Room 616, The Pink Room
He knew he was being tested. Angels flooded his dreams and told him so, adorning his slumber with diamonds that shimmered like silver stars behind his closed eyes. 'You are safe and we will guide you, we will show you the Way' they proclaimed. And he knew they would for they were the holy Seraphim, the goalposts of all that the Almighty had put into place.
He woke up in his car. He blinked damp sleep from his eyes and nearly toppled the spent coffee cup at his elbow.
"Shit." He wiped a small dot off of the dark surface of his tie and then just discarded it for a new one. It was a lighter blue than he cared to wear with this suit but he couldn't walk in there stained.
Starting over was never easy. He knew he had to trust in God to show him the Way. The Great Shepherd never steered him wrong, especially not now while he was escaping corruption, the cries of the last of his disappointed congregation far behind him. He would find a new life and a new Way up here. He knew small towns that skirted these remote areas were open to Christian gospels in all their forms and were equally keen to give to them. Especially the younger families who needed a sense of hope. Â
Real estate was pretty cheap up here.
If he brushed up on his social media skills he could even start a remote ministry out here with the proper platform and spam bots put in place. He'd done it before. Â
Of course, he'd need to change his name, get a new logo, a new set of customized bibles and pamphlets to offer as physical media for them to consume. He'd make sure they were pretty enough for the Instagram influencers and the ones on X. He was truly starting over, but the God given skills he had were still there. He could still make people listen and not question what he said too much.
No one would trace him back to the incident.
People gave him their savings in the past. They would give him their all for the Glory of God again. Â
God has deep pockets and after all those court costs he sure needed to refill them.
He smoothed down his pale blue tie and made sure there was not a speck of lint on his baby blue suit, his hair perfect and blond, parted to the side, his eyes holding onto that little sparkle that had so enraptured his parishioners and was deadly when paired with his affable smile. The light impression he gave off was slightly duller since the incident, but he could make it shine bright again, especially with God's help, and the help of a healthier savings account. He was lucky they didn't find his investment funds during the investigation and when he had to hit the road, it came in handy. He had just enough for his new start up. He'd grow it like he did the first time, using humble beginnings in an empty store, then expand to a standalone building, all while taking in God's cast offs, showing them the Way.
If he tried going fully online he could make God's Home in his laptop and get the Seekers from any hotel room. Including this place. Portable Preacher.
Maybe that could be his new angle. He liked that. Portable Preacher, now on USB flash drives free with every Special Edition Bible Purchase. Also available via Google Play and the Apple Apps Store.
He was in the parking lot of the hotel, the place nestled deep in the woods, evergreen trees touching the clouds overhead in sharp, menacing points. The gothic austerity of it took him aback, but it also belied a sense of wealth he could easily tap into. He could feel the Spirit salivate, and his palm itched. Rich people were fiercely conservative. Guaranteed, he'd find some backers milling about the dining room, and he'd give them his Word and his Way and before they knew it they'd be signing cheques over in soft blue ink for the Glory of God Ministry.
Or Portable Preacher. Â
No, the first one.
It was a boring title, but boring was understood best and keeping the facade as simple and free of creativity made him his first million. For the online Flock he'd make it more flashy and modern. Â
The Glory of God Ministries with the Portable Preacher.
Yeah, that sounded right. Just catchy enough.
He shrugged his shoulders, plastered on his best salesman smile, being sure to show those glowing pearly whites he'd spent so much parishioner money on, and he walked into the lobby of the hotel.
The sterile atmosphere hit him like a surgery ward. Â
In the sitting area, a boar's head was fixed to the wall fifteen feet up near the ceiling and directly across from it on the opposite wall was its twin, the black, snarling head looking down on him from above with its glass eye that was still filled with the boar's fury. Between them was a massive fireplace made of natural stone and a roaring fire chewed up what looked like an entire tree in its vast, orange maw. He could feel the heat from it all the way to the front desk, which was a good twenty feet away.
He turned away from it, an involuntary shiver going through him as he approached the desk. Â
'She' was beautiful. But 'she' was not what he was expecting, and Terence adjusted his blue tie and bid the rising rage within him to stay put. Sin. Corruption. Everywhere he went these days he had to deal with this shit. He gave her his smile, but she rightly interpreted it as a sneer.
"Can I help you?"
Of course he had to run into one of those women in the middle of nowhere. Maybe this wasn't the bastion of dumb ignorant fucks he was hoping for, not if they were doing this kind of DEI hire. He let the facade slip away and he took a stick of gum out of his side pocket, unwrapped the foil wrapper and tossed it on the floor before popping the gum into his mouth. "I have a reservation."
He practically spat spearmint.
The big bitch behind the counter tossed her thick, wavy brown hair over an elegant shoulder and pressed her lips tight together. She typed his information into the computer in front of her. Â
"Name, please."
"Terence Tuckson."
"Yes, two nights it says here."
"Two?"Â Of course, she had to be so fucking incompetent... "It should be three nights."
She turned the computer around to show him the booking he had made. Though he wanted to argue, and give 'her' a good dose of his holy Wrath, he realized he was the one who had made the mistake. He assumed the weekend booking included the Friday. He cursed and considered his options, wondering if he should make a scene. He really didn't want to sleep in his car for another night. Â
The lobby was empty. The place seemed so deserted it was hard to tell if there was anyone else staying there.
He opted to just pay for the extra night. He still had a crick in his neck from the week long journey.
'She' handed him his FOB key. "Room 616. The Pink Room."
"Pink?" He rolled his eyes and snatched the FOB key from her gentle grasp. He made a good show of wiping it off with a tissue he took out of his side jacket pocket before slipping it in. She raised a perfectly shaped brow at him and he gave her another sneer, showing the one sharp canine that always poked through when he was angry. "Figures."
"Happy Easter," she quipped and turned away from him before he could argue for a different room.
He wondered what she meant by that as he headed towards the elevator, small overnight bag in hand. The mirrored interior revealed it. He was wearing a baby blue suit. He was heading for a pink room. Â
He was an Easter egg.
"Fucking bitch," he muttered and hit the button for the sixth floor.
~*~
It really was baby pink. He had half a mind to march right back into that lobby and beat the shit of that smart ass, cunt concierge and toss 'her' ass out on the asphalt and beat 'her' senseless. Good Godly Folk wouldn't convict him. She shouldn't have a job. She shouldn't exist. *Glory to God it is of man and woman that we are created. This is His Way, this is what He wants.* Not that 'her' at the front desk, handing him his FOB key with that coy smirk. Â
No woman was permitted to treat him like this, let alone that...That...
Pink frills everywhere, he noticed. Soft hues like you would find in a baby's room. The air was thick with that scented talc smell you only found in newborn nurseries. Â
He had a flash of soft wisps of auburn hair, the surprisingly tight grip of tiny, pink fingers around his thumb...
No, this was a mistake, he needed a different room.
He grabbed the phone on the small table in front of the pink chiffon chair and then hesitated. He'd have to talk to that...Bitch. And after how he treated her he knew he'd get a downgrade, no matter how much he hollered for something better.
He tore off his pale blue tie and tossed it on the frilly pink chiffon chair in front of the double bed. Sweat pooled behind his neck and he rubbed it with soft fingers, noting his nails needed a good manicure. It wasn't easy keeping up the perfect appearance expected of one of God's Warriors, it took expensive suits and flawless skin and a lot of protein shakes, plastic surgery and vats of skin care products. Terence knew you had to look the part to *be* the part. God was petty that way.
He could really use a spinach and kale smoothie. Â
A bible verse and a healthy shake and then, later on, a good two fingers of bourbon to make all the bullshit go down easier. He'd have to keep that little sojourn secret, though he loved going to bars and talking to the old soaks, their earthy opinions so much closer to reality. But no one got rich tending bar or drinking at one, and he sold his soul to the megachurch promise to make sure he never had to wear shirts with a restaurant logo on them ever again.
The room was pin quiet, save a small, hissing sound that echoed within it. Â
He tried to get comfortable and unpack his two favourite suits, a different one for each day he was there, the bright blue he wore for the sale of God goods, light beige for sermons, dark grey for business deals. He pondered the light beige, wondering if he could sneak some time in the chapel (there's always a chapel in these old hotels) and see if he could find some Believers in there who would be interested in his Way. Â
The hissing sounded like an open tap.
Like running water.
He pulled out his bible, its white and gold cover melding in with the decor of the room, all frilly pink with gold accents. The only thing missing was a crib. The place had the same fabric and hue as a baptism dress, one he'd frowned upon because he'd made it crystal clear it had to be white, and it wasn't his fault if they didn't know how to respect the Way and his instructions, ones which very, very clearly laid out that all baptisms were to be performed in white gowns free of all lace and decoration, just a simple cotton sheath. It was not a hard thing to understand. Right there in the pamphlet he handed out to all his parishioners with babies and young children. White dress. No ornament. Â
White.
That was definitely water running.
There was no kitchenette in this room and the sound was coming from the bathing room just off the right of the head of the frilly pink bed and just past the creepy, big eyed paintings of a girl and boy taking a bath together in a copper tub, an equally freakishly wide eyed puppy looking on. It was a strange painting to hang in a bedroom, a segue of sorts into the ensuite bathroom just beyond a corrugated white door that looked suspiciously like a curtain and was designed for that purpose. He stood in front of it, noting it closed with a magnet clasp. All it would take to push it open would be a gentle nudge from his knuckles. Â
He heard the water running full force. He felt the heat of the steam seeping out from beneath the corrugated door.
He stepped back.
No. He wasn't putting up with this.
He grabbed the phone on the tiny table in front of the frilly pink chair and dialled the front desk.
"Hello, Mr. Tuckson, how can I help you?"
"Water," he spat.
There was a pregnant pause.
"I'm sorry, are you asking for water?"
"I need the water shut off. It's running. In the bathing room."
Another gestational pause.
"Have you tried turning off the tap?"
"No!" *God give him strength against the evils of the world, may the Way guide him, may he...This fucking bitch!* "I want the water shut off! All of it! I don't want any water in this room, not one tap, not one flush, nothing!"
"Mr. Tuckson what you are requesting is impossible. We can't turn off the water in the rooms due to fire regulations. Not to mention they are all interconnected to our main plumbing."
"Then I want to change my room. To one without a bathroom."
"Sir," she said, her voice clipped. Uppity. Like she had a right to be. "This is the Broken Hill Hotel. We do not offer rooms devoid of basic, sanitary, human needs."
"For fuck's sake!"Â He slammed the phone down.
He paced around the circumference of the pink frilly chair. He simply had to deal with the noise. The water was running faster now. A new, tinny tone joined it. Ping. Ping.
p
i
n
g
A dripping tap. Â
The whole room reminded him of that stupid, frilly dress. Pink and gold with a satin sheen. She was slippery to hold onto as her parents tipped her into his waiting arms. He'd proclaimed her a child of God. He'd brought her into the fold of the Way. They knew it was full immersion. He'd specifically stated white cotton, no adornments. God had told him so, the importance of purity revealed during one of his prayer sessions and the Rule was Law.
And they broke the Law. They didn't think about the Way. He had to pray over that poor baby girl, he had to immerse her in that water and pray and pray and pray. He prayed so hard for that baby's parent's souls and her soul, because they brought her to him tainted and he couldn't just do a simple dunk and handover, he had to make a point to his congregation that they had to follow him To. The. Letter, just as God required, just as Jesus and John the Baptist...
The Spirit overcame him as he filled with the Way. He had to keep that baby down in that water, he had to wash off the Sin, he had to make sure for her sake and for his congregation that she was well and truly *saved.*
His trial proved he was right. The jury acquitted him because of his congregation's testimony, they followed him right into that courtroom and explained to the judge that he was doing what the Way expected him to do, that he was taking care of that baby better than any doctor could and it wasn't out of malice, it wasn't. It really wasn't because he needed a good spectacle and a lesson made. It wasn't because he thought her parents weren't as invested or keen to tithe as the rest, and they were poor and sometimes asked too many questions of him. Not that at all. He was doing the Lord's work. He baptised her. He held her under the water and...
Someone claimed he'd had a seizure and the judge bought that along with his tears and his sorrow. But his clergy title was stripped and he wasn't allowed to have a congregation in that region again. He had to sell off everything and hide his name, because of course, the internet had a field day with the incident and he did not look especially good under deeper scrutiny.
The Portable Preacher would need an anonymous avatar.
He sold up and hit the road and here he was. In a pink baby's room. With a shower that wouldn't stop running.
It was going to have to be him. He had to do it, he had to open that bathroom door and shut it off. Useless concierge bitch couldn't stop doing 'her' nails for five minutes to send someone in to do it for him. Too incompetent to know how to shut the water off. He'd have to do it himself.
He clenched his fists and, with a gentle tap, he shoved the bathing room door open. It slid on the rails as though it was automated, the corrugated waves collecting in a tight rectangle flush against the frame. The shower spewed warm water full force from its head, the steam obscuring the mirror. The small sink tap also ran full force, hot water filling it to the brim.
He tried to turn the taps off but they were too hot. He grabbed a face towel and managed to move it enough to reduce it to a trickle.
That would have to do. He had to call that stupid bitch at the front desk again and really lay into 'her'. God was testing him. God was putting so much evil in his way, when he was doing his best to promote the Way and...
The toilet flushed, startling him. He stumbled on the small bath mat and fell into the shower, hitting his head on the way down.
The water was warm. Not hot.
Not boiling.
Almost comforting.
The way God comforts a Sinner.
His face pressed hard against the small, white square tiles, his forehead cut on the edge of the drain. An inch of water covered the shower floor.
Just enough to cover his mouth and nose.
He tried to get up, but God knew, the Seraphim knew, he himself knew...There was Evil in him. Sin spots all over his blue suit. This was his chance to be cleansed. The Way held down his head and pressed his face into the cleansing water, water that would wash away all Sin and leave him Pure. Water that would kill the Evil that taints the world. Water that slid the Soul out of this physical life and into the Way.
Terence Tuckson wasn't cleansed, however.
He just drowned.
~*~
"How in the hell does a grown man drown in an inch of water?" Mandy shook her head, hands on her hips, her thin black heels making rings in the puddles surrounding the dead man. Â
Gladys shrugged and got out her mop. "Probably drunk."
"I really don't want to call the coroner," Mandy complained.
Gladys laughed at this suggestion. "What makes you think we need to? I dealt with this before, leave this to me."
Mandy didn't like the sound of that. She was only a week into her job as concierge and though she felt like she was doing all right the hard decisions like this one were becoming more frequent. The hotel seemed to attract a disaster prone type of person, herself included. "By law we need to call the police."
"There's no law out here," Gladys assured her. "We're in the wilderness. We make our own laws up here." She sighed and gave Mandy a compassionate pat on her arm. "It would be worse for us if word got out he died here. This is that one on the internet, the creep who drowned the baby during a baptism."
Mandy gasped. "Oh my god, THAT guy?" She leaned over him, her mouth open in shock. "Oh crap, if I'd know it was him I would have lost his reservation and tossed him out! I didn't recognize him!"
"Mistakes happen," Gladys said, too cheerfully. "Don't worry. I'll call the kitchen. We'll get this mess cleaned up."
NOTE: We would like to remind all guests at Broken Hill Hotel that we respect all belief systems and creeds and will always accomodate all spiritual needs of our clients. Sacrifices to Baal are performed every Thursday at 6:00 p.m. Refreshments at 7:00. Please keep the revelry to a minimum as some of our guests are light sleepers prone to night terrors. Thank you. We pray you enjoy your stay and bring some new souls with you on your next visit. 30% discount on weekends for all referrals! Use code #666Project2025 on your phone. Mar sin a bhitheas!