed to land with a thump on the carpet. The duvet slid on top of her and she fought it off, rolling away until she was clear of the bed.

  Rising quickly to her knees, she stared at the figure of a woman standing silent and unmoving by her bed. The light was on, flooding the room with illumination, yet Claudia realized with an extra thrill of horror that the woman cast no shadow. She appeared to be in her thirties, and wore a green silk dress with leg-of-mutton shoulders.

  "Who…who are you?" Claudia gasped.

  The woman's head turned towards her, as if only vaguely aware of her voice. Then her focus seemed to sharpen suddenly, and Claudia found herself the subject of an intense stare.

  "I said, who are you?" Claudia demanded, rising to her feet and tugging her pajamas back into place. "Oh God! Martin, where the hell are you when I need you?" she wai
led.

  Martin? The woman's voice was soft, cultured—and inside her head! No, Mr. Grey won't be required. But your services will be, if you would oblige me?

  She glided through the bed towards her, hands reaching out and Claudia screamed.

  * * * *

  A mixture of sleet and rain was falling on New York City as Claudia walked through a brightly lit street of newly refurbished brownstone houses. Her legs were numb in the soaked pajama bottoms, and the raincoat she had somehow put on before leaving her apartment offered scant protection from the cold. Somewhere in the frightened core that was still her conscious self, she was thankful she had also managed to put her shoes on before setting out.

  This way… the woman whispered in her mind and Claudia turned abruptly to follow the order, for order it was. She had no more control over her actions than when she was riding in Claire Cloverdale's mind.

  And it was not Claire Cloverdale in her own mind now, but a presence never encountered before. A cold, hard-driving female presence that brooked no timidity from her.

  She was brought to a stop in front of a seedy bar, somewhere off the main drag in what she knew as one of the more wholesome neighborhoods. Gas lamps hissed above the door, lighting the name "Molloy's Bar. " The large plate glass window was illuminated with a cheery red-tinted light and posters for upcoming events were plastered here and there.

  Gas lamps? Claudia thought, even as she was propelled closer to the glass. From her raised position on the sidewalk she could see around the posters and fancy engraving on the glass. The barroom lay slightly beneath road-level.

  It was packed with people, a rough, lively-looking crowd sporting the clothing of a bygone era. Waiters and waitresses moved through the press here and there and a heavily-mustachioed barkeeper wearing a white apron served behind the long sweep of the counter. A huge mirror behind him reflected more of the room than Claudia could see directly.

  There!

  Her head was brought round; her eyes focused on a solitary figure reflected in the mirror, a man sitting in a corner booth, his hunched form just visible over the heads of the crowd.

  James Cloverdale! Claudia thought.

  Yes! Now, observe.

  Cloverdale dragged his fob watch from the sober brown waistcoat he wore and looked at it. Claudia saw him grimace, then fish in his pocket for a few coins which he put on the table before rising. She thought he looked unsteady on his feet for a moment, until he seemed to collect himself. Making his way through the crowd, he seemed unaware of her watching him from the street.

  Cloverdale emerged through the door and climbed the few steps to the street, turning his coat collar up even though the night was warm. As he turned away from her to walk towards the main street, Claudia wondered if she should follow, yet she remained planted firmly where she stood.

  Other eyes were watching him also, in that long-ago time and place. A few moments later two men emerged from the bar, each wearing grubby mariners' pea-jackets and woolen caps, their grey trousers stained from oil and other substances. She caught a reek of tobacco and unwashed bodies as they passed her, ignoring her, their attention fixed on the solitary figure walking through the night ahead of them.

  Then she followed, keeping up with the men until they picked up their pace. She saw why a few moments later, as James Cloverdale passed a service alley behind the corner brownstone building of the main street. The men rushed up, seized him and bundled him roughly into the darkness of the alley mouth. The deed was done in a moment, without so much as a cry from the victim.

  She ran up, ignoring and ignored by one of the pair who emerged to keep watch as his partner dealt with Cloverdale. The alley was dark, yet she found she could see as clearly as day. Claudia winced as heavy blows from a blackjack landed on the older man's head and back, his attacker belaboring him with ferocious concentration. Cloverdale tried ineffectually to shield himself with his arms until a particularly savage blow drove him to his knees.

  Satisfied that the victim was cowed, the assailant bent over him to seize his collar and twist it. "Where is it, ya bastard?" he hissed.

  "You won't…" Cloverdale began to say but yelped as another blow fell.

  "We read the papers! Ya got the goods, ya promised to have them here tonight!" the attacker snarled. "If ya try t' hold out on us, ya fink, I'll drop you in the river with a chain round ya legs!" To add to the message he clubbed Cloverdale between the shoulder blades and the man grunted and sprawled on the filthy ground.

  "Quick, Larry!" the second man spoke urgently from his post. "Someone's coming!"

  "Remember what I said, ya bastard!" the first man growled, shaking his fist at Cloverdale as he rolled over to stare up at him with helpless hatred in his eyes.

  The two men ran off along the alley, their footsteps fading then vanishing.

  Cloverdale rolled onto his knees, gasping and favoring one side where Claudia felt sure his ribs were broken. Somewhere down the road footsteps were approaching at an easy pace, but she moved closer to the injured man. The woman's presence inside her mind had begun to exude a feeling of mounting anger mingled with satisfaction.

  Watch.

  Cloverdale tried to rise but fell back, his face contorting with agony, one hand clasped over his heart. As he flopped onto his back his body shook, then arced with pain. A strangled cry escaped from his lips, to be heard by the approaching pedestrian.

  "Anyone there?" The voice came from the alley mouth. "Don't try anything funny, I've got a gun!" it added, the accent noticeably Irish.

  "Help me!" gasped Cloverdale, then he gave another cry and fell limp upon the ground.

  The passerby moved cautiously into the alley, ensuring there were no nasty surprises waiting for him, until he saw the dead man lying there. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" He gasped, reeled back and crossed himself. "Hey! Hey! Murder!" He retreated to the alley mouth and ran off. Claudia hoped it was to summon help.

  Claudia and the presence watched as a pale light seemed to flicker above the recumbent form of James Cloverdale. It coalesced into a human shape; a brief flash of light and suddenly James was standing above his own body. He looked at his corpse, then up at her. Claudia realized to her shock that he could see her. Or, to be more accurate, he could see the woman's presence.

  An unspoken communication seemed to pass between the two, before Cloverdale smiled in a particularly nasty way and faded into nothing.

  * * * *

  Claudia awoke to find herself on her bed, with no recollection of getting there. Her unwanted and unnamed passenger had driven her through the night to witness the assault but had somehow brought her safely home. In spite of the cold and wet she'd encountered, she was puzzled to feel her legs were warm and dry. It was now morning. Early light was beginning to filter through the drapes over the bedroom window.

  On unsteady feet she managed to reach the bathroom to relieve herself and shower. The hot water eased the residual feeling of cold from body and mind, and brought a welcome feeling of alertness. As she let the water pour over her, she pondered what to do. One thought rose above all else.

  I need Martin!

  * * * *

  Martin was lying half-asleep on the inflatable mattress he used for naps between rounds when his cell phone buzzed by his ear. Coming awake in a fuddled state he fumbled with it, dropped it, cursed, picked it up again and answered.

  "Hello…? Claudia? What are you doing up? It's…" he checked his watch, "only 5:30."

  Claudia's voice was loud in his ear. "Martin, I need you here at my place, now! Something happened to me last night. It's serious."

  Her tone gave credence to her claim. Even over the phone he sensed how scared she was. "Okay, I'll get a cab and come over."

  "Martin? Please hurry?"

  "Will do, Claudia. Sit tight, I'll be there."

  The watchman looked up as Martin appeared in the office doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Hi, Mr. Grey," the man said. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm okay, but
Miss Mackenzie isn't. Would you happen to know where I can find a cab at this hour? I need to get over to her place."

  "Jeez, I'm sorry to hear that. You don't need to phone, just walk outside and wait." He gave Martin a half smile. "They don't call this the city that never sleeps for nothin'. Cabs pass up and down here all the time."

  "Thanks!"

  Martin took his advice and walked outside. Sure enough a cab came along in minutes, its yellow sign glowing cheerfully in the bleak early morning light as he flagged it down.

  * * * *

  The next fifteen minutes passed very slowly for Martin. His mind churned over and over as he tried to work out the nature of Claudia's predicament. When the cab drew up before the apartment block, he handed the driver a bill to cover both fare and tip, then ran into the building.

  Claudia opened the door and all but pulled him inside. "Thank God you're here!" she said, firmly closing and locking the door before slipping into his embrace. "I'm no scaredy-cat, but what happened tonight really threw me!"

  "What happened?"

  "Come on in and I'll tell you."

  She took Martin through to her sitting room. It was a nice, clean, cozy apartment, he thought as he passed through; the kind of place used by a single working woman. Tights were draped over the radiator; a box of leg wax lay open on the table, and photographs of family stood here and there. An aroma of percolating coffee coming from the small but neatly-fitted kitchen wafted invitingly past his nose.

  Claudia sat down opposite him, wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. She swept her long bedraggled red hair away from her face then pressed her hands together between her knees. He waited quietly, letting her begin in her own time on her own terms.

  "I had an encounter last night, just after 1:30," she began.

  He listened as she recounted her tale, summoning his professional experience to resist the urge to ask questions, reluctant to interrupt the flow of words. From time to time Claudia referred to notes she had made whilst waiting for him to arrive and he admired her clear thinking. Too often he had interviewed clients who had been caught up in some paranormal event who had gone to pieces afterwards.