Chapter Text
The rain was pouring. The night was dark and stormy. Now Storming and raining was fine. Totally fine during the daylight hours. Managable and not too much of a heartbreak, but such a feat to begin just when the sun was going down and ruining a picture-perfect sunset. No one really liked that, now did they? A chartered bus full of Arsenal Football Club players and their manager, a silver rectangle was beaming down the long, slick asphalt of the motorway, surrounded by impenetrable forests on all sides, a real middle of nowhere with no one really anywhere around, when one of the tires burst.
Their manager, Mikel Arteta, broke down in the middle of the downpour. No, it was a deluge. All the players who had been trying to rest after an exhausting tie with airpods and TikTok or a book were off the coach quick as a flash and caught the broken glass sharpness of the cold wet rain over their tired heads in it as they ran for their lives across the road, brave roosters to a large grey building squatting like a giant toad with a lighted marquee in neon red HOTEL. Maybe there was a restaurant or bar where the men could wait while everything got sorted. Stretch their legs out.
The poor driver and his co-driver would be tasked with changing the tire in the rain.
The manager, Mikel, fretted; they did have a game the day after tomorrow and needed their rest for it. The last three matches had been ties. He was feeling a strong headache coming on. He had not eaten, or it could be the air pressure. He shivered and sweated underneath his clothes, cursing himself for not changing into more comfortable clothes or at least showering. His dry mouth needed some gum; all his wants didn't help matters. So he tried to suppress it. It was cold enough, but in the argy bargey, he had left his duffle coat on the bus. A good place for it!
He had to get the gang inside. He had to get them dry. They had been back on the road. They had so much to do. Rest. He needed to... he needed to do a lot, but he forgot all that, carrying the responsibilities of the 20+ number of players under his care.
Mobiles were down, and no one could get a connection to call friends or loved ones. As they got closer to this hotel, he fretted. How much would this hotel charge for group rates? Could they share? The credit card he had would it cover all expenses? Not a thought crossed his mind about what the fuck a hotel of this calibre was doing in the middle of the woods where there seemed to be more birds than human souls. From across the street, it had seemed like a motel with a chain restaurant across the street, but now that he gazed up, it looked more like a hotel you would find in Ibiza or a hot destination. There was a massive fountain in the middle of the place. There was a carport. There was a disco. There was... where was the chain family restaurant?
No matter, everyone plied through the doors. And inside the lobby, large and expansive, with champagne-hued floor-to-floor carpeting, the drenched squad entered. Alice went down the rabbit hole. Dante descending. Maybe there was complimentary wi-fi. The newer hotels always had them!
The place looked better inside. Completely modern with minimalist furniture. A roaring fire in one of the three fireplaces. Roses in vases. A nice pleasant scent. Calming and relaxing.
And a pale, well-nourished front counter staff with unblinking, sticky eyes stared at the arrivals with secret glee that he was able to keep off his face for the moment.
Mikel Arteta had his suit plastered to his lean body. Hair running with cold, cold water, asked Emit the man behind the counter, if they had rooms to let.
"Oh, don't worry, we have loads of room. Don't worry, you can pay tomorrow. Whenever there is rain like this. Our payment systems are down; they must have come all the way from Spain. We get coaches full of people, all the time." Thank he paused for ten seconds. "This country for the weather. Do not fear."
With that sorted, the men trudge back into the storm to grab their luggage.
Emit pressed a button underneath his desk, moving his thin hands with a flourish.
Smiling attendants materialized from who knew where. The lobby had been tomb empty before. Perhaps they had been standing in the shadowy corners waiting for their cue. No matter, these Otherworldly beautiful, spry lads with bright, bright eyes were here to help!. Each was obsequious now, grabbing luggage and other sundries from the weary footballers while crafting pleasant conversation. The room was full of conversation. One-sided. All the players were dazed. Mikel stood a little far apart from them, just watching the kicked-up ant hill.
"We have everything here. Sauna, swimming pool, spa, massage, facials, full-service bar and dining hall. We have two restaurants and 24-hour room service. Menus are in each room! Emit was standing up and yelling this as everyone was escorted to their rooms, elevators pinged open and off they went. In groups of 8, one footballer with one attendant.
All tires punctured. Got a lift with someone to the garage to purchase new ones. Spend the night at the hotel. Mikel received a text from one of the drivers. His headache was coming on strong. Iron spikes were driven into his brain. He needed a change of clothes. He needed a shower. He needed a drink. He needed a dic--
"Sir, are you all right?" Emit was standing next to him. "You look like you just saw your death!"
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Mikel had no idea what to say.
"I think you misheard me, sir. You look like you have a headache." Emit spoke smoothly as he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pill.
"Take one, sir. Take one. It will be OK. You will feel better. My dad always had the most terrible ones. Then he died, and I am sure he is in heaven, where they don't have headaches. Please take one. I will feel bad if you don't." He slipped it into Artera's hand and, with a pleased grin, went behind the counter and sat down with a hollowed-out smile on his face. Unmoving like a sphinx, he looked at Mikel. Or perhaps past him.
"Follow me, senor." Another voice pulled Mikel up by his bootstraps. A dark-haired man who looked just like Emit, but he had black hair instead of brown.
"Follow me, I will take care of you... well."
In one of the deluxe suites, the waterfall shower started to run. In the corridor, someone laughed. Surely one of the footballers. Or maybe it was someone's ringtone.
All the squad had settled in. Changing clothes, showering, bantering if they had been grouped in one room or trying to contact their loved ones through their mobiles. Cell reception was spotty here. Old hotels, right?
Not a single one noticed the slightest of blood stains near the chartered coach, already cleansed by a hose. If any of them recognized the scent of butchered bodies rife in the atmosphere. They were too polite to even notice.
Mikel sat on his bed. Back straight. The man who had shown him to his room had refused to lave quick enough. He had stayed showing Mikel how to turn on and off the faucets. Flushed the toilet for him. Turned on the deluxe shower. They had a bathtub as well if he wanted to soak. He had held back expectantly as if he was invited to watch Mikel take his clothes off and get in the bathtub. Perhaps he could rub the fatigue from his body. The headache was a sharp pain. A slick, blood-coated axe is being driven into Mikel's brain. It had been years since he had had one this hard, this hurtful. Take the pill. Swallow it. Just swallow it. No water needed. The voice in his head. His voice. But was that how Mikel talked? He gave in. Swallowed that pill. Started removing his rain-sodden clothes. Stripping down to his Armani briefs. They were dry. he tried to do a stretch and almost fell. He stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. Had he locked his hotel door? The thought of having a shower. No soaking in a bath for him. That man who had shown him to his room came in and touched his things. Trying on his clothes. Trying on his underwear. How many had he packed? He looked in the mirror and gave himself an uneasy smile. As he got into the shower and turned it on, the water was hot and lovely. The pill's effect was happening. The pain was disappearing, or else he was being numbed. A bar of soap with a rich, fragrant lather. He lathered his supple, lean body and started whistling. The noise of falling water from the spray was too loud to hear the creaking of his bed mattress outside in his bedroom.
His coat was still on the bus. But the bus was long gone. Out of this story.
Outside in the hallways. A chuckling. A chortling. Outside in the hallways, even with the lights, it was dark.