By David Billingsley

“Señor, Room 352, elevators to the right, or stairs behind you down the hall.” The clerk, a clever toreador in disguise, nodded with an expression reserved for the bull.

Joseph Freeman turned to face a long, lifeless hallway protected by overbuilt rustic chairs and leather sofas. The Inn spoke to him in Castilian Spanish, suggesting a time long past of pueblo natives, Spanish soldiers, and a capital city rising in the pinion pines on the skirt of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. Translated Holy Faith, Santa Fe might be his temporary sanctuary, a place where he could hope for sleep. For rest. For peace.

Joseph removed his wire-frame glasses, massaged his eyes, and allowed his mind to escape the constant assault of the sharply defined details set before him. In the depths of the long hallway, unfocused shadows swayed in an unseen wind as if they were the guests themselves.

His glasses brought back the distinctiveness of the lobby. Next to the hallway, ristras guarded the entrance to a restaurant, itself an epilogue to a tale of diners who had all but disappeared hours ago to prepare for tomorrow’s meetings or complete some romantic interlude. Interrupting the silence with soothing but indistinguishable syllables of her ancestry, the hostess discussed some unresolved issue with no one in particular. In the distance, toward the end of the hallway, the shadows were motionless; the imaginary guests had left to their rooms.

He should too. He was desperate for sleep. That rarely mattered.

The stairs looked to be miles away. Maybe I should take the elevator.

 *****

Three fifty-two. He double-checked the room number and slid the keycard into the slot on the door. The little green light came to life, and he pushed the latch.

Aside from the angular red digits of the alarm clock, nothing in the room suggested a passage of time. Through the window on the far side of the room, Joseph half expected to see peasants and traders making their way through dusty streets. Instead, the window framed a group of Asian tourists stepping gracefully from a tour bus. He smiled, surveyed the room, and spoke in a whisper, “Arnie was right. Very nice.”

Arnie Sechrist, his right hand man and first-rate practical joker, suggested this hotel—“the guaranteed respite for your soul.” Of course, Arnie could not be trusted.

Joseph hoisted his bag onto the luggage rack in the closet just inside the door. He’d check his messages, finish up email, maybe make a few phone calls, and then sleep.

A hissing noise, similar to a running toilet, rose from somewhere deep in the room. He moved from the entryway toward the interior. Absent were the little plastic reminders spread throughout present-day business suites with information on phone charges, wireless internet, and in-room breakfast. No television. No phone. Just a simple alarm clock.

The hissing faded and the unmistakable sound of a shower curtain being pulled aside entered the room from behind the bathroom door.

Joseph froze. He started to announce himself, but decided against it in fear of frightening the unsuspecting roommate, or even worse, causing the occupant to inflict some sort of violence against him. Quietly, he started to retrace his steps.

A serenade, the melody that could be the narcotic for his sleep, drifted through the cracks in the door. He closed his eyes. The voice willed him to stay.

The turning of the doorknob and the creaking of door hinges brought him back. He carefully picked up his bag, opened the door, and returned to the safety of the hallway.

*****

“Señor. There is no one in room 352,” the bullfighter desk clerk had responded, yet he yielded enough to send a bellhop with Joseph back to the room.

Joseph watched in anticipation for a glimpse of the owner of the voice of the Siren song as the bellhop pounded his fist on the door. The compact man with the nametag of Santos placed a keycard in the door and opened it.

“Señora? Hello!”

There was no answer. He disappeared into the room, and then returned with his hands spread outward. “I’m sorry, Señor. You are certain it was this room?”

Joseph stepped inside. The scene was the same. There were no clothes, suitcase, or any suggestion of the habitation of room 352. He pushed open the bathroom door. The air inside was crisp and dry. His fingers traced the tiles and he smiled. Arnie.

*****

Arnie had denied it all. Such an intricate joke. He had outdone himself this time.

The rustic bed appeared inviting. The earlier drama, a story now spreading from Arnie’s lips as fast as his friend could dial, kept Joseph from the slumber he craved. With messages and email out of the way, he would rest.

The bed was firm, yet uncomfortable. And despite an army of pillows, Joseph could not find one that suited him. He was past the point where it mattered. Even the floor would do.

*****

The red digits read 3:52 A.M. Joseph could already anticipate the anguish the next few hours of sleep deprivation would bring. Every night held the same pre-dawn period of restlessness that surely would shorten any man’s life. He’d tried antihistamines, prescription sleeping aids, and even soothing sound devices to no avail. Hypnotism. Aromatherapy. Counseling. The same result.

He rolled sideways and stared at the clock.

A runaway train of issues from the last board meeting streamed through his consciousness. It was clear he should not support the proposed buy of Everwear Systems. The business case for his position moved forward in his mind as if he were an established playwright expertly generating one act after another. It was child’s play. Yet four hours from now, he knew this kind of decision would seem agonizingly complex. Twelve hours from now he’d be exhausted.

For years, night after night, this process had played out. Restful, peaceful sleep interrupted by some persistent early morning wake-up call embedded in his mind. At times he questioned his sanity. The others on the board thought he was some kind of critical deep thinker who needed time to develop his brilliant solutions. They joked that Freeman would come back tomorrow with the answer, though not a one of them knew he was clueless until four in the morning.

Joseph rolled over and put his arm around what felt like a warm body and pulled his knees into the back of a smooth set of slender legs. Spoons. He feared opening his eyes. The air bled out of his lungs in a heavy sigh.

*****

The shrill sound of the alarm seemed to stretch through Joseph’s mind for hours, though from the time on the clock, it had only been crying for a minute or so. Why he continued to set the alarm, he did not know. Maybe it was just hope. Or maybe just an old habit he would never break.

Somehow he’d overcome the night. Somehow he’d slept right through that pre-dawn productive period. He was sure he’d been dreaming, the subject of which he could not recall.

He pulled the covers off and placed his feet on the cold hardwood. He was certain he had not been alone.

The bathroom was empty, the window was locked, and the door to the hall was secure. Paranoia now, thanks to Arnie.

*****

“Business?” Maria Estes, a long-time family friend, had driven up from Albuquerque for dinner.

“Very good,” Joseph said. “In fact, excellent.”

“Why don’t you remarry? It’s been ten years.”

One thing about Maria; she’d always been one to come right to the point. “Eleven. Wendy passed away eleven years and four months ago.”

She reached out and touched him on the arm as if to say, I miss her too.

He looked away. “I had a dream last night, and I think she was there. Spoons. That’s what Wendy called it.”

Maria frowned.

“You know, sleeping together like two spoons. She was with me last night. First time I’ve slept eight hours in years.”

“You’re still having trouble sleeping?”

Joseph nodded. “I sleep for a few hours. Then my mind goes to work.”

“You try any professional help?”

“They only want to prescribe things for me. Mostly to make me sleep. They ask if I’m depressed. I tell them I’m too tired to be depressed.”

“You’ve moved up pretty fast in the last few years. Chief Marketing Officer, right?”

He nodded.

“Joseph, success is hardly a trait of a dysfunctional person.”

“Since Wendy passed away I would give myself to my work. Or find someone else.”

Maria held her hands out. “Well?”

*****

The bed stood in front of Joseph, beckoning him to slip under its covers. He plopped down, fully dressed, and stared at the wooden beams crossing the ceiling. Was last night just an aberration? Just a tease? One thing was certain. The bed was still uncomfortable.

He must’ve fallen asleep instantly. He lifted his head and noted the time. 3:52 A.M. Light, escaping from the perimeter of the closed bathroom door, clashed with shades of darkness that occupied the rest of the room. A muffled yet soft hum accompanied shadows at the base of the door.

Rays of light flooded the room as the bathroom door slowly opened. Joseph squinted, waiting to see her, whoever she was.

Shadows danced across the room. His curiosity suddenly gave way to panic. He fought the urge to flee. This must surely be a dream. Arnie couldn’t do this. The serenade suddenly halted, and the light disappeared. The dark was nearly complete. Joseph’s eyes strained to find the outline of the roommate, but he could only hear the protest of the door hinges.

The panic was overpowering. He jumped from the bed, grabbed his robe, ran to the hallway door, unbolted it, and hurried out of room 352 without looking back.

*****

The lobby was deserted. A bell sat next to a sign instructing anyone at this hour to ring for help. Joseph struck the bell several times. A small man with the face of a leprechaun appeared on the other side of the desk. His smile was soothing, his expression all knowing.

“Yes sir.”

“Someone was in my room!”

“Room number?” The man seemed unperturbed by Joseph’s comment and his disheveled appearance.

“Three fifty-two.” Joseph looked over his shoulder.

“Of course. And you would like for me to do what?”

The answer shocked Joseph.

The man’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “You are not happy with room 352?”

“What?”

“You would like another room?”

“Don’t you guys have security or something?”

The man shook his head, his smile never wavering. “I will go and check the room with you. If you didn’t want room 352, you should have said so.”

For the second time, Joseph and one of the hotel employees, this time the smiling night clerk, checked the room. It was empty.

“Someone was here,” Joseph said as he examined the room.

“Yes,” replied the clerk. “We can move you in the morning as soon as another room opens up.”

“What about tonight?”

“I assure you…you are safe here,” the clerk said as he moved toward the hallway door. “Maybe you are just dreaming about her.”

The clerk disappeared into the hall and closed the door.

Joseph surveyed the room. Exhaustion must be taking its toll. He shook his head, threw his robe on the bed stand, and fell back onto the mattress. He began to sift through the upcoming day’s events. The meeting with Anton Unlimited would be a waste of time. He needed to call Arnie…

Somewhere in that state between sleep and wakefulness, he became aware he was resting in the arms of someone. He’d fallen asleep quickly, or at least he thought he had. This time he tried to open his eyes. The warmth of the other body was comforting. He saw a feminine figure drift into the air and move toward the ceiling like a translucent curtain of snow fading across a valley. Her face reflected a tranquil smile—a happiness people yearn for. And then she was gone, yet her comforting warmth somehow remained behind with him.

*****

The bullfighter clerk and a college kid were busy checking out hotel patrons at the front desk. To the dismay of the five people in line, Joseph sidestepped the group, walked up to the counter, shoulder to shoulder with an elderly couple checking their bill, and interrupted the college kid.

“Has the night clerk left?”

“Just a minute, sir.” The boy seemed irritated but remained outwardly polite.

The bullfighter glanced at Joseph, his expression masked by a thick mustache.

The kid completed the transaction, called the next customer to the desk, and spoke to Joseph. “I’m the night clerk. What can I do for you?”

A heavy man with no hair and a phone sticking out of his ear put his hand between the kid and Joseph. “Line’s back here.”

Joseph ignored the man, his attention never leaving the young clerk. “Not you. A small man. Bushy eyebrows. Always smiling.”

The bullfighter paused, apologized to the lady he was serving, and approached. “How can I help you?”

Joseph whispered, “I just need to speak to the night clerk.”

“Mr. Simpson here is the night clerk. He and the security guard are the only ones here until I show up in the morning.”

“Please, I need to ask him a question about room 352.”

Joseph waited for some kind of reaction. Both the kid and the bullfighter remained quiet, watching Joseph closely.

“I didn’t tell him it was a woman.” Joseph held up his hands as if surrendering and walked away.

*****

The Albuquerque airport was busy for a Thursday. Joseph had had two glorious nights of sleep, yet he was unsure as to when he was actually sleeping. His initial hope, that the events were somehow related to Wendy, was too embarrassing to admit.

Two weeks from now, he needed to return to Santa Fe to close a deal, and he would go ahead and make his reservations now.

“La Compañero. How may I help you?” It was the bullfighter. He must never sleep either, thought Joseph.

“Reservations, please.”

The line went silent, and then a familiar voice replied, “Reservations.” It sounded just like the smiling man, the night clerk.

“It’s you! How did you know it was a woman?”

There was no reply. After a pause, the voice spoke again, “You would like to reserve a room?”

“The woman…” Joseph paused. “Yes, I’d like to make a reservation, arriving Tuesday, May 22^nd , and departing Friday, May 25^th. Name is Joseph Freeman. Just checked out this morning.”

“Yes, Mr. Freeman.” There was another pause, and then the smiling man continued, “I have reserved room 352 for you.”

Joseph finished the reservation as a stewardess reached his row.

“Would you like a pillow or a blanket?”

He smiled. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”