C. Box - Free Fire

He opened his eyes and looked at his wristwatch, shocked it was only 10:30 P.M. Without television, radio, or the routine of home, his body clock was thrown off. He considered going back over the file to see if something jumped out at him that hadn’t before, now that his subconscious had asserted itself. Instead,he rooted through the desk and read about the Old FaithfulInn in Zephyr brochures.

A half-hour later he dressed, thinking he would go for a walk, hoping the physical activity would help shut down the video loop in his brain. Maybe he’d watch Old Faithful erupt again. He grabbed a jacket, considered taking the Glock, decidedagainst it.

The hallway was dark but not as dark as he remembered it, but he felt familiar relief as the warm glow of soft light on the logs lit his path to the open, empty lobby. Even the desk clerks seemed to be taking a break. The strange mechanical clock on the fireplace ticked, and his boots echoed on the wooden stairs to the lobby floor.

As he reached out for the iron latch on the studded door something made him pause and turn around.

Not every rocking chair in front of the hearth was empty. Nate Romanowski was asleep in one of them, his hands hangingat his sides, his boot soles splayed, his head back and mouth open.

Joe crossed the lobby and nudged Nate’s boot with his own. “Tag, you’re it,” Joe said.

Nate cracked an eye. “Hey.”

“Thanks for today, Nate. I mean that.”

His friend sat up and rubbed his face, waking up.

“Why didn’t you stick around?” Joe asked.

“I heard what that ranger said about the new law,” Nate said. “I believed her.”

Joe chuckled. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“That was good shooting.”

“I’m a good shot.”

Joe pulled a chair over and sat down next to Nate. The fire was nearly spent, but the heated stones of the fireplace radiated warmth.

“I wanted to see the murder scene,” Nate said, “find out if I could get any vibes from it. I got nothing. But I was glad I was there when you and the ranger walked up.”

“Me too.”

“Are you figuring anything out?” Nate asked.

Joe thought about it before answering. “Overall, I’d have to say. . nope.”

Nate simply nodded. Joe filled Nate in on what had happenedso far, where he was headed. As Joe talked, he studied his friend. Nate appeared to be only half listening, as if there was something else on his mind.

When Joe was through, he asked, “Any questions? Any ideas?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, then.”

Nate stood up, checked the front desk to confirm there was still no one there, then stepped over a metal barrier and approachedthe fireplace. “Watch this,” Nate said, and started climbing the chimney using the outcrops of volcanic stones for hand- and footholds.

“Nate. .”

He scaled the fireplace until he vanished into the gloom. Above, in the shadows, Joe could hear Nate’s heavy breathing and the scuffle of his boots on rock. Ten minutes later, Nate rejoined him after scrambling from the chimney onto a cat-walkand taking a series of rickety, ancient stairs back to the lobby.

“I used to do that when I worked here,” Nate said in explanation.“Every night if I could.”

Joe shook his head. “When did you work here?”

“Many years ago.”

“I never knew that.”

“There are a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

“And I’m not sure I want to know them.”

“No,” Nate said, “you probably don’t.”

Joe sat back in his chair. “This is quite a place, isn’t it? I read that it was built in 1903 and 1904, in the middle of winter. Some days it was fifty below. The guy who built it had a sixth-gradeeducation, but he was a self-taught genius.”

Nate agreed. “He was a wizard too. If you noticed, the windowson the building don’t correspond with particular rooms or floors. They’re scattered against the outside like they were just thrown up there and stuck. That’s intentional. The architect wanted the look of the hotel to be random and asymmetrical, like nature itself. And it’s just as interesting inside. There are secret stairways, hidden rooms, and a crazy dead-end hallway called Bat’s Alley. They’re closed to the public, of course, and very few people know about them.”

Joe looked over. “But you know about them.”

Nate nodded Of course but didn’t meet Joe’s eye.

“Nate, what’s going on? There’s something wrong, I can tell. You didn’t climb that chimney to impress me, although it did. You climbed it because something’s eating at you and you need to think.”

Nate sighed but didn’t disagree.

“What is it?” Joe asked.

“I was over in the Zephyr housing area earlier,” Nate said. “I was wondering if there was anybody still here who I knew when I worked here.”

“Yes?”

Nate leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and cocked his head. “Joe, there’s somebody you probably ought to see.”

Joe was puzzled.

“Did you bring the Glock?” Nate asked.

“I left it in my room.”

“Good,” Nate said, rising. “You probably don’t want a weapon around afterwards.”

Joe followed nate through a back door and they crossed a meadow of dry, ankle-deep grass on a well-worn path. Because a curtain of clouds had shut out the stars and moon and there were no overhead lights, the darkness was palpable.It was still and cold. Joe tracked Nate ahead of him by the slight white whisps of Nate’s breath in the utter blackness. The lights of the inn receded behind them.

When the path stepped up onto blacktop, Joe knew where he was- crossing the highway toward employee housing, which was hidden away from tourists. There were no cars in either direction.They plunged into the trees on the other side and Joe stumbled into Nate, who had stopped.

“What?”

“There’s something in front of us,” Nate said. “Something big.”

Joe looked over Nate’s shoulder. Despite the lack of light, he could see a huge black triangle shape blocking the path. There was a strong odor of fur, dust, and manure. With a guttural snort, the buffalo spooked and crashed ahead through the timber.

“Are there more?” Joe asked.

“I don’t think so. He was a loner.”

“Like you.”

Nate didn’t respond. Behind them, far away in the basin, a geyser erupted. The sound was furious, angry, the roar of a boilingwaterfall shooting into the air.

“Nate,” Joe asked, “where are we going?”

“Employee housing,” Nate said.

“But where specifically?”

“The bar.”

The zephyr employee bar was hidden in the center of a long barracks-like building that fronted the dark employee dormitories.Steam hissed from a dimly lit laundry facility in one part of the building, and Joe caught a glimpse of several employeesinside folding linen sheets. There were no neon beer signs to mark the bar and no cars outside, just a window leakinglow light through a curtain and two middle-aged women smoking cigarettes on either side of the door. The women stubbed out their smokes as Joe and Nate approached, and started walking heavily toward the dormitories. Joe followed Nate inside.

The place was rough and crude, Joe thought, with the feel of a secret frat house drinking room. It was paneled with cheap laminate, and small bare lightbulbs hung from wires behind the bar. A crooked and stained pool table glowed under a pool of light, battered cues lying on it in a V . An entire wall was covered with curling yellowed Polaroids of Zephyr employees who had graced the place. Two tables were occupied with young employeeswho had been there for most of the night-it was obvious by the collection of empty drinking glasses and pitchers-and only two men were at the bar, one standing and glaring at them with a hand on the counter as if to hold himself back from attacking,the other slumped forward and asleep with his face nestled in his arms.