The Cabin in the Sky

Caroline cranked up the music and pumped the accelerator as the minivan climbed up the gravel forest road. The plan was simple; you, Tanya, Pixie, Simone and Caroline all take a weekend to rent a cabin in the woods for a women’s retreat. Well, “women’s retreat” was overstating it a bit. Simone had packed a suspiciously large amount of marijuana edibles, Caroline brought a crate of liquor and between you, Pixie and Tanya, there were enough art projects to occupy an entire high school for a year. But the purpose held, time away from the responsibilities of the world where you could enjoy each other’s company and get some time in nature.

The AirBnB had a captivating title, “The Cabin in the Sky” and as the gravel road brought you around the crest of the mountain, you could see why. The wood cabin sat perched on the edge of a forest valley in the Olympic Peninsula. A panoramic view of the rolling temperate rainforest unfolded below.

“Holyyyyyyyy shit.” Caroline whistles as she gets out of the car.

“This is amazing!” says Simone, “I’m so excited, you guys!” As they unloaded the car, you made your way up to the front door. You punch in the code and the door swung open.

Inside was every bit the vision you hoped. A wide stone fireplace with full wrap around couches, a loft overlooking the main room and floor to vaulted ceiling windows captures a breathtaking view. The sturdy logs of the cabin, the flannel blankets, the rustic appliances. Yes, this could be a damn fine weekend.

###

“Never have I ever . . . slept with my boss!” Announces Simone. You, Caroline and Tanya all drink. Pixie looks on in mock shock, “Damn this is easy with you kinky bitches!”

“At this point, we should probably try really boring things to get each other.” said Tanya. “Never have I ever . . . made a pivot table on excel.” Damn, another drink down the hatch.

You laugh and get up to refill your glass and go to the bathroom. When you return, Caroline is standing in front of the fireplace shouting at the mounted Elk head.

“Listen here, you spooky old cabin, I am a powerrrrrful witch, and I command you to reveal your secrets to meeeeee!” Simone dissolves in a fit of laughter.

“It’s not going to just fork them over.” Pixie says. She gets up and tickles the Elk under its chin, “You have to tickle it! Goochie goochie goo!”

Ka-chunk! The metal sound of something hitting the ground reverberates through the room, instantly silencing the merry making.

Everyone gathers around as Pixie picks up the fallen wrought iron key.

“I think it was in the Elk’s mouth.” she says, a concerned look darkening her warm features. She holds up the key to the light and you recognize it’s heart shaped handle.

“Wait a minute . . .”

“Is that?”

“. . . Dan’s wedding?”

You, Simone and Tanya all start talking at once. Pixie holds up a hand imperiously.

“One at a time!” she commands.

You take a breath. “That looks like the keys were given when we all stayed at this hotel for Dan’s wedding. It was a strange hotel, full of secret passages and . . . rooms to have sex in.”

You blush at the memories. Pixie looks inquisitively from Tanya, to Caroline to Simone. Caroline nods.

“Yep, she pretty much covered it.” Simone gingerly picks up the key.

“So this friend of yours . . .” Pixie began.

“Dan.” you answer.

“Why Dan?” Simone mutters under her breath, prompting a suppressed chuckle from you and Tanya.

“He had you all stay at a hotel in . . .”

“In Tacoma, way the hell on the other side of the Sound.” finishes Caroline. “So how’d this get here?”

Tanya steps forward and snatches it out of Pixie’s hands.

“Are we going to theorize about this all night or are we going to figure out what the heck it opens?”

And with that, the search was on. The five of you ransack the house, upstairs and down, trying the key at every door, nook and cranny until finally you come to a closet tucked in Simone’s room.

The closet door was tall and thin, faded green wood with a simple lock. The door had refused to open when Simone had first arrived, so her suitcase was set on the bed but now the whole crew had gathered in her room as she slid the iron key effortlessly into the lock.

CLICK. The door swung open revealing a narrow set of stairs leading down into some sort of basement, set into the mountain.

“ooOOOoo” said Caroline. “I’m getting wicked weird energy here.”

“Ya think?!” Tanya says, clicking the flashlight on her phone. Thankfully, the liquid courage you all had consumed was enough to quiet any fears as you made your way down into the cellar door.

The narrow stairs led down to a dim basement. Tanya clicked on the light revealing piles and piles of strange artifacts. Everyone fans out through the space. As the last one down the stairs, you survey the scene. While most of the antiques are just what you would expect, old cookware or faded furniture, a few items catch your eye.

In the far corner, on top of an ornate engraved wood table is a massive glass bottle propped on its side. Within the bottle, a three-mast ship is contained. A brass plate next to the bottle offers more insight.

In the center of the room, two arabic curved swords are mounted on a rack, strange writing engraved on the blades themselves.

In the far right, a full suit of armor, dull and rusty, stands at attention, holding a polearm with a banner attached.

Near the stairs, an iron lantern with a red wicket hangs above a pile of colorful silk.

Hanging next to some faded gowns, you see an ornately decorated masquerade ball mask with feather and glittering jewels.

Finally, tucked at the very back of the room, you see a small tiki idol, a hunched carved totem surrounded by coconut shells.

Making your way through the piles of old things, you come to the aging clothes rack. You finger the beautiful flowing brocade but your hands land on the large silver and gold masquerade mask. Small pearls are inlaid in gold weaves around the eyes while the gold filigree forms leaves and flowers across the top. A simple black cloth strap is attached to either side.

“That’s gorgeous!” Pixie says glancing over from the hanging gowns that have captured the seamstress’ eye.

You put the mask up to your face, tying the cloth strap.

WHOOSH

A woman jostles into you and a stagger to the right, your gown swishing around you. You look around in confusion at the crowd of color people around you.

“Sorry love, got a bit carried away.” Says the woman, helping you up. Her words don’t seem to match up with her lips but you barely have time to register that as your eyes sweep the elaborate ballroom. Broad staircases, a giant chandelier with a million candles, masks and hats and gowns everywhere. Glittering gold trim framing white windows and dramatic paintings.

“Where . . what?” You stammer, but the woman has already gone, swept up in the throng of dancers as the music strikes up, full cellos and soaring strings as the sound of hundreds of feet clap to the ground in rhythm.

You push your way to the side of the dance floor to try and get your bearings. This is spectacular!

A full masquerade ball! Whether this is some weird hallucination or dream, you are ready for it. You consider taking the mask off, would that end the vision? Possibly, better not risk it right away.

“Pardon me, mademoiselle, may I have the pleasure of the next dance with you?” A tall man in black boots, a ruffled black shirt and a tri-cornered hat has appeared next to you. You focus on his face as his lips don’t seem to quite line up with the words you are hearing. His dark slightly curled hair fell below his jaw, mostly hidden under a tri-corner black hat, framed his jet black domino mask.

Before you have a chance to object, he slides his white gloved hand behind your back and the two of you are whisked away to the floor of the ball. Your legs quickly fall into the familiar steps as the world twirls around you. Familiar? You look down to your feet and quickly stumble. The man gracefully helps you recover.

“Tut tut. Eyes up here.” He says and the two of you return to the spinning swirl of colorful coats and gowns.

“What brings you to the house of Orsini? Are you a friend of Count Orsini? Or maybe his wife, Countess Maria?”

“Uh, just passing through. I’m traveling.” You fumble trying to remember to place which Doctor Who episode you seem to be living through. Is it one with a dark secret or did you just need to avoid messing with the timeline?

“I’m an artist.” you explain. He smiles knowingly. “Yes, the Count is quite fond of his paintings, he seems to think he is a Medici. But you know what they say, Orsini iron is paid for with Medici gold!” He laughed at his own joke as you jot down “Renaissance Italy” as your location.

The song comes to an end as you arrive at the base of the staircase.

“I don’t think we have been properly introduced. My name is Orlando De Borromeo of Trento. Who do I have the pleasure of entertaining this evening?”

“I’m Brenna McCormac of Washington.” You try and put on some airs into it but his eyes just look amused.

“Gaelic? Certainly you aren’t a Protestant, now are you?” You shake your head and laugh.

“Now that is a relief. Now, what would you like to do next? Shall we explore this big rich house and find some works of art? Or would you like to meet the Count and Countess? I’d be happy to introduce you.”

“I would like to meet the Count and Countess!” Orlando claps his hands together.

“Wonderful!” with a little swirl of his cloak, he gestures you up the stairs toward the balcony. From up here, the mass of whirling colorful masked dancers became a kaleidoscope sea. Reaching the landing, Orlando approaches a couple. A tall broadly built gentleman in a blue long coat with golden yellow hat, next to brunette with fabulous long curls piled on top of her head in a honey-yellow dress, accentuating her waspish figure. They turn as you approach, the gentleman adjusts his red mask with goat horns from the top while she wears a tasteful black domino mask and holds a pair of opera glasses in her white gloved hands.

“Good evening, Count and Countess Orsini, thank you again for opening your most beautiful home for tonight’s festivities.” The Count gestures dismissively,

“Yes, yes, Orlando, it is a fine party.” The Countess drops her Opera glasses to her side and gives you a ravishing look up and down . . and your mouth drops open in surprise.

“Pixie?!” You blurt out. She looks amazing, dressed to the nines with jewels, dress and mask.

“Pardon?” She says, confused. Orlando leaps in,

“My apologies, allow me to introduce my new friend, the lovely Brenna de McCormac of Washington.”

You give your best attempt at a curtsy, your mind racing. Did she get dropped into this timeline too? Or is this some ancestor?

“Mmmm, you are right Orlando, she is quite lovely . . .” the Countess taps her cheek thoughtfully.

“Now dear . ..” the Count begins but she ssshh him with a wave.

“Hush now. Tell me, my dear, where is Washington? I’m not familiar with that Province.”

“It is up North, I’m afraid. I’m an artist and traveling quite far from home.” You skirt the truth and try to ignore the heat on your cheeks.

“An artist, fantastic!” she exclaims. The Count gives an exasperated sound but the Countess sweeps past him and links your arm. “Come, I must show you some of the works of art here, I think you will find them breathtaking.” and with that, the two of you wander swiftly away leaving Orlando and the Count behind at the balcony.

Your path takes you into a cavernous marble hallway with vaulted ceilings lit by candle sconces.

“Thank you for rescuing me.” She confesses once you are safely out of earshot. “If I had to listen to my husband ramble on about mining shipments one more time, I would have thrown myself from that balcony in a heartbeat.” She gave a warm belly laugh.

“I’m happy to help.” You study her face, it is definitely Pixie, her voice, her laugh. In fact, the lips seem to be in sync with the words as you hear them. Was she speaking english and the others Italian?

“Where did you grow up?” You ask, hoping she will give some indication of being Pixie, but no, she unspools a tale of a childhood in Venice.

“Unfortunately, my father caught me in a delicate position with one of my schoolmates behind the chapel and had me married off immediately to the Orsini’s.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Delicate position?” She gives you a naughty glance.

“Well, I was on my knees, praying to the almighty. Unfortunately for my father, Maria was on the altar before me as I kissed the gates of heaven.” She laughs, her eyes never leaving your face.

“I hope I haven’t scandalized you . . .” she says. You shake your head.

“No no, that sounds rather pleasant actually.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” she steers you towards a discrete staircase at the back of the hallway that winds upwards.

“Tell me, oh beautiful Brenna of Washington, what brought you here tonight? What attracted you to a masquerade?” Your steps echo in the tower as the staircase opens into a narrow carpeted hallway and firm wooden door. She opens the door leading to an expansive bedroom. Up against one wall, a four poster bed with lace curtains drawn. There’s a massive wardrobe, a fireplace, a full vanity, a door towards a bathroom and a double door that leads out to a balcony.

“Uh. . . well, I found a mask and thought this would be fun to explore.” you fumble. She stands in front of the balcony, and in a swift motion, disconnects her large skirt, showing her shift and bloomers, while keeping her mask and corset in place.

“And what else would you like to explore?” She asks, closing the distance between you and putting her hand on your hips. “Because, I very much would like to see what you are hiding behind that mask.”

You gently redirect her hand down to your dress, “I’m not so sure, I like to maintain an air of mystery.” You reply. She looks at you sharply.

“Hmmm, I will allow that for now. Take that dress off and I may let it pass.” You fumble with the unfamiliar latches, hook and eye fasteners. She becomes impatient, pushing your hands out of the way and uncinching your skirt in one practiced move, leaving you in your shift and bloomers. She pushes you over towards the bed, forcibly leaning your forward as her hands fly along the back of the gown, loosening the laces on the bodice.

“Enough of this dreadful thing, I want to see you.” She slides the bodice over your head and with one sudden shove, pushing you back onto the bed.

Her eyes glitter behind the dark domino mask as she bites the middle finger of her white glove and slowly pulls one, then the other glove off. You move to sit up but she springs on you, pinning your legs between her thighs as she presses a hot sudden kiss onto your lips. Her fingers, fierce and demanding, roam your body, pulling roughly at your nipples and tugging your bloomers down below your knees.

“Here, let me . . .” you begin but she slaps your hands away. The Countess is not to be denied. Her fingers find their mark, working their way into your sex. You give a guttural cry at the sudden intrusion but she quickly works your clit, fast and vigorous and the world dissolves into a gasping wave of pleasure.

“Uuhhhhhh” you arch your back, pressing your pussy into her hand as she works you faster and harder. With her other hand, she rips open your shift, revealing your full breasts. She devours one hungrily, sucking at it, flicking the hard nipple between your teeth. You feel the waves of pleasure building, building . . and then she pulls her hand away. You snap open your eyes to see her removing her bloomers and hiking up her shift around her taut tummy.

She climbs back on you, putting her knees on either side of your shoulders and lowers her nether lips down to your face. You adjust the mask so it stays in place as she presses down. You lick, tentative at first but she grinds into you, passionate and demanding. You swirl your tongue around her clit, frantic and eager to please.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” She shouts her pleasure above you, pounding on the headboard as you bring her to the heights of ecstasy. She reaches back and rakes your thighs with her nails, bearing down her sex into your face as a warm gush of pleasure flows onto you.

“AAAHHHhhhhhhh” she shudders through her release. She leans forward, her breath slows as she begins to descend, shifting her weight off you. You are anxious, your own body begging for release.

“Mariaaaaaa?!” You hear the Count’s voice booming up the spiral staircase.

“Shit!” She shouts. “My husband. He mustn’t find you here, else he will rend his perverse pleasures on both of us. Quick, we must do away with you!”

You yank your bloomers up and make a mad scramble for the wardrobe, the Countess hot on your heels. You throw open the wardrobe and she shoves you inside, slamming it closed behind you. The doors are ill-met and you can peer through the crack as you see the Count storm into the room.

“Maria? Where is she?!” he demands, his eyes full of fire.

“Where is who?” The Countess has restored her wardrobe to some sense of decency, her arms crossed defiantly.

“The girl. That doe-eyed girl you took from the party!”

“Her? Oh she got bored and headed back to dance,” the Count pays no mind to her, making a bee line for the rumbled sheets of the bed. He crouches down, peering under the bed.

“Maria, I know you, I know who draws your eye . . .”

“You, my dear. You draw my eye.” He gives that a dismissive snort.

“My gold draws your eye, you coddled queen. If it weren’t for the iron we pull from these hills, the fire of these forges, there would be none of your daring escapades with servant girls.” He flings open the doors to the balcony, jabbing his hands angrily out into the night air.

She draws herself up to full height.

“How dare you!” she stomps over to the vanity and flings a hairbrush at the Count.

“Oh, you think I don’t know? You think I don’t see you taking your pleasure from every bosomed lady in waiting that enters this house?” He ducks the oncoming barrage of flung objects.

“Now where is she?!” He flings open the door to the bathroom.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, you bolt out of the wardrobe towards the open doors of the balcony. As you skid into the cool night air, you throw one worried look behind you to see the Countess blowing you a kiss.

“The wardrobe! You stuffed your little harlot in there didn’t you?” The count roars.

“Don’t you dare!” The Countess puts herself between the advancing husband and the hastily closed wardrobe.

You crouch, your shift torn, and survey the scene. From this balcony, you see some hedges down below but the front yard has several party goers mingling about amongst the paper lanterns. They seem unperturbed by the marital spat occurring directly above them.

“Pssst! deSweeney!” You hear a familiar voice down below. Next to the hedges, Orlando is standing with a cloak over his arm. He gives you a beckoning wave. You hear a crash behind you and make your choice.

You leap, and land in a deafening cacophony of snappy branches and smushed leaves, but completely unharmed. Orlando helps you up, pulling some laurel leaves out of your hair, as a few of the guests look over in amusement. You are suddenly quite aware of your bosoms, laid mostly bare to the evening light, by the Countess’ vigorous efforts. Orlando hands you the cloak which you gratefully accept.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Orlando smiles. “Because you went for a walk with the Countess! All beautiful women who enter her bedroom exit out the window. It is the Orisni way!”

He walks you away from the house down the steps into the garden, a dizzying maze of hedges and flowers.
“Do you often catch women falling out of her bedroom?” You ask. He gives a broad smile.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“Oh, so there is kissing involved.”

“Only if I am very lucky.” You give him a playful smile but your eyes are caught by a small building next to the hedge maze. It is a sloping tool shed, no bigger than an outhouse, but the door, the door was incredibly familiar. You walk closer, yes, tall and thin with faded green paint. The door is exactly like the door in Simone’s bedroom that led to the cellar.

“Do you have a need for some garden shears or maybe a shovel?” Orlando quipped. You lean close, yes it even smells a little like the cabin.

You take his hand, and with a coy smile, lead him into the hedge maze. “Come on, Orlando, try to keep up.” and dash into the hedge maze. With a delighted cry, he races after you as you turn this way and that, getting lost in the tall shrubbery.

The path weaves this way and that, past marble carvings and colorful flowers. You hear laughter behind you as Orlando races after you into the maze. The soft grass is kind to your bare feet as you fly past the iron wrought sculptures and full hedges.

With a burst of speed, Orlando overtakes you, grabbing your wrist and pinning you up against a soft hedge. He swoops in with a hot kiss that takes your breath away. You return it with fire, using one hand to keep the mask firmly in place. His hand snakes inside the rip in your shift, caressing your breast. Your pulse races, after all, the Countess left you high and dry and you need some relief. You fumble with the laces on his breeches, pulling his cock out into the night air.

He leans back in delight as you stroke him to hardness. “Very good.” he groans. You slide your bloomers down and spread out on the soft grass. Orlando crawls between your legs and presses his lips to your hot sex. You shudder in the delight, already hot and bothered from the Countess earlier. You pull him up impatiently.

“I’m coming, my lady.” He says, burying his face in your breasts.

“Not yet, you’re not.” You say, guiding his hard cock into your wet depths. You groan as he fills you, full and hard.

“Oh my!” He moaned, sliding in and out of you. You raise your legs, allow him to reach deeper and deeper inside.

“Fuuuuck.” He thrusts become more violent, faster and faster. He reaches down, working your clit with his deft fingers. Your own crescendo builds, powerful and strong and then it hits you. Your orgasm comes, hard and fast as you gasp out your pleasure.

“Oh god!” you moan as he continues to ride you, onwards and through your pleasure. The gush of wetness urges him on as he erupts inside of you, spurt after spurt filling you up.

“Uughhhhh.” He sighs above you, a contented smile filling his dark features behind that ridiculous mask, his black curly hair dangling down onto your chest. You gently roll him off of you, sitting up as you fumble for your bloomers.

Down at the end of the hedge corridor, you see a tall thin figure outlined in the moonlight. He is there but a moment before vanishing around the corner but you swear it was the hotel clerk from Dan and Emma’s wedding, dressed in modern clothes! You shake your head – it was only a glimpse but the image left you unnerved.

Orlando is sprawled out on his back, watching the stars between the hedge walls.

“I have been blessed by God to have a vision of the most holy rapture, ah! The divine ecstasy of heaven exists here on earth . . and lies between your legs, your beautiful sumptuous legs!” He fondles your calf idly as you shimmy your bloomers back on.

You extend a hand and help Orlando to his feet, he leans in and gives you another head-spinning kiss. You return the favor by helping him fit his cock back in his breaches and get all laced up again. Once you are both slightly more decent, you make your way back out of the maze, peering around each corner, hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange hotel clerk but alas, nothing more than another couple necking in the shadow of a large tree.

Rounding the last turn, you find yourself once again at the garden shed with the all-too familiar door. As you make your way towards it, Orlando laughs.

“This again, beautiful? Do you really have need for some late night planting? I thought we laid enough seeds a few moments back.” He laughs but allows himself to be led by the arm to the small building.

Yes, it is definitely the same wood and design, the old faded green paint is even flaking in the same spots as in Simone’s bedroom. The doorknob is a lock, just the same and this time, you don’t have a heart-shaped key. You reach forward and twist the knob just to be sure.

It turns! Unlocked! You open the door to black void rushing at you. You turn back as Orlando slips from arm, his confusion hidden behind his black mask as the void swallows him up.

THUNK.

You jolt, as if suddenly landing on hard concrete although you are certain your feet never left the ground. You look around, you are back in the cellar with Simone, Tanya and Caroline milling about, pouring through the antiques. Your hands are empty, your face bare. The rack in front of you still holds several gowns but the mask is nowhere to be seen.

You look around frantically. Caroline looks over concerned,

“Hey Brenna, you alright?” You take a breath to compose yourself.

“Yeah, I just . . . hey, where’s Pixie?” Caroline looks at you incredulously.

“Um, probably still in Canada.” Caroline says, confused.

“Like an ass.” Tanya says. “Since she freaking ditched us.”

“What do you mean?”

Caroline looks at you oddly. “She couldn’t get one of the days off and then something else came up even though we told her way in advance and she bailed. We literally bitched about it for like an hour on the drive up? Were you asleep?”

You rack your brain. What is going on? This is too weird. Your eyes sweep the cellar. The girls have gone back to investigating the contents of the room – Tanya has put on some music on her cell phone while occasionally holding something up to peer at it closer. You try to center and refocus. What to do next?

You make your way over to the far corner of the cellar where a large clear jug has been sitting on its side. The ship was a three-masted sail ship with cannon ports and rather busty carving on its prow. You glance at the brass plate next to it. “The Solomon, West Indies, 1710”. You take a deep breath and press both hands to the glass bottle.

WHOOSH.

The wet planks of the ship deck pitches beneath your feet as you stumble to your knees.

“Steady, Steeeeaaaaady!” you hear a cry. You look around, trying to get your bearings in the hot driving rain.

Yes, you are standing on the deck of that ship, the three masts stretching high above you, tipping back and forth in the storm. Men and women move swiftly about the deck, jostling you as they push past. The deck rocks back and forth, as you scan the grey skies, the pouring rain clouds with hot tropical rain. You look down, a dark fabric shirt is tucked into a tight fitting over-tunic with cloth wrap pants, cinched at the ankle. A slim dagger hangs in a sheath on your belt and your hair is tied in a ponytail with a cloth strap. You crack a big grin – PIRATES!

“Enough lollygagging, girl, pitch in!” The beefy man next to you gives you a nudge as you see half the crew has gathered on the main deck and pulling on ropes, lifting something out of the water. Up on the quarterdeck, you see a tall older white man with a square jaw and a trimmed dark beard, with a golden spyglass at his belt, gesturing to a massive black man, shirtless, who then echoed the orders to men on the sails. A young Viggo Mortensen and Quartermaster Michael B. Jordan? This could be a good crew to know.

A gasp comes up amongst the sailors, drawing your eyes back to the main deck. They had hauled it on board. A massive boulder – no – it had a shine to it – this was metal. You press forward with the crowd, closing in. The hunk of metal was rough, as tall as you stand and easily twice that distance around.

“So that’s what a fallen star looks like,” says the beefy sailor next to you. “When the captain saw it fall, I thought him mad, but this? Who knows what things could be made with that metal?” You notice, as before at the masquerade, that his words don’t seem to quite line up with his lips. There is no delay, more dubbing. That’s it, like a movie that had been expertly dubbed.

One of the sailors was scratching the orb with his knife, but the blade left no mark.

“Secure it below deck!” Shouts the quartermaster. The crew opens the hold and unceremoniously, shoves it in, landing with a sickening crunch down below, prompting a dense string of profanity from the quartermaster.

Already, men and women are climbing up the rigging to get the sails configured for movement, as the anchor is hauled back up from the murky depths. Even with the wind and the rain, the salty tropical air feels alive, magical, and the sounds of the ship exhilarating.

You make your way up the steps of the sterncastle deck, the term rising unbidden from some recess of your mind. More knowledge from the setting, you theorize. Like knowing the dance at the ball, but not the host’s name. Oh Pixie. I hope she is alright. You push the concern aside, can’t be helped now. Focus on the present. Or this present, which is in the past.

The captain stands near the door to the navigation room, the spyglass up to his face, staring grimly off the port. You squint, peering past him, and see the black sails. He collapses the spyglass and looks over to you.

“I’m afraid things are going to get rocky, lass, are you any good with a blade?” You shake your head.

“Then you may want to get below decks for a little bit and if it is your fashion, perhaps offer some prayers. We are pursued by the Merry Critchett.” The name meant nothing to you but his tone offered all the context needed. Before you can speak, he sweeps past you, barking orders to the men in the rigging and hauling on the wheel to turn the ship about.

This may be a dream, or a vision or time travel but you aren’t taking any chances. You scurry beneath as the ship groans, turning about and tacking into the wind. The rain drips down, between the boards in the main deck turning the dark interior of the ship into a wet slippery maze. You fumble your way past the head towards the aft of the ship when you hear the dull boom of distant cannons.

CRUNCH! KACRUNCH! Wood shrapnel explodes behind you as a hole materializes in the side of the ship where you stood not a moment hence. Peaking out, you see the Merry Critchett drawing near, then the flash of their cannons again and you pull your head back in.

You need to get somewhere safer. But where? You scramble down the hallway, wracking your brain desperately for any titbits of information. If you can remember a few dance steps, surely you have something useful?

You hear the sound of blades being drawn and the crack of pistols up above. The boats must be closing the distance. Ah yes! You have it!

You are beneath the navigation room. You round the corner and scramble up a short ladder into the sterncastle deck, leaping over some coiled rope, you skid past the dumbwaiter to the gally and throw open the door to the captain’s quarters – the only door with a lock on it in the whole ship.

You slam the doors shut and click the lock and quickly survey the room, a small bed is adjacent to a fortified portico, a stern lantern swings to and fro in the middle of the cramped room, the thick sturdy desk dominates the middle of the room, with number of boxes stacked half haphazardly on the fair side. It is far smaller than you expect but you aren’t going to be picky. You hear a blood-curdling scream above you and seem a body fly past the portico, splashing into the water below.

You scramble behind the desk, pulling your knees to your chest and draw the knife, offering a quick prayer to Poseidon, and then Athena, and then realizing the contradiction, Hecate, Artemis and Zeus to cover your bases.

CRACK. The door to the Captain’s quarters splinters in a single kick. You will yourself to be as silent as possible. You hear boots on the wood deck, a smash of something getting tipped over, then a hand grabs and hauls you to your feet. You brandish the blade but quick as lighting, a small hand grabs your wrist, bending it painfully backwards till you drop the knife. You are shoved back onto the desk.

The lantern swings close revealing Tanya, in an eyepatch and a long black cloak, brandishing a cutlass to your throat.

You almost laugh but catch yourself as the blade begins to bite into your neck.

“What do you suppose we have here? The captain’s whore?” You hear laughter above you somewhere but your attention is focused entirely on Tanya. “She certainly is pretty enough.”

“Or maybe she is a cowardly crewmate, hiding while others do the dying for you.” Tanya’s eye searches you up and down, taking in your clothes, searching for clothes.

Tanya, or rather, the fearsome pirate wearing Tanya’s face, looks up and bellows to the crowd. “Or maybe she’s the captain’s daughter . . . and we all know what we pirate’s do with a captain’s daughter!” More hurrahs and laughter from the audience.

“Please, please, I just got here and . . .” you begin but aren’t really sure where to end that sentence. Thankfully, the pirate beats you to it,

“. . . you don’t want to die? That depends if you are any use to us. You see, we know those italian iron-mongers sent you out here to retrieve that lump of metal that is now being loaded into our hold. What we don’t know is the price that was promised. We plan to sell it back to them but would hate to undercut ourselves.”

The pirate withdraws the Cutlass, and wrenches the desk drawer open next to you, grabbing a fistful of correspondence.

“Now, clearly you speak flawless Spanish.” You try to keep the confusion from your face. “But unfortunately, all these documents are in Dutch. Now, a common whore probably is not going to be fluent in both dutch and spanish and know your letters. So I will probably turn you over to my crew to have their way with you. The captain’s daughter? With some of that expensive education? Now I could put that to use, until I tire of your and turn you over to my crew. A crewmate of this ship? I would be oath-bound, as a fellow sailor, to return you to your shipmates where you would await your fate together.”

She leans in close, her breath hot as she pushes you back onto the desk.

“So tell me, my beautiful new friend, which are you?”

You find your voice. “I’m the Captain’s Daughter.” you assert, trying to fill your voice with as much confidence as you can muster. The pirate looks you up and down, bemused.

“You do seem to be suffering from an overabundance of education. Chiho! Please deposit the princess in my quarters, I will be there once we have finished here. And the rest of you lot,”

She swung her saber in the direction of the door, where several men and women had gathered. “You are welcome to anything not tied down. Remember, food stuff goes to the galley, no hoarding and anything with paper or writing comes to me.” A lusty cheer went up as the crowd dispersed.

You stand on wobbly legs, as the pirate with Tanya’s face turns her back to you and begins rummaging through the cabinets next to the Captain’s bed. You are about to speak when you feel a massive hand on your back, the thumb and forefinger nearly encircling your entire shoulder. You look up.

A behemoth of a man, shirtless with dark beautiful skin the color of cocoa smiles down at you. He is twice as wide as you are, his waist easily level with your chest, stooping slightly in the cramped quarters. His face is open and though the smile seems slightly predatory, his eyes are kind. A white scar winds its way across his throat, marring his otherwise breathtaking features.

“Oh, you must be Chiho. Hi.” He nods and gestures towards the door, his arm almost reaching all the way to the door frame. With your hulking escort, you make your way up the ladder to the navigation room, trying to ignore the body of the helmsman, crumpled in the corner, and out onto the quarterdeck.

From here you can see the Merry Chritchett, a three-mast black sailed ship, bristling with cannons and crawling with colorfully garbed pirates. They have opened up the hold and hauled the meteorite out of this ship – suspending it in air from the mizzenmast. There it shimmers in the driving rain, and through all the driving rain, the shouts of the crew and the pounding of boots on the deck, you can swear you hear a faint drumming noise, just at the edge of your perception, coming from the meteorite.

Chiho puts his hand firmly on the middle of your back and gives you a gentle push forward, and makes a soft clicking noise with his tongue, pointing towards the edge of the boat.

“Yes, sorry. Just taking it in.” The two of you come to the edge of the boat. The gap between the boats seemed vast. Chiho gives the odd clicking noise again.

“You want me to jump.” He gives you a stern nod. “Are you kidding me?!” He is impassive.

You look back, it’s too far. Oh god, it’s too far. You take a step back, and prepare to run and jump. You take two steps and WHOMP.

Chiho intervenes, and you face plant into his chest. He throws back his head, laughing soundlessly.

“You jackass.” You punch him playfully in the shoulder. He bends low and scoops you up, his arms under your knees and back and with a smooth motion, leaps the gap between the boats.

He lands with a heavy thud on the other ship. The other pirates leer your way but a stern look from Chiho discourages any idle hands. He leads you down the stairs towards the captain’s quarters, behind a heavy door painted with a single Black Orchid.

Inside, you see a full bed in the far corner, a small contained library in cabinets in the wall, a standing table and multiple hanging baskets filled with spider plants. He points towards the bed and makes a “stay” motion. He reaches into a locker at the base of the bed and fishes out a warm cloth to dry your soaked clothes.

You pat your chest and waist, trying to get dry from the soaking rain. Chiho’s eyes cling to your curves as he moves to the far corner of the room. You are about to say something when the pirate wearing Tanya body stomps into the room, her hands bristling with reams of paper.

She looks at you, sitting demurely on her bed and then shoots Chiho an accusatory look.

“Not even tied up? You do have a soft spot for this one.” Chiho looks down at his feet and blushes. Tanya rounds back to you.

“Well, are you going to be a problem?” You shake your head, your long brown hair, still wet from the rain, tossing all over your shoulders. Tanya leers at you with her unpatched eye.

“What do you think of the Merry Critchett and her captain, the Black Orchid!” she strikes a pose. Ah, at least now you have a name. She searches your face for a reaction but garnering none, she briskly moves on.

“Hmmm, well, I might just tie you up for good measure. Let’s see how this goes.”

She lays out a roll of paper in front of you. The words blur, shift and arrange into neat, handwritten english sentences, detailing a sale agreement between the Orsini metalworks and the Dutch shipping vessel the Gourden Leeuw, detailing the time, delivery and amounts due by each party.

The Black Orchid is studying your face intently as your eyes move across the page.

“Well?” You have to think fast.

“I can read it but I won’t share a word unless you guarantee my safety.” She snatches the paper away from you.

“Guarantee? Guarantee! I don’t think you understand quite the predicament you are in, princess.” She places one leather boot on your chest and presses you down into her bed.
“Obviously, you require some persuasion to see our way of doing business. CHIHO!” she snaps. He lumbers over and puts a giant hand on your chest, effortlessly pinning you to the bed, his face vaguely apologetic. The Black Orchid, moving viper fast, slices through the ties on your wrap pants, yanking them roughly off your body.

You twist this way and that, but she catches your ankles, one by one, and secures them fast with a strap. She crawls back up your body, her leather bodice rubbing against the exposed skin of your legs, then your thighs, her fingers roaming up your body as Chiho lifts his hand off your chest and looms nearby.

She presses her slender body against yours and whispers in your ear,

“I was rather hoping you were going to require some persuasion, it has been a little while since I have had a chance to enjoy a lass as beautiful as you. Of course, it has been even longer for Chiho. You see, with his size and lack of persuasive skills, he has yet to enjoy the pleasure of female companionship for many a year, and I fear he has a terrible yearning for it.”

Her skillful fingers bury themselves between your legs and start working your clit, quick and deft, bringing your breath in gasps.

“So I am asking you to reconsider your position. What say you?”

“I’ll never speak a word unless you ensure my safety!” Your words ragged, betraying your arousal. She works her slender fingers in and out of your cleft.

“I was hoping you would say that.” She gives a wicked grin, her dark hair shining in the pale grey light from the cabin window. She withdraws from you for a moment, shrugging her long coat to the floor and unstrapping her bodice. She glances over her shoulder, where Chiho is awkwardly standing next to the bed, watching intently. You can see the outline of his large cock stuffed down the leg of his wrap pants, throbbing to be free.

“Hold her arms.” the Pirate commands. Chiho moves to the head of the bed, and grabs your arms, his face apologetic but his eyes ravishing your curves.

Free of her bodice, the pirate peels off her blouse letting her small breasts fall free, tipped with plum colored nipples, erect and ready. She crawls between your legs and you feel her breath, hot on your thigh. She nips at the soft inner part of your leg and you quiver with excitement.

“Ooooh, you are hot to trot.” She purrs, wrapping her hands around your legs to steady herself. You feel her tongue begin to trace the outline of your nether lips. You writhe, your whole body coming alive but the straps hold your legs taut and Chiho barely waivers.

She swirls her tongue, fast and quick, around your clit while working two fingers in and out, pressing against that perfect spot inside. You are gasping as she goes faster and faster and then pause. She waits, and you scream in frustration.

“Will you help us?” She purrs. The smug look fitting oddly well onto Tanya’s soft features.

“Fuck you!” You shout. She reaches up and strokes Chiho’s cock through his pants, her hand cupping the large head, already soaking the cloth with his pre-cum. He gives an appreciative rumble.

She reaches down, fondling your sex, keeping the fire going. You shut your eyes, turning your head, trying to block it out. You feel her hand leave and then a strap tightening around each wrist, attaching your body to the bed. Now everything was tied down, although the ropes were loose enough that you could move somewhat. With you secure, Chiho moves to the foot of the bed. His eyes never leave you as the Black Orchid removes his pants.

She turns back to you, and lays open your shirt, your breasts standing tall with the arousal before she returns between your legs, working your sex with her lips and fingers.

“Ah! AH! AH! AH!” You pant wordlessly as the crescendo builds, roaring in your ears, the sensation rising . . . and then she pulls away. You scream your rage.

“Now now, look at what you’ve done to poor Chiho.” The Black Orchid slides off the bed revealing Chiho, his broad shouldered chest heaving. In his massive right hand, he holds his cock. Even in his oversized features, it looks large and thick, his pendulous balls hanging down below like grapefruits, the tip dripping with pre-cum.

“Do you know how long it has been since he has felt a woman? And now, to have one as beautiful as you, here, wet and . . . well, not really willing, but still. Oh, it’s going to be brutal.”

Chiho stands there, naked, muscles tense, eyes locked on yours, searching for . . .something. Permission? Forgiveness? You try to speak but the Black Orchid grabs your face and turns you towards her.

“Last chance princess, are you going to help us?” You set your jaw. “Not unless you guarantee . . .” but she stomps away before you can even finish.

“Your funeral!” She shouts as she closes the door to her cabin, leaving you alone with Chiho.

He kneels between, pushing your legs wider and wider to fit around his midsection. Your mind races, your heart pounds in your ears, oh god, oh god. You feel the bulbous head of his cock pressing against your wet and throbbing pussy – it’s so thick, you feel yourself stretching just to accommodate it’s girth as he holds it just at the entrance.

His body stretches up above you, your eyes level with his broad chest. He looks down, his eyes searching yours, one hand guiding his cock, the other holding himself above you on the bed. You start rocking your hips, pushing against him, rocking that thick cock against your clit, desperate for that relief. He catches your gaze and you give him the slightest of nods.

He slowly, agonizingly slowly, pushes himself inside of you. Filling you, pressing against you from the inside, inch by inch. Your whole core is taut, your pussy convulsing as he puts pressure on every part of you from within. You look down, and he’s only halfway inside. You arch your back, rolling your hips to try and accommodate him but you feel that pleasure building, shaking you like a shuddering engine.

Your eyes fly open in shock, usually you need some sort of stimulation to the clit to get you off but this is too much, she got you too close, your moist sex is squeezing him, rhythmically as you get closer and closer to that peak.

You feel his pubis touch yours as he finally bottoms out within you. He grinds down with hips and that sends you over the edge, your legs clenching uncontrollably on his back, your eyes rolling back in your head as the blinding hot orgasm sweeps through your body.

When your breath returns to you, you find him still there, holding himself perfectly still inside you, not having moved an inch. You give him an embarrassed smile which he returns and then ever so slowly pulls up slowly, tenderly. Oh, to be so open and empty, but then he slides all the way back into you, driving the breath from your lungs. Again, and again, he thrusts, his large balls slapping against your backside, the bed creaking under the furious assault.

To be taken, and used so fully, you twist this way and that against your restraints until finally he gives a shuddering gasp and you feel his balls jump. He tenses and floods your pussy with gallons of cum, filling you up and flowing out of you like a river as he disengages. You give a satisfied moan as he slumps forward onto you, careful not to give you his full weight.

As his breathing slowly returns to normal, you feel something wet on your cheek, looking up, you see tears pouring from his eyes.

“Oh Chiho!” you say, moving to reach up to comfort him but your hands are bound. He kisses you on the forehead, cupping your face in his hands and then sits up. He glances over to the door, and then back to you surreptitiously. He puts a finger to his lips.

Surprisingly deft for his sausage sized fingers, he quickly undoes your straps, freeing you from the bed and the small puddle around your waist. You rub your wrist and quickly gather your clothes. He retied his wrap pants and is moving a large chest as quietly as possible.

Underneath, there is a slender trapdoor. He points towards it and then you and then it. You throw it open, quickly descend down the ladder. Looking up, you see him blow you a grateful kiss before closing the trapdoor and sliding the chest back into place.

###

Your feet touch water, and you quickly swallow a startled gasp. The splash echoes through the space. Yes, this is the ship’s hold, it’s wet underbelly beneath the galley where they store waterproof barrels, and sand for ballast. A few dappled spots of light come in from somewhere far to the north, but there is little sound aside from the creaking of the wood of the ship and the slapping of the waves against the hull. The ship is moving swiftly now, and heading further into the storm, based on the way things are sloshing back and forth down here.

You wade your way through the hold when you start to hear it, that strange hum, just on the edge of your hearing. In the dim light, you see up ahead the hulking meteorite, grey and alien. As you approach, the surface of the metal seems to ripple and move.

Just beyond the meteorite, you see stairs up to the ship with a wood door with faded green paint. Faded green paint! You dash forward, sloshing your way through the hip high water. Yes, it is the same door to the cellar in the cabin, or the garden shed!

But now what to do –

You approach the meteorite. In the dim light and the sloshing water of the ship, the rippled surface bends and distorts your reflection, creating a constantly shifting mirage. You reach out and touch the surface of the orb . . .

And it was as if your whole body had been rung like a gong. You shake from your head to your toes with a teeth-chattering vibration as the water leaps up around you – freezing droplets in mid air and taking on an eerie blue glow.

We came from beyond. A voice that is not a voice whispers, like a forgotten memory rising, unbidden from the subconscious. The droplets form a glowing star and planets.

A world in crisis. One of the orbs of water fills with red cracks and shatters, sending tiny raindrops dripping down to the sloshing hold.

We fled, through the cold, vast expanse. A single tiny raindrop pauses in midair directly in front of your face, no larger than a fruit fly. It slowly makes its way to a larger droplet, a modeled green-blue orb of sloshing liquid suspended in air.

Tragedy strikes. The tiny droplet collides with the larger orb. We must rebuild. We must refuel. We must RETURN. The voice that is not a voice is urgent, pleading.

You who do not belong in this time. Find us in the future. Provide us what we need. Return us to our people. Return us and all you desire will be yours. Return us . . .

There’s a loud splash from the hatch underneath the Captain’s quarters and the sound of a blade being drawn. You snatch your hand away from the meteorite and stumble, still disoriented, towards the green door.

“You bitch, what have you done to my Chiho?!” you hear Black Orchid shouting as she slogs through the hip high water towards you. “He’s a blubbering fool now, you whore!”

You haul yourself out of the water and make the mistake of looking back. You see a dagger hurtling towards you just as you turn the knob of the green door. The knife stretches in mid air as darkness envelops your world, whisking the ship, the knife and all with it down into a lightless void.

THUNK

Your feet land on the cold, hard concrete of the cellar floor and you stumble slightly, knocking into the table. Simone looks up from an old book she had found as you steady yourself.

“Sounds like you need some water.” You look down at your suddenly dry clothes and shake your head. “No, no, I think I’m good.” you reply. Caroline is now looking at the tall gowns in the corner and Tanya and Pixie are nowhere to be seen. You feel your cheek, no blood from where the cannonball shrapnel had grazed your face, but you don’t want to rely on that for next time.

Looking at the empty table in front of you, it is clear the pattern has repeated. The ship in the bottle, and the brass name plate are gone.

Your mind races – so much, so quickly. You struggle to make sense of it all. What to do?

In the center of the room, two arabic curved swords are mounted on a rack, strange writing engraved on the blades themselves.

In the far right, a full suit of armor, dull and rusty, stands at attention, holding a polearm with a banner attached.

Near the stairs, an iron lantern with a red wicket hangs above a pile of colorful silk.

Finally, tucked at the very back of the room, you see a small tiki idol, a hunched carved totem surrounded by coconut shells.

Something else

You take a deep breath. Obviously, each jump means a person in the cabin disappears. Simone and Caroline, only two people left with you. You don’t want to be alone trying to unravel this but you need more information.

You survey the remaining objects. After the cannonballs and assault on the sailing ship, you want something a little less violent. That rules out the swords and probably the suit of armor. There’s the tiki idol in the corner but considering how things are going with the supernatural, that one could be intense.

You make your way next to the stairs where a small iron lantern, hanging on a metal ring mounted on the side of the cellar staircase. It’s old, with a red glass wicket. Underneath there are a couple of silk scarves or maybe table clothes, folded haphazardly.

Hmm . . no name plate or any other clues. The red light could mean a brothel? Guess there is only one way to find out. You reach out and touch the lantern.

WHOOOSH

The falling sensation feels longer, different somehow, like there’s a split second longer in the void before you slam down, hard, on a wooden bench, the jolt echoing through your body. You nearly drop the reins in your hands as you try and get your bearings.

“Hey there, Sally. No nodding off before we get to town.” You hear a gruff voice next to you. “Need me to take over?” The horses pull at the reins and you hand them over without comment.

Next to you on the bench, no, the seat of the wagon, is a broad shouldered man with sandy blonde hair, wrapped tightly in furs and a coat. It’s hard to make out beneath his broad brimmed hat and scarf but you’d peg him as Tom Hardy-ish.

Looking down at your own clothes, a thick coat, gloves, scarf, you are dressed much the same, and it is a good thing too, as the snow swirls around the horses as they plow through a forested road.

“Don’t worry, just a few more miles and we’re at the Silver Corner Saloon. You ever been to one of those silver houses up here in Idaho?” You shake your head.

“Well, let’s just say they do a great job of warming your bones. Sounds pretty good right now doesn’t it?” He gives a sharp laugh, like a bark, and then glances back at the bed of the wagon.

“Hey, we should be there in just a little bit, so when we get there, I’ll go in and work things out with Daisy. She’s the manager, and considering our cargo, I need to give her a heads up and arrange for our stay. If you take care of the horses and lock down the wagon. And remember, we are hauling some mining equipment. No need to go into details, just stick to the story, okay? Everything else is fine, we picked it up from the Colton railway line and are putting on the Columbia river when we get into the Oregon territory. But let’s keep the ‘what’ and ‘when’ a little discrete. No need to attract any attention to ourselves, got it?” You notice, with some relief, that the words match his lips, no more disorienting translation issues.

You nod and pull the coat in close around you. This may be a time travel jump or a hallucination or something but it definitely is bones cold. At least Italy and the Caribbean were warm. Your traveling companion skillfully urges the horses, six full draft horses, through the slush as you approach a single, cedar slabbed building nestled in a nook overlooking a snowy valley. Smoke rises from the chimney and a warm, fiery glow lights the windows of the three story building.

Your partner nudges the horses to the stables adjacent to the building and hops down from the seat, grabbing a leather satchel stowed behind the wagon bench.

“Let me get us all paid up. You good?” You give a curt nod and clamber down onto the snow, sinking up to your knees. Patting the horses gently, you let your fingers to the work, skillfully untying each horse and leading them to a stall with hay and oats, covering them with a warm horse blanket and tying them with a simple double hitch.

Dance steps, ship layouts and horse husbandry, that’s an odd collection of skills but you will take it. As you move about, you can feel the cold metal of a gun in its holster slapping against your thigh. You briefly consider leaving it in the wagon but considering the outcome of the last jump, best to at least keep it with you. Returning to the wagon, with no one around, you pull back the canvas cover separating the drivers area and the bed of the wagon.

Inside are rows and rows of metal ingots, covered with a blanket. As you touch one of them, you can hear the all too-familiar hum. So this is where that meteorite ended up, melted down and reforged into metal ingots, ready for use. The pieces are beginning to come together.

You secure the canvas cover and then the wood cabinet door separating the cargo from the drivers seat. Giving it once over, you lock the last couple of latches and then head inside the Silver Corner Saloon

Stomping the snow from your boots on the porch, you push open the wood door. It opens onto an expansive two story room, with a full fireplace, surrounded by couches, chairs and chaise lounges. On other side of the room, an expansive bar with wooden stools where your traveling companion is in deep conversation with a stout middle-aged woman. In the middle of the room, there are several round tables with wooden chairs where a couple scruffy men with bristly mustaches played cards. Up against the far wall, a young boy, about 13, plunked away at a honky tonk piano next to a spiral staircase up to the second floor balcony.

Leaning on the balcony railing, watching you enter, are two women. One, a buxom blonde, wore a red lace bodice that showed off her impressive chest complimented by a black ruffle skirt that barely reached her knees. The other was working a silk cloth between her hands absentmindedly. She wore a blue lace bodice, with a long halfskirt that showcased her slender legs and her red curls fell in curvy ringlets around her soft expressive face, Simone. You give her a warm smile and a bit of a wave. She gives you a flirty look and waves back.

Your traveling companion waves you over to the bar. “Sally!” he hollers. “Come meet Heather Bronstetter.” You shuffle your way through the furniture, past the card players, to the bar.

“Heather, is our host for this evening. She operates a damn fine establishment, if I do say so myself.” She punches him in the shoulder.

“That’s just ’cause you like the liquor and the ladies too much, Charlie.” Ah, yes, your companion has a name now. Charlie claps a hand to his chest,

“You wound me. The only lady I desire to see is you, my lovely dear.” She purses her lips, “You’ll be right up those stairs after two drinks, mark my words.” She gives you an aside glance,

“I hope this course talk isn’t affronting your delicate sensibilities.” You open your mouth to speak but Charlie jumps in.

“Sally, hell no! She’s been my right hand for the last two trips. I hope she takes over this route in a few years when I’m ready to retire.” You nod.

Heather gives you a warm smile. “Well, Charlie here has paid up your nights stay so enjoy a hot meal, some drinks and entertainment from either floor. When you are ready to call it a night, your room is #3.” She hands you a key, thankfully no heart shaped iron this time, and turns to fill a beer for Charlie.
You shake the cold from your coat, and adjust your belt. What to do now?

You know what you want. With a quick nod to Charlie and Heather, you head for the staircase. Charlie cackles, “You get it, Sally!” while Heather slaps his shoulder with a “hush, don’t be crude.”

You made your way past the old men with the cards, a few of them raising an eyebrow but you brush on past to the stairs. As you reach the top, the blonde swoops in close,

“Howdy there traveler! Are you looking for a nice hot bath, or something more?”

You take off your hat, and point to Simone, who is watching the activity below from her spot next to the balcony.

“Actually I was hoping to have a few words with your friend there,” pointing towards Simone with your hat.

“Delilah? Sure. If you’re all paid up with Heather, take your pick.” She takes a pause, looking you up and down. “Although, now that I think about it, you might be more of Del’s flavor anyway. Del? You’re up!”

“I’m coming, tell him I’m coming.” Simone in her blue lace and high boots comes over, barely noting you until she gets to your face.

“Oh! Oh sorry miss. Um . . .” she gave a little laugh of embarrassment, her cheeks turning slightly red. “What can I do for you?” You give her a smile.

“Well, what are you offering?”

“Oh! Um, usually for the boys who have been out running the cattle or working the silver mines, we have a hot bath, although to be honest, that’s usually more for our benefit than theirs. And then, if they are sore, I give them a rub down but by then, they usually want to take us to bed. And then it’s just do they want my hands, my lips or . . . you know” she gestures to her slender hips, giving them a little shimmy.

“So, I guess . . um . . that’s what I do for the boys. Do you want some of that?” Simone’s large almond eyes are watching you with . . . intrigue? Curiosity? Something more.

“Well . . . ” you begin. “Let’s pretend that I’m a man then, and draw me a nice hot bath and we can figure it out as we go along.” you say, your voice dripping with intention. She blushes and gives a little hop.

“Okay! Give me just a moment and then come into room number three.” She shuffles off, throwing you one quick glance over her shoulder before vanishing into the room.

The blonde, who has watched the whole encounter, rolls her eyes, and goes back to watching the crowd.

Down below, the piano player plunks along, the old men shuffle their cards, and Charlie is in the middle of some loud story with Heather. Still, there’s something not quite right with the scene below. You can’t quite put your finger on it – but it feels a little too pat. Like when your mom and dad are having a conversation in front of you that they clearly rehearsed.

“I’m ready, miss . . . ” You hear Simone’s . . no, Delilah’s voice from the room.

“Sally.” you say, pushing open the red door to a steamy wood room with a big clawfoot tub in the middle. A simple bed with white sheets rests in the corner. Next to the tub, there’s a sluice leading up from the kitchens with big metal pitchers to catch the water. A big double window looks out onto the stables and snowy valley, the window pane frosted over.

You take off your heavy coat, hanging it, and your gun belt, and overpants on the large hook next to a bench. Delilah has changed out of her blue lace, into a white cotton slip as she pours some sweet smelling oils into the hot tub. She gives you a shy smile.

“Okay Sally, it’s ready.” You peel off your long johns, feeling a bit exposed in the moist air before slipping into the tub. Oh. This is nice.

The heat drives the cold from your bones and you look up, through the steam, to see Delilah watching you closely, her elbows hanging on the side of the tub, one hand draping in.

“I haven’t ever had a lady customer before.” She volunteers.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I’ve thought about it a bunch. I never thought I’d get one, certainly not as pretty as you.”

“Well, if you’re going to be giving me compliments, would you like to get in here with me?”

You spread your legs. She gives an excited squeal and shimmies out of her shift, her small breasts tipped with bright pink nipples. She gracefully slides into the tub across from you. Her curls diffuse into a thick swirl around her submerged shoulders.

“So, I imagine if I were a man, you might be quite busy right now.” She nods.

“Tell me Delilah, what would you be doing?” You glide over to her, crawling between her legs.

“I would probably be rubbing his cock, getting him all excited, and then, once he was good and ready, I’d get him into bed.”

“Hmm, rubbing his cock . . . like this?” you say, gently caressing her inner thigh. She shudders, her cheeks flush as your fingers find their way to her delicate sex, softly feeling up and down.

“Oh yes, like that.” she moans, as you slowly stroke her pussy. She is already breathing hard, as you rub her clit, the hot water swirling around you both. You slide one long finger inside her and feel her tense and shudder around you, squeezing you back. She wraps one arm around your neck, pulling you in tight.

“Oh oh oh OH!” she moans in your arms, as you work her faster and faster. With one hand you press into her from the inside, the other furiously working her clit. Her eyes shut tight, she pushes into your hand, desperate.

Suddenly she kisses you, hot and open mouthed. Tongues tangling and then she’s shouting her orgasm into you, a ragged moan as her whole body jumps before going completely limp. Slowly, her breath returns, and then the words tumble out.

“Oh Miss Sally, I’m so sorry. I . . . I haven’t ever done something like that . . wow. . . I just wow.” You pull your hands up to her face, brushing a stray hair from her face. You ssshh her softly. “That was perfect.”

“I’ve never done that with another person, I mean, occasionally with myself but none of the boys . . . And I usually am thinking about other stuff . . .” She babbles. You lean in and give her a kiss.

“Thinking about other stuff? Or other people?” she blushes and tries to hide her face with her hands, the steam curling around the both of you like a warm wet blanket.

“. . . maybe about Miss Lane and me.” You point towards the door, “The blonde?” She nods.

“Once, for a prospector who had paid Heather extra, we both attended to him in bed and whoooyee . . . that was something. I mean, I’d seen her naked plenty of times but being with her and him. We didn’t do anything to each other, but it is something I think about a lot.”

Suddenly her eyes snap open. “Oh Miss Sally, I am so sorry. I’ve forgotten my place. Do you . . . do you want me to do that to you? I’m not really sure how but I bet I could figure it out . . .”

You shake your head, “I have a better idea.” The two of you step out of the tub and towel off.

“Lie down on the bed, Delilah.” She hopes on the bed with an excited and nervous smile. You crawl on to the bed over her and swoop in for a kiss. She kisses you back, running her hands along your shoulders and back. You nibble your way down her slender neck and trace lazy circles with your tongue around her small breasts. She moans and arches her back as you suck her nipples.

“Oh, oh, oh!” She tosses her head back and forth. You spread her legs, sliding in between them and then straddle her sex, slowly pressing your sex to hers. Her eyes fly open in shock.

“Oh MY!” You grind into her, sending electric tingles all through your body as she reaches up with her long arms, pulling your tight butt forward, urging you on.

“Yes, yes, oh yes!” She shouts, as you fuck her. Just raw passion, thrusting and grinding, seeing her lithe body twist and writhe underneath you, her breasts bouncing, her cries urging you on, sending you higher and higher. The pleasure builds and builds. You reach down and with just a few strokes send yourself shuddering through an orgasm, white hot and all-encompassing.

When you come back down to Earth, Delilah is still there beneath you, looking up with lust in her eyes, still slowly rocking back and forth against your slit.

“Did you . . . was that it?” You nod, “Yes, that’s it for me . . .” you trail off as you descend between her legs.

“Oh Miss Sally.” she cries as your lips and tongue find her most tender folds. She’s already close, quivering before your hot breath. You lick, she pushes her hips against your face, desperate for relief.

Throwing caution to the wind, you suck her clit into your lips and her hips buck. Working it like a tiny cock, you suck and suck and within a few moments, she is shouting her orgasm distantly above you, her voice matching the shouts from outside the room.

As she gasps herself back to coherence, you hear the first gunshot. BANG. Then another BANG BANG. You take a quick breath, and scamper back to your clothes.

“What? What is going on?” She sits up, still reeling from the vigorous orgasm. You put a finger to your lips as you hear shouting on the other side of the door. You frantically pull on your clothes and relatch your gun belt.

She has retrieved an oversized work shirt and trousers from a foot locker near the bed, hastily throwing them on. You peak out the door, steam spilling out onto the balcony.

“. . . no need for further bloodshed. Everyone stay where they are and this will all be over quickly.” An oddly familiar voice rises up from below. You see Miss Lane, crouched as low to the ground as she can get in her outfit next to the stairs. You crawl towards the balcony and see the chaos below.

Three men stand near the door, still wearing their large winter coats, pointing pistols at the inhabitants of the Silver Corner Saloon. The old men at the poker table have not stirred but are watching the intruders like hawks. The old pioneer next to the hearth is standing, having tossed his pistol down in front of him. Heather is still behind the bar, her hands up, trying to keep their focus on her.

Charlie, shot, lies dead on the wood floor. Though you only knew him a short time, you feel a deep surge of sadness. He was a good man.

Standing in front of the three intruders, wearing an all white fur coat and towering tall, is the bald lanky man from the Hotel Murano. His albino features even more surreal in this strange time and place. He raises his voice,

“Search the Saloon. We have the wagon, let’s find our other driver.”

The whole world pixelates, and the dark void sweeps up through the floorboards and you feel yourself beginning to fall. Looking down into the darkness, you see there’s no door, there’s no portal, just an empty yawning void.

NO! You pull yourself away from the dark void, springing back and shutting the door to the washroom. Delilah is there, frightened and alarmed. What to do?

“Let’s get out of here.” You point to the window, Delilah’s face lights up and she pulls a winter coat out of the foot locker as you crack open the window. It’s a drop but the snow looks forgiving. You hear feet on the staircase.

“You ready?” Delilah gives a frightened nod and the two of you leap, side-by-side, tumbling down. CRUNCH! You flop, cold and wet, onto the thick snow. Delilah helps you up and the two of you stumble towards the stables. You round the corner and then flatten yourself and Delilah, up against the wall.

“What?” She whispers?

“There’s someone guarding the wagon.”

She peeks around the corner.

“Oh hell, that’s Johnson. He’s a regular shitheel. But he’s a regular.”

You hear some shouting from the Saloon and a second gunshot rings out.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Delilah nods. But where?

“I live a few miles south of here,” Delilah whispers. “With my aunt. We can take a few of your horses and go there. Once we get Johnson out of the way, of course.”

A tempting option, a warm fire and a place to stay. But that would leave the cargo in the hands of . . . whomever that is . . . sets your teeth on edge. There HAS to be a reason you are here.

You hear shouting in the washroom. You are running out of time.

“Delilah, I’ve got to get that cargo where it needs to go. We can’t let them have it.” Delilah gives you a firm nod.

“I can keep Johnson busy, you get the horses gathered up.” Delilah takes a moment to brush the snow from her clothes and then struts around the corner, her small hips swishing back and forth.

“Hey there Johnson!” you hear her purr but you are already off, shuffling around the other side of the stables, untying the horses and getting them lined up.

“What do you mean a warm up?” You hear Johnson rumble and then a little squeal from Delilah. You urge the horses in front of the wagon, lacing the straps into place and preparing to fit the heavy metal bar of the cheek bit in place.

“What the hell?!” You whip around to see Johnson, a solidly built man in a dark brown coat, pinned up against the wood beam of the stables while Delilah’s hands work furiously inside his pants. He’s looking straight at you – and pushes Delilah out of the way, reaching for his gun.

You do the only thing you can think of. You heft the cheek bit towards him. It swings through the air and hits his head with a satisfying CLONK. Delilah gives him a hearty shove and his tumbles back into the straw of the stables.

You tie the last tie, forgoing the missing cheek bit, and hop onto the wagon seat.

“Well, come on!” You shout. Delilah flashes you a big smile and scampers on board. You urge the horses to move and slowly, agonizingly slowly, the wagon creaks forward.

“Hyah! Hyah!” You urge the horses on as you make your way onto the road.

CRACK! A shot punches through the canvas of your wagon. Looking back, you see the tall pale man standing on the porch beneath the red lantern. He fires his pistol. “AAHH!” Delilah screams in fright as the shot whizzes by, but no blood.

The horses are picking up speed now and as the road turns, you look back. The pale man reaches up and touches the red lantern – he pixelates and folds in on himself, and then is gone just as quickly. The porch is empty as you round the corner.

As the horses get into the steady rhythm, you find yourself explaining the reins to your slender companion. “It takes two to drive a wagon – one person can fall asleep and send us into a ditch, but two can ride all night long.”

The snow becomes a white tunnel as you slice through the dark night. Once Delilah is able to handle the reins for a minute, you unzip the canvas and feel for the wood door between the cargo and the wagon bench. It feels odd. Bringing your lantern close you can see that the simple wood lock has been replaced with fading green paint and an all too familiar doorknob.

Already? The door is in an awkward spot but as soon as you turn the knob, the familiar black void sweeps you up . . .

THUNK

Your feet hit the hard concrete floor. Back in the basement. You feel the pang of loss, just moments ago, feeling Simone’s lips on yours and even though the basement is much warmer than the snowy fields of Idaho, it feels cold and empty.

You look around, the same piles of stuff heaped on tables. Caroline is off in the corner, brandishing a polearm she pulled from the suit of armor.

“Brenna! Check this out!” She swings it a few times. You smile and try to get a hold on our situation.

“Hey Carr . . .” you are unsure of where to begin. She sets down the polearm and comes over.

“What’s up?” her voice suddenly full of concern. You rub your hands on your legs.

“Uh, where’s Simone?” Caroline gives a short laugh. “Probably back in Seattle, why?”

“And Tanya? Pixie?” Caroline looks worried.

“Both at home, why? Did you get a premonition or something?” You shake your head.

“Can we talk upstairs?” You look around the spooky cellar. Definitely upstairs.

The two of you head up to the couch, Caroline pours some tea and sits right next to you on the couch.

“Are you getting cold feet?” Caroline said, a worried look.

“Cold feet?” You ask.

“You know. Well, I figured after we had fun at Dan and Emma’s wedding.” You crack a smile. “And then the sky trip with Ryan and the hot tub.” You nod.

“Well, you invite me up to a big fancy cabin for the weekend, just the two of us, I figured you were planning some ‘romancin’.” She wiggled her eyebrows. You laugh.

“No . . I mean, yes, I would love that, that sounds great.” Caroline cracks a big grin. “But there’s something else going on.”

You take a deep breath and then the words tumble out of you. Coming up here with the full car, finding the key in the moose’s mouth, the strange cellar, the Countess with Pixie’s face, the ferocious Tanya as the Black Orchid and sweet but forceful Chiho, and finally the frantic flight from the Silver Corner Saloon.

You even manage to make it through the naughty parts without blushing too much.

After you finish, Caroline takes a long draught of her tea.

“Well, that would explain some of this. This is a big cabin for just the two of us. I mean, I thought you were just being showy but it makes sense if this was a group event.” Caroline gets up and paces a bit.

“Okay, okay, that said this place does have some serious vibes going on.” You nod. “We need some sort of proof. Some sort . . . ” she trails off, looking to the hearth. To the Moose head on the hearth.

With a grunt, she pulls the head off it’s hook and down on the ground. On the back wooden mount, there was a tiny oaken switch. You flip it open and a compartment folds out with a letter.

“To Whom it May Concern,

As I feel the last of my strength leave my weary bones, I must confess what I have done to truly be at peace. Hear my words, and know them to be true, no matter how improbable.

My name is Harold T. Robertson. For the last seventy-seven years, I have been a real estate investor in the Puget Sound, but of all the hundreds of deals I have made, and buildings I’ve built, there is only one I truly regret.

The year was 1937, and I was a young man, working as a project manager for my uncle’s business. We had received a contract for a hotel from a strange foreign man. He gave his name as Kalchik but I never saw any papers with that name on them. The hotel was in an odd location, two blocks from the Puyallup river rather than right abutting it but Kalchik insisted, something about the “laylines” and a future road that was to be built.

We had worked for odd customers before and to be honest, I was more focused on my Gloria, my dear sweet wife. We had just wed the summer before and there was little Charles on the way. So I asked a few questions and focused on getting the hotel built.

Kalchik had all sorts of requirements, double-walls, inner pathways so the serving staff could travel without being seen by the guests. We followed his specifications down to the letter.

Finally, at the center of the Hotel, he had us build this odd furnace that could pipe heat entirely throughout the hotel. Or so he claimed, it was of his own design and he brought with him the materials to build it and personally oversaw it’s construction.

One night, overcome with curiosity, I used the newly created double-hallways to travel to his workshop within the shell of the building. Oh, cursed me, I wish I’d never indulge such a foolish wish. I found Kalchik, hunched over an open flame, tossing shimmering metal ingots into the blue-hot fire. When the metal hit the flames, there was a streaming noise. A terrible rending that extended beyond my ears and tore holes in the fabric of my soul. Like a thousand desperate people all crying out in pain at once, but underwater, beyond the edge of sight.

Some nights, when I close my eyes, all I can hear is that sound. That dreadful sound.

He was working the metal with a hammer and tongs, forging it into keys and building his terrible contraption. Part open flame brazier, part domed hood, the angles of the strange device were all wrong, bent out of time and space. I could not hold my eyes upon it.
Kalchik stood, and walked from the room, no sweat on his pale morbid features despite the heat. I made a decision that night. I don’t know what came over me, to this day, I still do not know if it was my choice or something else compelling me.

With Kalchik gone, I ran forward and snatched one of the queer metal ingots, yet untouched by the fire. I shoved it under my coat and fled the hotel, stuffing it under my bed. I told no one. What could I say? The metal was in my house.

There it stayed, whispering faintly in my ear. Calling to me night in and night out. Gloria, blessing of blessings, could not hear it. Perhaps because she had not made contact with the strange metal. But I heard their whispers, pleading with me to help them. To save their brothers and sisters. To fuel their trip free of our planet and across the stars.

Eventually, I tried to be rid of it. I took the ingot and locked it away in a shed on one of my uncle’s properties although I feared someone else might find it and be cursed as I was.

I often considered doing as the metal asked, but could not make sense of their whisperings – they wanted something profane for their fuel. Abhorrent to common decency and morality. Finally, I decided to do as Kalchik had done, to reforge the metal in hopes of silencing those voices.

It was here we came to this place, this cabin. I had it built as a retreat from the world, to pull back above it and look out all this glorious creation has to offer. A Cabin in the Sky.

I built most of this with my own hands, and one night, I lit a forge and melted down that last ingot, laying it as the metal framework for my cellar stairs. It was unlike any other metal I’d ever laid hands on – malleable, easy to warm but strong upon cooling. The work was completed in a single night.

Since then, I only hear the voices when I go down to fetch something down there, and even then, they are muted and distant. I pray I have done the right thing, for still that accursed hotel stands. I have visited it though never stayed the night. Kalchik knows me and I fear, suspects me. The hotel feels unearthly, and I worry what foul magic I have helped bring into this world.

Thank you, dear reader, for helping an old man unburden himself of these wretched memories. I go now to see Gloria in peace and serenity.

-Sincerely

Harry Robertson

July 29th, 1989

Caroline sets down the letter. “Okay . . . I think that’s confirmation.”

You stand up decisively. “We have to go back to the basement.”

“Whatever this man may have done, he’s created magic down there, and they have a hold on our friends. We have to get them back.” Caroline nods.

“Okay, but how?”

The mood was somber as the two of you stood before the ominous hat in the corner.

“Why this one?” Caroline asks. You furrow your brow.

“It appeared. It wasn’t here when we first came down here and now it is. All the other objects, as I traveled into them, they vanished. This one appeared. That has to mean something.”

Caroline harrumphed. “That’s as a good a reason as any.” The two of you stand for a moment, neither one reaching for it. You take a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s do this.” You reach for the hat.

“Hold up, before we do this, I just want to say something.” Caroline takes your hand. Surprised, you find her deep brown eyes.

“I understand that this trip wasn’t what I think it was. But I just want you to know that even if this is some weird creepy alien thing, I would have liked doing a trip with just you. I was really excited to be with you and I just want you to know that.”

“Oh Caroline.” You reach up, cupping her cheek. She leans in and kisses you, full of love and kindness.

“No matter what happens in there, I love you.” You give her a firm nod and together, the two of you reach for the hat.

WHOOSH

The hard leather seats twist beneath you as the street lights flicker across the interior of the car. You see the driver, a stooped black man with a cigarette in one hand, silently steering in the front seat.

“This is SO COOL!” Caroline exclaims. She’s in the back of the car with you – you do a double take. She is wearing a shimmering red sequined dress that clings to her every curve, the front taking a dazzling plunge, showcasing an impressive diamond necklace. Her hair is up in curls, and her legs stretching out to your side of the car. She has retrieved a small mirror from the black clutch and is admiring her makeup and hair.

“Caroline?” You ask. She looks at you. “Damn, Brenna, you look HOT!”

You blush. You look down, black shiny shoes, complement a long coat, black slacks held up by suspenders, white shirt and of course, on your head, a black fedora.

“Okay, so clearly we’ve both still got our minds. And you’re the dame and I’m the detective.” The driver looks at you in his rear view mirror but says nothing.

Caroline laughs, “The butch look works for you.” You are turning out the pockets. Cigarettes, a blackjack club, a couple books of matches, a detective license and playbill. The playbill is for a show at the Sea Breeze Jazz Club – thursday night featuring Maybelline “Babs” Siegly and an illustration of a busty woman in a red dress.

You hand it to Caroline and tap on the glass separating you from the driver.

“Sir? Where are we headed?” His shoulders raise in surprise but his voice is level. “The Sea Breeze Club, ma’am, just like usual.”

You nod to Caroline, and pull out your Los Angeles detective license. “Let’s see why Detective Jane Elliot and Babs Siegly need to be at this club tonight.”

###

The hot LA air hits you like stepping into a locker room, pungent and moist, as you help Caroline out of the car. She’s navigating those heels without too much difficulty but neither one of you wanted to take any chances. You go to pay the driver but he waves you off,

“I’m on the payroll, boss. Meet you back here at 11pm, unless I get your call at the office.”

You nod, trying to shake off the fumble but Caroline, well, Babs, is staring up at her name in big lights above the shining Sea Breeze Jazz Club. The glowing sign, shaped like a large open clamshell, was as tall as a car and the doors gleaming polished silver.

Straightening your coat, you offer your arm for Babs and the two of you walk into the club.

“Ah, Ms. Elliot, and the star of our show. Right on time!” announces an overly cheering maitre d. He leans over his podium and whispers, “Do you think you will catch your man tonight?”

You give him a stern waggle of the finger, “Not if anyone gets too chatty.”

He twists his fingers in front of his mouth with an invisible key. “Mums the word, of course, my dear. But chop chop, I mustn’t keep you. After all, Babs, you must get to your dressing room, the show must go on!” He swishes through the lobby as the two of you take long strides to keep up.

Lush stairs with gleaming railings opens up into a beautiful hall, with white linen-clad tables, a polished wood and bronze full length bar along the side of the room, an elevated stage with red velvet curtains and, in your mind, a rather gaudy clamshell painted behind it. Electric lamps on the tables give the smoky air an atmospheric glow.

Caroline’s eyes are wide, taking it all in. “This. is. AMAZING!” She whispers to you under her breath. You can only nod as the two of you follow the Maitre D along the back wall, through some velvet curtains to a hallway adjacent to the stage. Two men in stagehand black give you both a familiar wave as your host ushers you along, through a weaving maze of hallways. He pauses in front of a door with a big star reading “Babs Siegly”.

“Good hunting tonight, you two.” The Maitre D says before turning smartly on his heel and striding back towards the lobby.

The two of you slip inside the dressing room. You survey the space, a well-lit vanity covered in makeup, a small shower and quarter sink and a floor to ceiling wardrobe. Exactly what you’d expect.

“This is SO COOL! So THIS is what you’ve been doing?” Caroline exclaims, trying and utterly failing to whisper. “I figured it would be like a vision quest sort of thing, we are here. We are living this!” You nod noncommittally.

“It certainly feels real.” You answer, rummaging through the sequined dresses in the wardrobe.

“Do you think we are here? Is it time travel or something else?”

You push your hat back and take in the room. “I’m not really sure. I don’t know any of these time periods well enough to pick out something that doesn’t fit.”

Caroline waits, her big warm eyes following you as you finish your circuit around the room. This detective thing is actually kind of fun.

“Well, Caroline, it looks like you are the regular star here. The love notes on the mirror, your big poster on the back of the door, all the dresses in your size. You’ve been headlining here for a bit.”

Caroline sits. “You go ahead and keep doing your thing. I’m going to make sure I’m ready.” She begins rummaging through the make up.

“The Maitre D and the stagehands recognized both of us, so obviously, they know who I am and that I am working to catch someone? I need more information.” You make your way towards the door. Caroline jumps up.

“Wait, what about me?”

“Don’t worry, all you have to do is sing, baby doll.” You tip your hat and try for a wink. She busts out laughing.

“You did NOT just do that.” She wheezes.

“Needs some work?” You ask. She struts over to you, wraps her arms around your neck and plants a full kiss right on your lips.

“Not at all, worked like a charm.” She pulls you in tight, and you are suddenly aware of just how form fitting that dress is on her before she slips away, back to vanity.

You leave the dressing room and weave your way backstage till you come out in the main hall. Already it is filled with patrons; laughing, smoking and drinking. The place is a flurry of activity as a solo pianist warms up the crowd from the stage. In all this activity, what is a detective to do? Best go get a drink of course.

You head over to the bar, where a slender man with dark hair and high cheekbones, an LA Benedict Cumberbatch you decide, makes you a gin and tonic.

“Ms. Elliott? We have a guest today that asked to be seated at your table. I assumed she was an employee of yours but if not, we can have her removed.” He points towards a table three back from the stage. A good spot, you note, with little lighting but a good view of both the stage, the entrance and the hallway to backstage. Sitting at the table in a breathtaking silver dress, her brunette curls pooling around her bare shoulders, is Pixie.

Before you can move, the announcer comes on. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the star of our show this evening, the incredible, sensational Babs Siegly!”

The crowd cheers as Caroline strides onto the stage.

With drink in hand, you make your way over to your appointed table. Pixie turns as you approach. Even in the dim light of the electric lamps on the table, she is a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Her knowing bright eyes accentuated by glittering chandelier earrings, her graceful neck and beautiful shoulders fading into a snug, plunging silver dress.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind me joining you, Ms Elliot?” She moves as if to stand but you wave her down, taking the seat with your back to the wall. From here you can keep Caroline, and the hallway backstage in your range of vision, while still facing your guest.

“I heard, never you mind where, people these days are chattering like birds,” She gave a short little laugh but carried on at quite a clip. “I heard that there was a prestigious private detective in our midst! Not only that, but not some loathsome cigar chomping gorilla but,a member of the fairer, and dare I say it, vastly superior sex?” She looks you up and down.

“Oh what a brave new day we are enjoying in bold 1936! Liquor’s legal, Roosevelt’s undeterred and women can solve crimes! And they were not lying, you are.”

“A detective?” You ask, trying to keep up. Pixie leans one elbow onto the table, spilling herself towards.

“Superior, of course.” You are briefly seized by the vision of her, writhing on top of you in the throws of passion in far away Italy. You shake the mirage, pleasurable as it was, from your mind.

“You are quite kind. Whom do I have the pleasure of dining with this evening?”

“Gloria. Or maybe Glory-be-to-yah!” She raised her hands in mock rapture. “If the saxophone hits that low note just right on that swing. Oh, I tell you, the Sea Breeze has been lit up the last two weeks since your gal, Babs, started belting those hopping lines. She’s got a great set of pipes on that gal. And legs too!”

“My gal?” You ask. Gloria scoffs.

“Oh, I don’t mean to imply you were sweet on her. Unless you are, in that case, hot damn, Suzie owes me two nickels! But that’s her client, you know?”

You nod noncommittally, trying to memorize the faces of the stagehands slipping in and out of the hallway to backstage. Caroline is still shining bright on the stage, no sign of nervousness on her warm cheeks, she is basking in the experience, snapping her fingers with the slim latino drummer with his brushes beating out a staccato on the high hat. Her hips swap back and forth, and the whole room sways with her.

“Anyway, listen to me prattling on while you are appreciating a good show!” Pixie, or rather Gloria gives you a swat on the arm. “Boyoh, I do love a good show. Me and Suzie, I mentioned Suzie right? Suzie and I always catch all the great acts here or the Hot Cat up on 19th. You know the Hot Cat right? What am I saying? Of course you do, with all your contacts on the seedy underbelly of this city. Must be so thrilling.”

Gloria is only half watching you, her eyes on the stage. You glance over at her, taking a measured sip of your drink as Kalchik takes a seat in a dim alcove on the other side of the club. You cough, splutter and paw at your mouth with your napkin.

“Oh my, are you okay?” You wave her off trying to keep quiet. Kalchik, how useful it is for the pale man from the hotel to have a name, is with three other men in nice, pressed suits. The men are drinking, he is not. The men are softly talking, smoking. Kalchik is nodding along but his eyes are on the show. On Caroline.

“Oh! Did you see someone?” Gloria asks in a whisper, leaning in, suddenly serious. Then shooting a look over her shoulder, trying to follow your gaze.

“Don’t look!” You whisper. Gloria claps a hand to her mouth.

“Oh shit, you are on a case. This is so exciting! Work your craft.” Pixie says sagely. You give her an indulgent smile as Caroline completes a number, gives the crowd a wave and slips backstage. Gloria has flagged down a waiter and is negotiating for another drink.

At Kalchik’s table, two of the men are talking while Kalchik and the third are reviewing some paperwork with the dim light of the centerpiece lamp. Gloria suddenly nudges you.

“Hey Miss Elliott! I think your sweetheart is trying to get your attention.” You whip around to see Caroline, hiding in the shadow of the hallway entrance, give you a frantic “come hither” gesture.

You grab your hat and crouched low amongst the smokey tables, try to make your way over there.

“Hold me a plate of olives, will yah Toby?” Gloria says, scampering after you.

Caroline doesn’t wait, she power walks ahead of you back to her dressing room. You reach the door. She looks both ways, opens the door a sliver and slides in with you and Gloria moments behind her. Caroline locks it and whirls around.

“Pixie?” Caroline asks.

“What?” Gloria asks, turning to you. “Is that code for something?”

“Unfortunately no. What is it?”

Caroline reaches out, pointing with one shaking hand, at the dead man in her shower.

He was slumped over, the curtain half drawn. You aren’t a coroner but you’d wager the bloody gash in the back of his head was probably the cause of death. His clothes are plain, worn and dirty, his build says he worked for a living and the wallet in his pocket pegs his name as Tony Lorsecco.

“Oh shit, is he dead?” Gloria asks.

You push your hat back on your head and take in the situation.

“If someone put a body here, then the police are already on your way. And we won’t be able to do anything tonight if Babs is inside a jail cell.” Caroline gives you a firm nod.

You turn to Gloria, and fix her with a firm and commanding gaze. “Gloria, we are working a case right now, and the last thing we need is interference from the authorities. You hear what I’m saying?”

She gulps and nods. “Not a problem with me, I’ve got no love for the heat, I’ve got priors!”

Caroline does a double-take. “What for?”

“Solicitation. How was I supposed to know that guy was an officer? He was giving me the eyes all evening.” You surprise a smirk, it is enjoyable seeing cool and collected Pixie as a loud-mouthed party girl but you’ve got bigger issues at hand.

“Babs – step outside and see if you can get a tablecloth from one of the waiters – tell him you’ve got a bit of stage magic and he’ll see it in a bit. Gloria, help me get him out of the shower.”

Caroline slips out while you and Gloria lay the large man out on the floor. Riffling through his pockets, you find nothing else, no keys, notes, chewing gum or even lint. Just the wallet. He’s been picked clean – which means whomever put him here wanted the wallet found on him.

With Babs gone, you take another sweep of the dressing room. He might fit in the wardrobe but it was too big to move. The vanity wasn’t much good but . . .

Right there stuck to the side of the mirror, a picture of Babs laughing cut in the shape of a heart. Signed “your Tony”. Was it placed here? You give it a slight tug. No it’s been there a while.

Dead boyfriend in the dressing room. Never a dull moment. You turn to Gloria.

“Stay put here, and make sure you only let in me or Babs – no one else, you got it?” She nods.

“I’m on it Ms. Elliot!” She gives you a big thumbs up.

You step outside the dressing room as Babs rushes up with a large white dining cloth. “Get him wrapped up.” You whisper to her and then make your way off through the maze backstage.

You catch your first lucky break of the evening. The exit to the alley way is only twenty paces and there’s a large dumpster directly adjacent to the door. As you return from your scouting you intercept a stage hand knocking on the dressing door.

“Ms. Siegly, you are due back on stage. You are late!”

“I’ll take care of this. She’s got a case of the nerves.” You shoo him along and slid back inside.

“Okay, Babs, you’ve got to go back on. We will take care of this. Try to play it cool.” Babs, no, definitely Caroline, slides up next to you – her eyes big and shaky. You reach up, giving her cheek a squeeze. She leans in and then stops herself – with a furtive glance over at Gloria.

“Oh don’t mind me, you two. This is my kind of show!” Caroline rolls her eyes.

“Look after her, will you?” You nod and Babs straightens her spine, takes a breath, and glides out of the dressing room.

“Okay, wait a few minutes for her to get on stage and right as she starts her first big number, we haul him out of here. If we are lucky, the stage hands will be too busy to notice.”

“If we are lucky?” She exclaims, taking up his legs.

The applause pours in from the theater and with that the two of you haul, drag and cajole the body into the hallway, down some darkened steps, around a corner, and to the exit. You push close the door behind you, you thought you saw a pair of eyes watching you from the ropes next to the lights but it was too dark to see. With a grunt, the two of you hoist the body into the dumpster and shake the grim from your hands.

Gloria, her chest heaving from the exertion, tosses you a grin.
“Not how I usually like getting hot and sweaty on a Friday night.” You give her a chuckle. The door back inside has locked, damn it, but a quick wander back to the front of the club is perfect for drying the sweat in the LA heat.

You enter the lobby, the Maitre D gives you an alarmed look and points over to the bar, where three burly police officers are talking with the bartender. The bartender is pointing to the hallway backstage. They part, revealing Tanya in plain clothes, a detective badge in her hand, leading them towards the hallway. Babs voice soars over the crowd.

You give them a count of three to clear the area and then make your way through the tables towards Kalchik’s table. You reach his alcove to find it empty. A cold hand grabs yours and you look up. He is there, Kalchik, standing behind you, intense eyes piercing into your soul.

Who are you? His voice seems to emanate from some place behind your eyeballs, ringing and echoing in your skull. What are you doing here – wearing that skin suit?

You struggle to find your voice. You see Gloria reaching towards you, in slow motion. Her mouth is moving but no words come out.

You are not one of the LOST SOULS. The word he used did not sound like “lost souls” but rather felt the way the words should feel. How are you sustaining the SOUL HUNGER?

You look up, his pupils vast wells of endless darkness and you feel yourself falling towards the void.

Enough – I return you to the incessision point, your well is almost dry. The ground begins to slip away, his leathery cold hand sliding through yours like water through your fingers.

BAM! Gloria crashes into you and the two of you tumble to the ground in a mass of awkward limbs. The world snaps into stereophonic sound as the club is filled with raucous applause.

Kalchik looks down at you and Gloria, startled and confused.

“We got to go!” Gloria hisses in your ear as the two of you scramble to your feet. “The cops know you are here and they are pissed!” You stagger away, getting swept into the crowd as they cry out for an encore as you and Gloria slip back to the kitchens. You glance back to see Kalchik done his hat and turn back towards the lobby, his features fixed in a stony glare.

You and Gloria scamper through the kitchens, dodging suez chefs and waiters before tumbling out the back door into the LA heat.

“Shit! Caroline!” You say.

“Who?” Gloria asks, catching her breath.

“Babs. She’s still in there.” Gloria shakes her head.

“With all the eyes on her, there’s no way we are getting her out of there without a fist fight or some fast talking with the cops, you up for that?”

You weigh your choices.

You pat down your coat and pull out your pad of paper, a heavily chewed on pencil and a crumpled dollar bill. You scratch a quick note – “Be like Simon and Garfunkel if they want you to sing. I’ve got Pixie and we’re headed back to Steve Carrell’s show. Hold tight, you be Peach, I’ll be Mario.”

Okay, maybe not your best work but all of those references should be far enough in the future that it will work. You knock on the back door to the kitchens. A confused waiter pokes his head out.

“Hey, where’s the star tonight? Babs?” The waiter shakes his head. “Cops have her all occupied.”

You hand him the dollar and the note. “Any chance you could put this in her hands?” He looks skeptical. “It’s okay if the cops see it.” He looks relieved and takes the money and note.

“Okay, time to call that driver. Gloria? We’ve got a murder to solve.”

###

Gloria is strangely quiet in the car. The driver raises his eyebrows at the additional passenger but gives no other indication until he pulls to a stop in front of an aging brown brick building.

“You need anything else, Boss?” you shake your head and he sails off. Gloria, shivering slightly, despite the LA evening heat, leans in to you as you make your way up the stone stairs to the front door. You begin to feel odd. The sounds seem to bend and distort, becoming distant. Focus.

Keys? Yes, front pocket. Luckily, you only have six keys on the keyring and only two seem the right size for the exterior door. With minimal fuss, you are in the lobby, up the rickety old staircase and to the frosted glass window of Jane Elliot – Private Instigator.

The office is exactly what you expect, a simple wooden desk with a phone, an old wire fan and paperwork. A couple of chairs and doors to two other offices. You flip the flickering lights on and proceed into the main office. Larger, with a full couch, a mini-bar and a large wooden desk. You try to ignore the safe in the corner – without the combination in your head, messing with that would just inspire frustration. Your sight blurs slightly and you there’s that faint sense of the void on the edges of your vision. Like a picture with everything but the center dimmed.

Gloria makes a bee-line for the bar and mixes herself a drink.

“You want one? I’m having one.” You shake your head as she throws something together. You begin leafing through the files open on your desk. A dead boyfriend in the shower, the sudden police appearance, skin suits, lost souls.

You take a deep breath. One problem at a time. This was obviously a frame-up, someone wanted to pin a murder on Babs, so they kill her boyfriend and make the drop while she’s on stage.

But why hire me? Or rather Jane Elliott. If she thought that someone wanted to give her trouble, wouldn’t she hire the detective to follow the bad guy, not herself? It was some sort of trap.

“Maybe it wasn’t her that they were after.” You look up in surprise at Glora, and then realize you had been talking out loud.

“Who would want to kill Babs? She’s just a pretty singer. No offense, I get the impression she’s your gal.”

You shake your head. “That’s not the first time you’ve asked about that.” Gloria smiles back at you, Pixie’s eyes half-lidded.

“I’m just double-checking.” You let that pass.

“So if not Babs, then someone wanted the boyfriend dead . . .” You muse.

“And used this as an opportunity to throw the cops off the scent?” Gloria adds. You pull out Anthony Lorsecco’s wallet.

“Aha! Union man, apparently he’s an assistant electrician with Robertson Development.” Robertson . . . Harry Robertson! The man who built the cabin in the sky and the Hotel Murano. Or rather the man who will build the hotel.

The void swirls around you as the wallet slips through your hands, falling on the desk in front of you. You lurch forward, clinging to the chair trying to keep a grip on this world. What is going on? This is by far The longest you’ve ever been in one of these visions, was there a time limit? The soul hunger? You stumble to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Gloria closes the distance, her soft hands pushing back your hat and feeling your forehead and cheek.

You lean up and kiss her, full and passionate on the lips. She melts into you, her body pressed against yours. You break for a moment, waiting to pass out or fall into the void but the world feels solid, her chest pushing against yours, her hot hand on your hip. She searches your eyes, looking for answers,

“Is this . . . is this what you want? When you brought me here, I had hoped but I didn’t want to assume.” You lean in and kiss her again, silencing her worries.

She knocks your hat to the ground, her hands everywhere at once, behind your neck, around your waist, pulling at your butt. You trail kisses down her throat, fumbling along her side for the zipper to her dress. She pushes you back, and then leads you by the hand to the couch. With a gentle shove, she pushes you back on the couch, standing tall over you.

The neon lights outside filter through the slats of the window, lighting her full curves, the glittering of her earrings and the silver dress clinging to her curves. She reaches back, arching her back and pulls down the zipper on the side of her dress.

The silver dress slides to the floor, leaving Pixie in her simple white panties, one arm draped across her chest. She looks down at you, her eyes smoldering. She plants a knee on either side of your legs on the couch, and flexing that taught dancer’s body, she lowers herself into your lap. Gracefully, she pulls her hands away, her chest spilling out into the night. She runs her fingers through your hair as she pulls your lips to her breast.

The nipple is hard, a rich rosy red in the dark light, as you tentatively lick and suck at her breasts. She moans, low and lusty, her hands tight, pulling thirstily at your head..

“Yesss,” she hisses, “oh god yes.” You feast on her full chest, rolling her nipples in your mouth as she writhes above you. You reach around and feel her full butt, tensing and pushing as she grinds her groin against your leg.

“Give it to me, give it all to me.” She moans, throwing her head back in passion as you pull her into you.

“I have wanted you from the moment you walked into the club, Jane.” She whispers in your ear. “Can I taste you?” You nod and she pulls down your suspenders and unbuttons your shirt, revealing a sturdy chest minimiser, the 1930s equivalent of a sports bra. Obviously no stranger to the contraption, she skillfully unlatches the sides and slides it off your shoulders.

She hops off so she can shimmy your pants and panties down onto the floor. You look down and see Pixie’s familiar tousle of brunette curls, her eyes shining in the dim light as she kneels before you.

You sit back down, stroking Pixie’s cheek and she gently nips at your inner thigh, sending a jolt of excitement through your body. She grabs your legs, gives you a grin and dives in, swirling her tongue vigorously around your clit.

“AHH!” you buck, your hips jumping off the couch. “FUCK!” Her tongue is fast and furious, never letting the pressure relent for a moment. Your whole body clenches as the first wave builds. You grasp desperately at the couch pillows.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck!” you can’t help yourself as she increases the pressure, moving fast and swift inside you, fingers working expertly around your lips while never stopping with her tongue. Her face gleaming with your excitement, her eyes never leaving your face.

“AHH!!” you arch your back and scream your orgasm into the night, hot and blinding and bright. She rides you, her hair thrown this way and that until finally the tremors subside, your chest heaving, as you sink back into the couch.

She softly kisses your thigh, your stomach and works her way up until she is curled in your arms, her head resting on your breast, as there is a moment of stillness. The sweat slowly drying on your skin, her languid eyelashes resting on her cheek as all you hear is the sound of your shared breathing.

She’s the first to break the silence. “You want a cigarette?” She gets up and wanders to your desk, her shimmering naked body catching the bars of light filtering in from the flickering signs outside. The match strike illuminates her face, flushed and beautiful, as she lights the cigarette and sits on the floor next to the coach, her head resting on your stomach.

You look up at the slowly rotating fan, the smoke making strange trails and particles in the light. Glowing particles, drifting up to the sky. The frozen-in-time droplets trailing upwards in the hold of the pirate ship.

We came from beyond. That part was clear, the meteorite, the metal itself was some sort of alien. Some foreign creature, struck down and stuck here on this planet. Kalchik called them something. Lost Souls. Poor creatures – crashed in the ocean, stolen by pirates, melted down into ingots by the italians, nearly stolen by bandits in Idaho and then reforged into whatever that strange room was at the heart of the hotel.

Kalchik. He was in Italy, and Idaho and now he is here. He’s tied to it. Not of the creatures, but using them?

Pixie passes you the cigarette as you take a cautious drag on it, trying to play it cool. Thankfully, you don’t feel a cough, and blow the smooth smoke up into the room, passing it back to Pixie. Well, you suppose you should really think of her as Gloria while you are here.

Here, why here? Here in 1935? In LA? Harry Robinson stole some of the metal and made his basement, his cabin in the sky, and it sent you here. Why us? Surely others had rented the space, and no one mentioned the vivid time travel hallucinations in the AirBnB listing.

The Hotel. That’s got to be the connection. You had been to Hotel Murano. Not just one of you, but most of you. Tanya, Simone and you had all been there. All had experiences there. Of course the creatures would try and reach out, to tell their story.

We must rebuild. We must refuel. We must RETURN. The voice that is not a voice had pleaded. Not just tell their story. To help them escape.

That brazier in the center of the hotel. It fed on sexual energy, it was powered by the orgasms generated within its walls. That was clear, with Kalchik tending the flames.

How are you sustaining the SOUL HUNGER? Kalchik had been confused, he must not have known about the Cabin in the Sky or the creature’s ability to bring you here. You sit up, Gloria turning at the sudden movement.

This whole time you’ve been on the couch, there’s been no creeping darkness, no endless void threatening to swallow you up. There’s been no inkling, you’ve felt solid, anchored to this place.

“What is it?” Gloria looks up at you in the flickering light.

“Sweetheart, I think you just saved my life.”

BAM! The door to your office flys open as a large man kicks his way into your space. Gloria screams and dives towards the mini-bar. You spring towards your desk, your naked body shining in the flickering light. He swings his gun this way and that.

“What the . . . ” the man is momentarily stunned, his eyes not comprehending the beautiful naked woman diving behind her desk, frantically yanking open the drawers. You find a pistol in the right hand drawer and point it at the man. He raises his gun and

CRASH. Gloria brings a wine bottle down on his head as he lurches forward, crashing face first into the floor.

“Some people just don’t appreciate a woman’s privacy.” Gloria snaps at the prone figure. You roll your eyes at her, coming over and flipping the man over revealing the unconscious face of Chiho.

“Wow, he’s huge!” Gloria quips as the giant man groans. Gloria gives a startled yip and scrambles to find her clothes. His dark skin looks warm to the touch in the dim flickering light and you notice no scar adorns his throat. Maybe life as a tough in LA is a little kinder to Chiho.

You throw on your shirt and pants, no time for undergarments as he begins to come around. At a loss for how to secure him, you simply sit on his massive chest, handing your pistol to Gloria.

“Try not to shoot me, okay?” She gives you a nod that is not at all convincing. Chiho’s eyes flutter open and he looks up into your face, confused and disoriented as to how he arrived on the ground and why you are sitting on him.

“What are you doing in my office, Chiho?” His eyes flick back and forth to you, to Gloria with the pistol, back to you, to your hastily buttoned shirt, back to your face.

“My name is Aleki.”

“Okay Aleki, what are you doing in my office?” He shuts his eyes and turns his head, defiant. You feel him shift uncomfortably underneath you. Ah yes, he is definitely having some trouble down below.

“What are you doing in my office, Aleki?” You reach back and gently brush the front of his pants, already straining. You feel the outline of his cock, stretching down the leg of his trousers, hard and throbbing.

“Fuck you.” He bucks his hips slightly, trying to knock your hand away. You push his head back down onto the floor.

“Ah ah ah!” you chide. “Another move like that and Gloria’s start popping off a shot or two. And want that, do we?” you start stroking him through his pants. “Popping off?”

He groans, low and deep. “I’m not sayin’ nothing.” You unzip his pants and fish out his cock, hard and so thick, you can barely reach around it. You give it a slow, luxurious stroke. You hear Gloria gasp and she sees what you are doing.

“Really no, I was hoping you would be a,” You stroke it faster, he gives a strangled cry, “a little more cooperative.” His hips start to buck, moving in time with your hand as you work him faster and faster. Precum coats your hands as he begins to leak. You can feel him getting close. Gloria watches, enraptured, her mouth open in shock and arousal.

“What are you doing in my office, Aleki?” He writhes underneath you, twisting this way and that. He’s on the brink. You freeze, holding him steady.

“Ahhh!” He screams in frustration. “Fine, you fucking bitch. I’m a Pinkerton. My boss sent me here because you were mixing things up with the singer and the dead union guy. He wanted you out of the way. For fucks sake, don’t stop!”

You grin, your hand a blur. He bucks beneath you

“AhhhhhhhhHHH!!!” he shouts, erupting all over your hand, sending up an impressive fountain of cum.

“Wow!” Gloria is watching breathless at his giant spurting cock, still thick as it goes limp. “That was something.”

Aleki stirs, starting to rise but you push his forehead back down, his head thunking on the wood floor.

“Listen up, you like that? Good. You owe one. Actually, you owe me a couple since I didn’t let Gloria just shoot you. So that’s two.” You get up off his chest and fish a few bucks out of the desk.

“Here’s a few dollars, head down the street to the nearest bar and have a drink or two. Don’t check in with your boss until after Noon tomorrow. I don’t care what you say then, but you stay out of touch.” Aleki gives a slow nod, clambering to his feet.

“And don’t forget, you owe me. Now zip up and get out of my office.” As he stumbles out, Gloria looks on in shock.

“That was amazing! You are just . . . wow.” Her mouth hangs open. You give her an indulgent smile as you piece the door back together and fiddle with the latch on the murphy bed next to your desk.

“Alright, let’s get a few hours of sleep and then it is off to the construction site. We’ve got a murder solve.” Oh yeah, and Caroline to rescue, you muse as you drift off curled up with Gloria.

###

Robertson Development was putting the final touches on a mid-rise apartment complex on the east side, or at least, that’s what the County Assessor said when you gave them a call first thing in the morning. Goddess bless your girl friday. She turned up at 7:30am, didn’t bat an eye at you rolling out of your office in disheveled clothes with a leggy brunette not far behind. She pointed you towards your own stash of clean clothes and helped secure a fresh outfit for Gloria. She also ran down the assessor’s phone number and dispatched your lawyer, a “Mr. Stantzel”, to go spring Caroline from her jail cell.

And you didn’t even catch her name. She just went right to work. The driver took you to the address and now you and Gloria were staring at a half-painted apartment building surrounded by fences and trailers. You glance at Gloria, she had been rather subdued this whole time but considering she has just tagged along for your adventure, you don’t blame her. Maybe wearing Pixie’s body, she feels consciously drawn to you – that this seems like an impulsive action but there is something deeper, pulling her along.

Either way, you are grateful for a familiar face, if not a familiar heart, on this journey.

You slide past the gate and head for one of the trailers. A man with a thick mustache and a thicker helmet directs you to “Foreman Joe” in a grey trailer once you flash your badge at him.

You slide open the door to the trailer, and there’s a broad shouldered man with thick glasses (Chris Pine, you decide) pouring over plans with a protractor. Standing next to him is Orlando, having traded his cape and mask for a reflective vest.
“Orlando?” You say, startled. He looks up.

“Just Joe, miss, what can I do for you?” The Chris Pine look alike glances your way and then does a double-take over your shoulder. “Gloria? What are you doing here?”

“Oh shit.” says Gloria. “Hi sweetheart.” Orlando, or rather Joe, looks at him.

“That’s your wife?” Joe asks. He nods, his blue eyes shining in the morning light. “I was wondering where you ended up last night.” His face was concerned.

“Uh, well . . ” Gloria stumbles.

You jump in, “My name is . . .” you glance down at your detective badge, already in your hand, “Jane Elliot. And I’m a private investigator, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Orlando brushes his dark curls out of his face. “Sure, me or the architect?”

“I didn’t know you were working on an apartment building, sweetheart.” Gloria asks. Chris Pine shakes his head.

“No no, this is for their next project.”

You look down, the blueprints for “Hotel Murano” spread out on the table.

“Joe – I’ll start with you. Gloria, could you take your husband for a walk? I’ll have some questions for him when I’m done.” The Chris Pine gives Joe a quick, unreadable look and then slides past you out of the trailer. Gloria follows, closing the door.

Joe sits down, brushing his brown curls slightly out of his eyes. You are briefly reminded of exactly what that face looks like when it is filled with pleasure. You push the idea out of your head and focus.

“What’s your last name, Joe?”

“Simmons.”

“And are you familiar with Anthony Lorsecco?”

Joe shifts uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I know Tony. He’s one of our electricians.”

“When was the last time you saw Tony?”

“Uh . . . about 4pm yesterday. His girlfriend picked him up from the job site.”

“Babs?” You inquire. He looks at you confused.

“I haven’t met her, about this tall, skinny as a rail with big curly hair.” So not Babs you note. Clearly Tony was a busy man.

“Was Tony a good employee?” Joe looks a bit shifty again.

“Yeah, he did his work.”

“No complaints?”

“Well, he was the union rep. He always had complaints although some of them were just the boys spouting off. You know how that is.”

“He had plenty of grievances?” Joe shifts a little bit.

“Sure but that’s not really my problem.”

“Aren’t you the foreman?”

“Yeah, but that all gets passed up to Mr. Robertson.”

“And how does Mr. Robertson feel about it?” Joe waves his hand absentmindedly.

“I don’t get paid to think about Mr. Robertson’s feelings. I get paid to build his buildings.”

“So tell me about this new project.” You gesture towards the Hotel blueprints.

“Well, it’s up in Washington State, so some of the guys are going to have to relocate.”

“Some?” Joe looks up sharply.

“Well . . . different project, different crew.” He explains.

“But you’ll still be running it.” He nods.

“Was Tony coming up to Washington to work on it?” Joe hems and haws.

“We were still working out the details with Mr. Robertson.”

“And the union of course. Does Mr. Robertson ever employ the Pinkertons when things get a little rough with the union?”

Joe stands up suddenly.

“I think that’s enough questions for now. I’m afraid I have to get back to work.”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty.” You lean over the table giving him an amble view of your chest.

“We both know there is more you want to tell me about all this. There’s no need for it to be an unpleasant experience.”

He sits back in his chair, unable to meet your eyes.

“What are you proposing?” You turn, locking the door to the trailer and giving your hips a little shimmy, very aware of his eyes clinging to your curves.

“We could go back and forth all day, Mr. Simmons.” You make your way to his side of the table.

“You could deny things, and I would dig and probe and ask and weasel and investigate, because that’s my job . . .” you put your hand on his thigh, feeling his strong leg muscles tensing.

“. . . and eventually, I’d find out all there is to know about Tony Lorsecco, and you would be frustrated . . .” you move your hand higher, feeling his throbbing manhood straining against his pants.

“. . . and irritated and still surrender your secrets to me.” You lean in and whisper in his ear.

“What if, instead, you show me exactly what sort of man you are,” your fingernails trace the outline of his cock.

“. . . tell me all I need to know, and in return, I will do exactly what you want. What you need. Right here and now.”

You throw a leg over his lap and side down. He gives a low throaty moan and buries his face in your chest. You unbutton a few buttons as his lips find purchase on your full breasts.

“Fuck, alright.” He gasps. He pulls open your clothes, his tongue tracing circles around your hard nipple.

“Tony was pissed, alright? The new job, the hotel, it was going to be with some local scabs up in Tacoma, all the union guys here were cut out of the deal.” He pulls at your hips as you grind into lap, his cock like a bar of steel in his pants.

“Give it to me, give it all to me.” you moan back, breathless as he works open the button on your pants, his fingers probing, touching, caressing.

“So Tony goes and talks some shit with some of the boys and word gets back to Mister Robertson. Mister Robertson says this is a special deal, the client has very particular needs.”

You stand up, working his cock out of his distorted pants. It’s long and thick and hard, just like you remember it. “Oh, Joe, you’ve got some needs right here.” You jack it with long, slow strokes. He groans appreciatively, thrusting into your hand.

“Mr. Robertson says that the client is going to come down here and sort things out if we don’t get it handled. Jerry, my architect, starts to panic. So I reach out to a couple guys I know and they put me in-touch with the Pinkertons.”

You turn around and drop your pants, bracing both hands on his desk. You turn around wiggling your hips at him. “Keep it coming . . .” He lines up behind you, working your cleft with his fingers until you are fired up, pushing back against his hand, trying to get towards that peak.

“Oh fuck.” he gasps as he slides inside you, you squeeze around him, hot and tight. He thrusts into you, pushing you into the table.

“So they go and send a couple of heavies to deal with him. I don’t ask too many questions, you know? Oh FUCK!” he shouts as you tighten around him, his thrusts becoming more and more desperate. He pushes you down, frantic, desperate to be inside you deeper.

“Yes, yes, yes, YES!” You cry out, urging him on. His whole body goes rigid.

“AAAAGHHHH!!” he cries out, pumping load after load of hot cum into your depths. He groans, sliding out of your sopping wet pussy, completely drained. He sits back, stunned and overwhelmed.

You gather yourself, pulling up your pants and buttoning your shirt. Finally, when he has caught his breath, you lean in and give him a kiss.

“I’m going to need the name of Tony’s girlfriend.”

###

You catch up with Gloria and her husband, arguing next to his car near the construction site. They fall silent as you approach but it is clear that neither one is happy.

“Gloria, we’re getting close. Want to tag along as we talk to the other woman?” The husband rolls his eyes,

“Yes, Gloria, do you want to go play detective with little miss Samantha Spade?” She shoots him a look of venom.

“Yes, Jane, I would love to. Let’s go do that.” She stalks over to you as you two head for your car.

“Everything alright?” You ask. She shakes her head.

“He’s just not the man I married, and to be honest, neither am I. I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with his intern. He wants a divorce and was threatening to go to Reno for it.”

You dimly remember Ryan talking about the legal hoops involved with getting divorced in the 1930s and the Nevada state laws surrounding that but it’s hazy at best. You nod sympathetically.

“How did things go with Joe? Did you make him squeal?” You blush.

“Uh, yes I did. It took some hard work but I got the answers I needed.”

“So where are we going now? Are we picking up Babs?” You shake your head.

“I talked to my office, Babs is safely there and out of trouble. No, we are going to see Tony’s other girlfriend. She may have the answers we need.”

###

When you knocked on the door of the girlfriend, Jessica, you already suspected who’s face she would be wearing, but Simone’s piercing brown eyes are unforgettable. She was wearing a simple red cotton dress and wearing hoop earrings. She gives you and Gloria a skeptical look but flashing the detective badge gets you into her living room where she offers you a cup of tea and sits, patiently, for your questions.

“When was the last time you saw Tony Lorsecco?” At the mention of his name, her eyes flash fiery hot.

“That two-timing asshole?! I hope I never see him again. I hope he jumps in a lake. I hope I see him dead!” Gloria and you exchange a look.

“Well, you can have your wish. He died last night.” She gasps and goes pale.

“Really?” she squeaks. “Oh god! Oh Tony!” She bursts into tears. Lots of fire, this one.

“When did you last see Mr. Lorsecco?” Simone nods, gathering her thoughts.

“We went out for dinner, it was a six month anniversary. He was talking up a storm, like he always did, about work but I was happy to have him there. He’d flaked out on me a bit lately and I was worried. I should have been more worried.”

She twists a handkerchief in her hand.

“Then one of his work buddies came up.” She pauses, “No, not a work ‘buddy'” she does the air quotes. “The architect. You know, the one with the pretty face?”

Gloria perks up. “I know him.” She says evenly.

“Tony swore at him, said that he was the reason they were all getting kicked off the job. Well, the architect, he got into a shoving match and said, ‘just go live with your singer girlfriend!’ And stormed off. Now, I’m a seamstress, I have never sang a note in my life, at least not outside of church. So I go into him on that, and the lousy dog confesses. He had the nerve to tell me all about this big tittied singer that he’d fallen for at that jazz club down there. You know the one, where they sing all the negro music?”

You wince at the awkward words from Simone’s mouth but she glides on.

“So I told him that we were through, done. I’m nobody’s side piece. And I left. I came right home and burned his picture.” She pauses for a moment, and looks back at you with wet eyes, “Is he really gone?”

You nod.

“Unfortunately yes. Now Jessica, I’m going to need you to do one more thing for me, to help me solve Tony’s murder. I need you to come into my office and identify the man who spoke to Tony, can you do that for me?”

“For Tony, yes. I’ll do it.”

###

Gloria tried to pepper you with questions but your mind is a whirl as you frantically sketch out instructions on a piece of paper. You made a quick phone call from Jessica’s house to get everything ready and now the three of you are headed back to your office.

You can see the lobby is packed before you even open the door to your office. You elbow your way past Aleki, who is leaning against the doorframe nursing a cup of black coffee. He grumbles irritably but you give him a pat and he perches himself gently in a chair in the corner.

“They are all here.” says your girl friday. Caroline runs over to you and gives you a big hug.

“Oh thank god you’re here.” You pull back and search her eyes, looking for recognition.

“Are you still . . .”

“Still what? Under investigation for murder? Yes. The Detective and I had a long chat last night.”

She gestures towards Tanya, smoking a cigarette next to the broken door jamb to your inner office.

“No, are you still Caroline?” She looks at you with confusion.

“Yes, are you stil Brenna? I haven’t seen a door yet, so I haven’t gone home.” You look at Tanya, who is watching Caroline with . . . appreciation. Smug satisfaction.

“Did you sleep with Tanya?” Caroline blushes and shuffles her feet.

“Well, it was a vigorous interrogation.” You nod, relieved that mystery was resolved.

“Jerry?! What are you doing here?” Gloria gasps. Jerry, the architect who had been lurking in the other room, comes into the main lobby.

“He’s here because I want him here.” You announce. Joe follows close behind and gives you a lingering, flirtatious look.

“Okay, everybody, listen up. Last night, Tony Lorsecco was murdered and the people responsible are right here in this room.” A hush falls over the crowd.

“Tony knew that he was about to be out of the job. Robertson Development was building a big hotel up in Washington State and they were hiring local guys to do it. He was pissed. So he put the pressure on the one guy who knew might be able to change things around. He spoke with Jerry.”

Jerry looks down at his feet, shuffling back and forth.

“Jerry had been meeting with him after hours, trying to talk him off the ledge about it but Tony refused to take no for an answer. Jerry tried to find someone who could talk some sense into Tony, and hit upon the singer at the club his wife was so fond of. Once he found out that Tony was seeing the singer, they talked and hatched a plan. An intervention.”

You glance back at Jerry, his eyes firmly glued to the floor. “How am I doing here, Jerry?” No response. You press on.

“Unfortunately, Jerry ran into Tony earlier that night, out with a different woman at a restaurant. Seeing his plans foiled, he started an argument with Tony, hoping to dissuade him from pursuing this crusade. He revealed the affair to the other woman, isn’t that right Jessica?”

Simone nods.

“So what did you do after Tony left the restaurant? You gave the details about the jazz girlfriend, the union man who wouldn’t sit down and who needed a lesson. Tell me Jerry, who did you call?” You vaguely here Caroline whisper “ghostbusters” but you ignore it.

Jerry simply points to Aleki. Aleki looks up from his coffee as everyone stares at him.

“Oh shit.” You shrug. “Sorry big guy.” Tanya retrieves some large handcuffs from her coat.

“Aleki bashed Tony’s head in, but what to do? There had to be something done with the body. So he stashed it with the jazz singer. Now who’s idea was that? Certainly not Jerry, that would have just brought more attention, something he desperately wanted to avoid.”

Everyone looks back and forth. You relish the moment and then reveal.

“It was Babs. She discovered her boyfriend was cheating on her and had hired me, a private detective to catch him in the act. After all, she had a perfect alibi, a private detective that could attest to her whereabouts during the crime. Aleki called her, she arranged for the stagehands to be out of the way that night before she arrived at the club. After all, the Maitre D told us that there was a trap prepared. We just didn’t realize we helped place the bait.”

Caroline gasps. Simone bursts into tears. Tanya snaps the cuffs onto Aleki and leads him out of the office. “I’ll be back for the other two.” she shouts over her shoulder.

You grab Jerry and pull him and Gloria into the next room. This was the most important moment, and it needed to be perfect.

“Jerry, I need you to listen to me. With my legal help, I think you can beat the charges. Beyond that, Gloria here is prepared to sign those divorce papers.”

She looks up, startled. “You are, Gloria. I can’t get into details, but trust me, there is a great man in your future and you will be happily married for many many years, but not to Jerry.”

You turn back to the confused architect. “The only way that this will happen, that you will get your divorce and avoid trouble for all this, is if you do me this favor.”

You hand him the instructions that you wrote down in the car. He reads them twice over and looks up.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Make it happen and your life will be back on track.”

“I can do that.” You glance over your shoulder, the broken frame of the office door has been replaced with an all-too familiar green wood. Yes, the path home. Thank the gods.

“Follow the instructions to the letter, Jerry!” you shout as you grab the doorknob and twist.

The void envelopes you.

THUNK

Your feet land on the hard concrete of the basement floor. The first thing you notice is you are pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, with Caroline, Simone and Pixie. You utter a cry of relief, throwing your arm around them.

“Oh my gods am I happy to see you guys!” you shout. They give an excited laugh and hug back.

“So – I have some questions . . . ” says Pixie, but you are already sprinting up the stairs. You race back through Simone’s room, into the main living room, the fire still crackling in the fireplace.

You take a deep breath and reach into the Moose’s mouth.

Ka-THUNK. A heavy iron key falls out. It’s easily the size of your forearm, with a large heart shaped handle and a simple note attached.

“As promised, one Master Key to Hotel Murano. Tell Miss Elliot that she was right. – Gloria Robertson.”

TO BE CONCLUDED IN

. . .

THE WORLD BEYOND THE WELL