Room 1350

Janice had removed her silk jacket and thrown it onto the bed. She watched as it slid off the side and onto the floor, leaving behind a key. Her thoughts went immediately to the dance floor in the ballroom of the hotel. His mask, like everyone else’s, had hidden his features but not his dark eyes. When his hand had reached beneath her jacket to caress her…

Janice shook her head to break the spell. The key glittered in the moonlight that spilled through the latticed doorway leading out onto the balcony. She picked it up, suprised to find it still warm; from her body heat, or his? Just as she tapped the key against her lower lip thoughtfully, her cell phone rang. Tossing the key on the bed, she snatched up the phone, flipped it open and snapped, “What?”

It had been hours since Don had left her at the party. He’d gone off the deep end once again, and instead of coddling his mood swings like she usually did, Janice had ignored his fit and stayed. Now she cut him off mid-sentence, barely listening to his whining. “Look, Don, you left me. I don’t understand what set you off this time and right now I just don’t give a damn. I don’t feel like talking to you and analyzing my reactions to your… your neuroses. So, go back to bed and leave me alone.” She flipped the cellphone shut. It was the first time she’d ever hung up on him.

That soft light winking against metal drew her eyes back to the key. She picked it up, noticing as she did that the number 1350 was carved into it; the thirteenth suite on the fifth floor of the old Balthazar Hotel. She tossed the cellphone onto the bed and left the room. Just as she shut the door, her cellphone rang again.

***************

A police woman was consoling the blonde-haired young man outside the suite. Inside, cops and the coroner’s team swarmed all over the interior. The man wiped at his tears. “I just didn’t feel comfortable at the party,” he wept. “Usually she understood, but this time…” he sniffled, “…I guess I was stifling her. I couldn’t stay there and so I left.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Mr. Porter.” The police woman patted his shoulder. She grasped him by the upper arm and gently drew him aside as a stretcher was pushed through the doorway. Porter let out a terrible wail and fell to his knees, trying to wrap his arms around the shape beneath the sheet. “Mr. Porter! Please!” snapped the police woman. She was none too gentle as she yanked the man away from the body and to his feet.

There was a chiming sound as something metal fell to the marbled floor of the corridor. It had fallen from under the sheet covering Porter’s wife, Janice. Another cop, his hands gloved, carefully picked up the key and examined it. His face paled visibly as he handed it to the chief cororner. The man was about to take it, when the cop muttered, “Room 1350, doc.”

All activity ceased. The only movement was that of Donald Porter, his tear-stained face glancing rapidly from cop to cop until settling on the coroner’s weather-beaten features. Dr. Jason Wills gingerly took the key from the cop and without taking care to put it into an evidence bag, tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll put it with the others,” he said.

Originally posted: Dec. 25, 2006