Status: finally some answers??

ok in case it wasn't obvious, i didn't write entry 22. i didn't even notice that it existed until i started catching up on my comments inbox a few days later and saw a bunch talking about stuff i didn't recognize, like someone named "Montag" and a whole bunch of debating about the pool room. so i followed the comments to that post, and was naturally like what the fuck. then realized that there were other posts (entry 20 and entry 15) which i also didn't write, so i upgraded to WHAT THE FUCK.

the first ever hotel post from back in july 2015 wasn't written by me, but i knew about that one (obviously) right away. and, yeah, that was horrifying, especially because it was about something so specific and personal to me, something that i've never told anyone in my real life about. the first time i read it, i literally turned every single light in the house on and spent all night pacing, checking the locks and peeking through the blinds. which is funny in retrospect - what, did i think someone had broken into my house and hacked into my brain? once i got past the panic, though, i kind of just rolled with it. i changed my account passwords and, once i'd stopped freaking myself out about the possibility of psychic stalkers, i used it as a jumping off point for the rest of this blog.

i thought it was the only post like that, though. turns out it's not. i changed my passwords again but at this point i doubt it will change anything. i guess i'll just have to keep one eye open and see how things devolve.

anyway, apparently this person told me to find her in room 818, which is the room directly to the right of mine. that sent me down its own little freak-out spiral, because holy shit i was literally neighbors with these people. when i woke up in the hotel last night, i spent a while just staring at the wall that separated us, ears straining for any noise in the other room. the only sound was the tinny buzz coming from my nightstand lamp. i clicked it off and, after boo-hooing about the absence of my bat, i went over and rapped my knuckles three times on the door.

i stood out in the hall for a good thirty seconds, sucking on my teeth and rocking on my heels, ready to bolt off in either direction at any sign of danger. maybe she wasn't here. from the last entry it sounded like she was stuck in the hotel, but who knew? i raised my fist to knock again, just to say i'd given it a fair chance, when it suddenly swept open. i yelped and took a stumbling step backwards.

she stepped into the gap between the half-open door and its frame, eyeing me up and down. her short black hair was swept back in a wet tangle, and she had a shirt bunched up on her forearms. "hey," she said, flat, like we were buddies, and pulled the shirt over her head, hiding her sports bra and pale stomach.

i tried to unstick my throat. she was a couple inches shorter than me, but i suddenly regretted not wearing my clunky boots to bed. "uh, a while ago, you told me to-"

"yeah, i know, that was only about four hours ago for me. what day is it for you?" now that she was fully dressed, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her sweats. her shirt was nine inch nails merch. respect.

"december fourth."

"of what year?"

"uh, 2016."

"goddamn it, i missed the election," she muttered, scrubbing through her damp hair. "please tell me that fucking bastard-"

"look, as much as i'd love to bitch about politics, i really want to know why you asked me to come talk to you."

"yeah, right. room's a mess, but you can come in." she stepped aside to let me in, and to be honest, i couldn't tell you how much of a mess the room was because she didn't have a single goddamn light on. the fan was whirring in the bathroom, and i could hear the faucet dripping. it smelled pleasant in here, like almond butter and cinnamon, but i wasn't exactly comforted by the dark, especially once the door snicked shut behind me and cut off the rectangle of light from the hallway. the hair on my neck stood on end, and heart was kicking up a storm. way to walk right into a potential ambush, Naomi, you goddamn champ.

"fuck, sorry, you probably want a light on." she shifted past me and clicked on the lamp, which emitted the same buzz as mine, go figure. now that i could see i had to admire the sheer amount of clothes, spiral notebooks, and empty gatorade bottles she had spread all over the dinky carpet.

"you shower in the dark?" i asked once my heartbeat started ticking back down, because that was about a thousand times more offensive to me than the clutter.

she was in the process of wheeling the desk chair over to this side of the room, kicking clothes aside with her feet. "i do lots of things in the dark. have a seat. or be weird and stand, it's up to you." i took a cautious seat in the chair, which squealed its protest (my ass is not that fat, come on), and she sat down on the mattress, so we were facing each other. the white light of the lamp pooled in the hollows of her collarbones and eyes, making it hard to discern her features. "so, Naomi, what do you want to know?"

"you said you have a good idea what's going on, and that you work for some weird organization called the Ashrose Society. i googled them, by the way, and they don't exist on the surface web. so i'd like to know your name, and how you found me, and what your end goal is. and also why. oh, and are you my neighbor on purpose or accident?"

she pressed her lips together into a grim little smile. "most of that is confidential."

"something tells me you don't really care."

"no, i don't." her smile flashed up into a proper grin for just a second, then vanished. "you can call me Agent Montag, and i woke up in this room mostly against my will, so i'd say it's a convenient accident. the Ashrose Society doesn't exist on the surface web because no one is supposed to know about it. your blog has kind of rendered that moot, so if my captain wants to shank me for saying any of this, i'll blame it on you. kidding. anyway, the society isn't even much of a unified force, it's a series of independent teams scattered all over the world, and we share intel and methods. and we're all after the same thing: to track and eliminate dangerous supernatural phenomena. your blog, and specifically whoever or whatever is posting on it for you, brought this hotel to my team's awareness. it happens to be very dangerous, so we've been here investigating, figuring out how to neutralize it, and also so we can monitor you and keep you safe."

Montag sat with her legs spread, elbows draped over her knees. even though she was slouching, hair stuck out in all directions, lips chapped, there was something authoritative about her. i gnawed on the flesh of my cheek. "if you're trying to keep me safe, why has your little agent friend been screwing around with me, like with the 'interview' and stuff? you clearly know where i am and could've just come find me to tell me what's going on, so why so cryptic? why the notes on the pool door?"

"the notes weren't from us. Blake is very interested in doing things by protocol. we're supposed to record anyone we talk to in the field to avoid misreporting or personal conflicts. she did go directly to you, but, again, protocol says she can't just explain herself outright. i think both rules are bullshit, so i left you to her, but i'm starting to get very tired of this place. if you know what's up we might all have a quicker ticket out of here."

i crossed and uncrossed my legs, swiveling around in the chair. "so you're not recording me right now, right?"

"no."

i had no reason to trust her. i wasn't about to dig through her dirty laundry for a hidden recording device, though. "in the last - well, actually, you probably can't see the blog in here, can you?" Montag shook her head. "well, the last post on there, which i didn't post, is about you. it said something about how, like, you don't want what happened to you to happen again to me? oh, and what's the deal with your dagger? like, first of all, how'd you get an object from the real world into here in the first place, and how'd you take it out of a different dream?"

Montag stood, wincing as her back popped, and then wandered over to a discarded hoodie. she nudged it aside to reveal a red-hilted dagger that was about eighteen inches long, its blade sheathed in thick leather. there was also a mostly empty bottle of ibuprofen. she squeezed the cap off and dumped a few in her mouth, then stood back up and slid the leather off the dagger.

it was the weirdest blade i've ever seen. the hilt was made of solid ruby, with an oval-shaped grip and quillions that curled up into a crescent. the blade looked like white opal, but i'm pretty sure the last post said it was a dragon's tooth? whatever it was, it was gorgeous, glinting in the low light as Montag rolled her wrist. "i took this as a souvenir," she said, as if that explained anything, and then added, "have you ever actually tried to bring anything in or out? or, wrong question. have you ever put anything in your pockets before you came here?"

"no, but-"

"put your phone in your pocket when you sleep. when you wake up here, think about having it and then check your pocket. it will be there. you could take the bat outside that way, too, if you hold onto it when you go to sleep."

i opened and closed my mouth like a fish, feeling like a proper idiot, because god, what an obvious thing to try. as soon as she said it, it felt like something i already knew. and didn't i? don't i? it's the same feeling i had when my memories of Rabbithead changed. like, now that's exactly the way i've always known it to be, but for some reason i was just recounting it wrong before. it's only happened twice, but twice is more than enough, thanks. i feel like someone's stirring my brain with a fork.

Montag sheathed the blade and sat back down, the bed's springs creaking. she seemed to be looking everywhere other than me - at the lamp, at her hands, at the ceiling - when she said, "Naomi, no one else will tell you this, because you're in a very unlucky position here. you're experiencing things that the human mind isn't meant to. but i want you to understand the incredible amount of privilege you have in the fact that you can come and go. that you can tell people what's happening to you, even if no one out there believes you. it's your strongest weapon."

now her eyes snapped directly to mine, and i froze up, a deer in the headlights. her voice was low and urgent. "anything weird or fucked up that happens to you here, document it. share it. that way if... if things go sideways, there's some kind of proof or trail. most of us spend our whole lives clawing at the ceiling for a voice. don't waste yours."

i felt like i'd been punched in the stomach, though not in a strictly bad way. i stared at the blank white cone of the lampshade until it was burned into my vision, a spot of light that danced around when i blinked. "so, you're totally cool with me describing this conversation in excruciating detail for an unknown audience of hundreds?"

"please do."

god knows why, but i laughed at that. my throat was tight. the shadows in the far corners of the room didn't seem quite so ominous. "welcome to your interview, Agent Montag. please tell me all your damage."

"alright. shall we start with my dead mother?" for a second i thought she was being snarky, but then she continued, "my mom died when i was 14. cancer. i got super wasted at her funeral, so my dad took me out to the car and beat the shit out of me. he wanted to drive me home but i said i'd walk. then out of nowhere, this girl i'd never seen in my life came over and volunteered to drive me instead, so he could stay for the rest of the service. god knows why, but both me and my dad said yes.

"the last thing i remember is leaning out the passenger side of a very expensive european car, puking my brains up on the side of the road, and this girl reaching over to brush my hair out of my face. i woke back up four years later on a mattress in an abandoned warehouse. the Society told me it was a miracle i was alive. they graciously never mention the part where, if they hadn't pulled off the miracle of finding me, i wouldn't be."

my jaw was hanging open, which i realized was rude, but when i snapped it shut my teeth audibly clacked like a fucking skeleton, which had to be even ruder. i noticed then, belatedly, that she looked to be around the same age as me. if she woke up at eighteen, she hasn't been awake for all that long. "where did she take you?"

Montag shrugged. "the practical answer is seattle. apparently she'd convinced everyone that she was some cousin of mine, and that we'd gotten into a fatal accident on the way home from the funeral. everyone in my family, all my old friends, think that i'm dead. i was actually just asleep for four years, which might frankly be worse. and that entire time, i was dreaming of this fake magical kingdom called Adsophel. i lived through the 'plot,' so to speak, a good dozen times, like a groundhog day loop. except i never realized it was repeating. as far as i was concerned, i was a boy named Tucker who had the ability to telekinetically control shadows, and i was raised and trained from birth to be a killer."

so much for the shadows seeming less intimidating. for a split second her eyes changed. instead of being cool grey, her irises swirled with the cosmos - tiny pinpricks of white stars, multicolored clouds of nebulae. a shiver rolled up from deep in my stomach, and i broke eye contact. when i looked again, she was back to normal.

"see, the king had killed a dragon and drank its warm blood, which in this world made you immortal. he'd been ruling Adsophel for hundreds of years, but of course he was a tyrant, so eventually his advisor - also immortal - launched a coup and killed him. which really pissed off his head knight - also immortal - so it devolved into a civil war that went on for a century. it was my job to kill one or both of them, and end the war. but the advisor would always find me and stab me with these poisoned rose thorns, which essentially gave me magical lung cancer and slowly killed me. i never actually made it to the end. i always died before i could finish the story, before i could kill her. so it would start all over again.

"the woman who put me in the dream was named Silvia. she was the queen of Adsophel, of course immortal, but always missing. she always vanished at the start of the war, right after the king died, and by the time i came around, she was never more than a ghost story.

"but the last time around, i was more... i guess lucid. i still didn't know it was a dream, but i knew that i didn't want to be raised like a super-powered attack dog to end someone else's war. so i ran away at a young age and lived on the streets. i taught myself how to fight and hunt and hide. Silvia must not have liked that, because she came and found me. she told me to wake up another dragon. i did. it killed us both. and i woke up."

well, that sure was an awful lot to process. "ok, let me ask a whiteboard's worth of dumb questions here. first of all, that sounds horrifying. that's not a question, sorry. so that body in the pool, the dead girl, that's Silvia? did she make this place? am i being hunted by her too? or did she actually get perma-killed by a dream dragon when you got out of your coma? did you ever find her physical body, or is that just actually her physical body? does any of this make sense?"

Montag scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, quiet for so long that the air stagnated with it. i considered just leaving, but she finally let out a heavy sigh and said, "none of this ever makes sense. get used to it. the body is Silvia, yes. we were at the harbor, and she must've fallen into the ocean when the dragon attacked her. how a bit of that ocean ended up here, with her corpse in it, is what i'm supposed to be figuring out. and that corpse is as real as she gets, i think. she's not a human being. whatever physical projection of her i interacted with in the real world, that wasn't real. she's real here, in dreams. i don't know if she can ever truly die." how cozy.

"i don't know yet if this hotel is hers, though. it seems too simple. too messy. too many people coming and going. my dream had, i guess reflections of real people that i knew. some of them were people i hadn't even met yet - my whole team was in there. our team captain, Agent Laning, was actually the one who raised and trained me to fight, which was really fucking trippy to wake up to. point is, those weren't real people. they were the versions of real people that live in my memories. past and future.

"but this hotel is brimming with real people, and it's accessible to anyone. it's like a sub-world. my best guess, at the moment, is that she didn't create this space, but whatever's left of her has come here to hide. and based on your blog, i'm almost completely certain that she's hiding as the one you call Lilith. they even look almost exactly alike."

i weighed Lilith in my mind. her pale skin, the sharp jut of her collarbones, the dead eyes, the coil of white hair. and the girl in the pool. pale skin, thin frame. waves of white hair. how had i never seen it before?

i actually gulped, like a goddamn cartoon character. "so if she's just hiding here, if she just jumped from the dream she made for you and into this one... then who the fuck made this one?"

Montag scowled. "that's what we want to know, too, and i'd like your help to figure it out. you know this place better than anyone, Naomi. for some reason, you're awake here. being awake in a place like this takes most people years of very rigorous training and familiarity with the supernatural. what you're doing, right now, sitting here and having a conscious conversation with me, is a wonder."

"i've seen ghosts for my entire life."

"so did i, and i still lost four years. even now, even here, i have to do check-ins with myself to make sure i remember it's only a dream. you just know. you know its layout, you know its quirks. you've even met its demons. by the way, we've been sitting here for a while. probably three or four hours, at least, in real time. have you noticed anything?"

noticed anything? "what-" oh. "Rabbithead." it hadn't come. it definitely would've by now, normally. i immediately twisted around to look at the door, half-expecting to see it standing in the little entryway, staring at me with those filmy eyes. we were alone.

Montag almost smiled. she reached under her shirt and tugged free a pendant, a little velvet pouch that wasn't much bigger than my thumb. "another souvenir from my dream. this is ocean sand, enchanted by mystics to ward off unwanted entities. the society has a half-dozen spells and pendants and salt-rituals that can only do half of what this little bit of sand is capable of doing." she undid the clasp, and, to my complete shock, held the necklace out to me. "i expect it back," she warned, "but if you're willing to work with me, you can have it for now."

i held my hand out but didn't take it from her. my mouth was dry. "why?"

"why am i giving you this?" Montag raised a thick eyebrow. "nobody was around to help me. which was bullshit. take what help you can get."

so i took the necklace. i put it on. and when i woke up in my real room, it was still hanging around my neck.

i don't really know what more to say. i guess i'm part of the conspiracy now.