It was a long trek from the bus stop to the Paradise Hotel. Tate Archer supposed he could've picked somewhere easier to walk to, but the hotels in and just outside of Little Rock would have tons of people. The Paradise Hotel, a relic situated in the middle of a forest in the foothills of a nearby mountain range, accessible only by car and those stubborn enough to go by foot, would be near empty. It was perfect for those who wished to go unbothered.

His backpack felt heavier with every step he took. He had enough money for a taxi, and there had been many cabbies waiting at the bus stop, but he'd been too paranoid. He was regretting it now.

The road was inclined. At first, he didn't feel it. Halfway through his trek, his legs were on fire. He stopped walking and bent forward with his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. He tried to focus on the good: no cars had passed him by, which meant the hotel was as unpopular as he predicted. The trees were beautiful, swaying softly in the wind, and the sky was overcast, protecting him from the sun.

There is beauty everywhere, his mother used to say. You only have to find it. 

He liked the sentiment until she tried too hard to find the beauty in his father. She tried too hard, stuck around too long, and she ended up dead after having her head bashed into the wall. Now Tate was rethinking all of her lessons.

It was late January. He should be in school, lamenting that the fun of Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's was over. Instead, he was here, exhausted and alone.

He took one final deep breath and kept walking. It took forty minutes total to reach the welcome sign. It was daytime, so he wouldn't know for sure until later, but he guessed only half of the lightbulbs actually worked. The Paradise Hotel was spread out in front of him: one single-story, square-shaped building in the middle, with two single-story wings of rooms attached to both sides, making a V-shape. The room doors were outside; there were no hallways for guests.

Tate counted twenty rooms in total. Ten in each wing. In between was the parking lot, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw two cars. It could be the receptionist's, he reasoned. The maintenance man's. It doesn't have to be a guest's. 

Tate flinched when a bell rang as he opened the door to the center building. The inside was grand; there were mirrors and chandeliers and lounges full of plush couches. The walls were decorated with art of Arkansas's nature and cities. But none of the materialistic beauty could cover up the emptiness, the stench of cigarettes and staleness evident upon closer inspection of the plush.

On his way to the front desk, Tate noticed a man in one of the lounges. He was sleeping, his arms loosely crossed over his stomach, a baseball cap covering his face. A briefcase sat on the couch next to him, and a suitcase was at his feet. 

Tate fidgeted at the desk. The receptionist wasn't here, and he hesitated to ring the bell. He needed to be in his room as soon as possible, but he also needed to be seen by as few people as possible. Which mattered more?

He rang the bell once, cringing as the sound ricocheted off the walls. The man, thank God, remained asleep. The receptionist, a thin, short woman, came out from a back door. There was flour on her arms and hands, but she made no effort to dust any of it off and immediately grabbed her guestbook.

"Good afternoon," she said, "and welcome to the Paradise Hotel. My name is Tasi Kealoha. How may I help you?"

"I'd like a room for one night, please."

Tasi seemed to finally get a good look at him. "How old are you?" she asked.

"I'm twenty." 

He was fifteen. 

Tasi pursed her lips. There was a nervous energy in her movements; in the way she'd come through the door, in the way she was now brushing flour off the guestbook. He could tell she was trying to decide which question to ask: Where are your parents? Are you being trafficked? Do you want me to call someone?

But she asked, "Are you okay?"

No. He was not. His father killed his mother and he killed his father. The holidays were over, but were the murders? Was he a monster now?

"I'd like a room," was all he said.

Tasi looked down at the book, and Tate did, too. The page was empty, he noted. She finally wrote the date on top, January 20th, 1970, and slid it over to him along with a pen.

"Room E1," she said. "First room in the East Wing. Ten dollars a night, and you can pay each night. Sign your name, please."

Tate would've preferred room E10, the furthest from this main building, but he wasn't going to push his luck. He slid over a ten dollar bill and signed, Tate McGowan. He kept his first name only because it would be easy to slip up on that.

The front door's bell rang. Tate grabbed his key from Tasi and turned just as a woman walked in, taking off her sunglasses. Tate breezed past her, mumbling 'scuse me, ma'am, as he did, and though she turned her head to watch him go out the door, she said nothing. 

Tate swallowed as he walked to E1. There were three cars in the parking lot now. Two people had seen him. One knew he wasn't an adult. It could be better, it could be worse. He entered his room, locked the door behind him, and sat down with his back against it, finally letting himself relax.

....................................

"Was that a kid?" Margaret asked the receptionist after the door had closed behind the boy. 

The receptionist was frozen for a second too long before shaking her head. "No, ma'am. Not as far as he told me."

Margaret slid her sunglasses into her pocket as she approached the desk. Obviously the boy wouldn't be honest, but wasn't it up to the receptionist to do the right thing? If he was looking for trouble, she should've told him to leave, not given him a key. And if he was in need of help, she should've called his parents or the police, not given him a key. Perhaps Margaret was reading too much into it—just because she saw him alone didn't mean he was alone. His parents could be waiting in a room already.

But if that was the case, the receptionist wouldn't look so nervous right now.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to the Paradise Hotel," she said quickly. "My name is Tasi Kealoha. How may I help you?"

Margaret tapped her fingernails on the counter before glancing back at the lounge. "Has he checked in yet?"

Tasi leaned aside to see the sleeping man and blinked. "Oh. No."

"Well, he was waiting here before me. You can get him first, I don't mind."

Tasi loudly cleared her throat. "Sir? I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I'll check you in now."

Margaret wondered how long he'd been here, and considering Tasi was surprised to see him, where had she been? There was flour on her hands. Was she the chef, too? That would explain why there only three cars in the lot; one was Margaret herself's, one was Tasi's, and the other was the man's. The boy...well, who knew how he got here. 

"Sir?" Tasi repeated.

This time, the man sat up, the baseball cap sliding off his face. "Sorry. What?"

"I'll check you in now."

The man looked to Margaret. She stepped back from the desk and gestured for him to go ahead. He stood up, stretched, and grabbed his suitcase and briefcase.

"Here on business?" Margaret asked, raising her own briefcase. "Little Rock?"

"Yeah. You, too?"

"Unfortunately."

He laughed and turned to Tasi.

...........................

Tasi repeated her welcome for the third time today. She'd been working at the Paradise Hotel for four years now, and this was the first time she had this many guests sign in at once. Letting in the boy was a mistake; the woman clearly noticed, and if the man stayed long enough, he might, too. Giving the boy E1 was also a mistake—she'd done it because she thought he'd be safer closer to the main building, but now people in the lounge might notice him coming and going.

"One room for one week," the man said. 

The woman whistled. "One week. What work are you here for?"

"I'm a consultant," he replied as he slid over the money and signed his name in the guest book. Luke Galloway. "I have to present a plan to a company in Little Rock." He turned his attention back to Tasi. "Where's the food here?"

She pointed to the bar to the left. "I'm the bartender, so if I'm not there, pour for yourself and keep track of your tab. I'll check camera footage if I suspect dishonesty." She pointed to the right, where there was one vending machine for drinks, one jukebox, and a wall with built-in glass cubbies holding various goods. "Those are the only options here. Pay with coins to unlock the doors."

"Are you the chef, too?" Luke asked, glancing down at her hands.

Yes. She was the receptionist, the chef, the bartender, and a host of other things. She thanked God everyday that the only food option was a giant wall-vending-machine and not an actual restaurant where she'd have to play waiter, too.

After she nodded, Luke grabbed his key for the first room in the west wing and meandered over to the wall cubbies. Only a third contained food. Tasi was used to minimum occupancy, so she never cooked much. Usually just a few sandwiches and soups. She'd been throwing together cake batter when the boy had rung the bell; after she was done here, she'd have to restock the dessert cubbies.

As Luke stood there making his decisions, Margaret came up to the desk. "One room for three nights," she said. "What kind of amenities do you have?"

"There's a pool out back," Tasi recommended, "and it's clean, but it's a bit too cold this time of year for my taste."

"I'll take your word for it." She signed her name Margaret Smith, and Tasi gave her the key to E10.

Tasi gestured around the building. "There're also these lounges. I know it looks like tacky glamour, but they're more comfortable than they look, I promise."

"She's right," Luke commented, grabbing a sandwich from a cubby and easing its door closed. "Goodnight."

He turned to go, but the bell rang as the door opened, letting in a new guest that shocked everyone: a woman in a wedding dress.

........................

Elsie Reese froze when three pairs of eyes locked on her. Her dress was rather conservative, with long sleeves and a high neckline, but she'd never felt more exposed. There was nothing she could say to convince them she wasn't a runaway bride. No one would believe she was in a play—why on Earth would an actress playing a bride go, in costume, to a hotel in the middle of nowhere?

Elsie tried to compose herself and approached the front desk. The man with the packaged sandwich left, but the woman with the briefcase lingered near the jukebox. The receptionist cleared her throat and presented a guestbook.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to the Paradise Hotel. My name is Tasi Kealoha. How may I help you?"

"I need a room, miss. I'm not sure for how long."

The woman with the briefcase exited the lobby, and Tasi nodded. "No problem, you can pay by night."

Elsie swung off her backpack—she must look ridiculous in a wedding dress and a backpack—and removed some money from the inside pocket and handed it over. Tasi gave her a pen, and Elsie read the guestbook before signing it herself. The woman with the briefcase was likely Margaret Smith. The man was probably Luke Galloway, or Tate McGowan.

Before thinking it through, Elsie had signed as Elsie Reese. She almost crossed it out before catching Tasi's eye, and she knew it was too late to put down a fake name. It would be very obvious. She forced herself to release the pen and let the guestbook be taken from her.

It's okay, she told herself. He wouldn't come after her, not when he had a plethora of other girls to choose from, and never in a million years would he come to a run-down hotel in Arkansas and ask for the old pages of the guestbook.

"Third room in the west wing," Tasi explained, handing over the key.

Elsie took it, hiked up her dress, and walked to the food wall. She was too numb on the drive here to take note of her empty stomach, but now that she had a place to stay and a moment to rest, she was starving. There weren't many options, just sandwiches and soup, and the dessert section was entirely empty. 

She paid for a container of soup and practically ripped the plastic spoon off its side. She started eating right there—it was miracle enough that she didn't tip the container into her mouth and drink it like water. 

She was too enamored with her food to notice that a newcomer had walked in. An old man was signing his name in the guestbook when he suddenly turned around to face her.

"Elsie Reese?" he asked, emphasizing her last name.

Elsie put the spoon down, embarrassed by her appearance. Sweaty woman in a wedding dress, faded backpack on her back, guzzling soup like an animal. "Yes?" she said tightly.

"Reese." He repeated, eyebrows furrowed. "My name's Elijah Reese. Your father wouldn't happen to be Maxwell Reese?"

Her father's name was George. "No, sir."

"Are you married to a Duncan Reese?"

Elsie shook her head. "I don't think we're related," she said warily. "I guess it's just a coincidence."

Elijah shrugged. "Yes. I suppose you're right. Goodnight, anyhow."

He took his key—Elsie saw as he walked by that the tag said E5—and left. She waited a minute to make sure he made it to his room before she went outside, and then she took her soup to go and walked to her own room.

.........................

Taline Esma savored the drive up to the Paradise Hotel. The window was all the way down, and she smiled in the breeze as her hair whipped back. The noise of the wind and the speed almost overshadowed the thumping of the tools in her trunk. Almost. 

She rolled into the lot and parked. The hotel had clearly seen better days, but it looked alright for what it was. Two wings with the doors on the outside. A center building. There were five cars in the parking lot, now six with hers. She guessed that two belonged to the runners of this fine establishment, and three were other guests'.

As she got her suitcase out of the backseat, she saw two people exit the main building and scurry to their rooms. One, an old man appearing to be in his late sixties, and the other, a young woman in a...was that a wedding dress? Jesus Christ. The man walked into E5, and the woman walked into W3.

Taline entered the main building. The receptionist had been going through a back door, but she came back to the desk when she saw Taline. One look around the lobby and at the vending machines told Taline there was no restaurant here, which meant this receptionist with flour on her hands was the chef, too. And if the receptionist was the chef, she was likely the tender of the unoccupied bar as well. Taline corrected her earlier guess: one car belonged to the runner of the establishment, and the other four belonged to guests.

"Welcome to the Paradise Hotel," the receptionist said. "My name is Tasi Kealoha. How may I help you?"

"I'd like the room furthest from this building, please."

As Tasi eyed the keys left in the cabinet, Taline swept her eyes across the lobby. There were two security cameras, one pointed at the bar, and one above the door pointed toward the desk. Together, they likely recorded the entire area.

"Tenth room in the west wing," Tasi said finally.

"Are you hooking me up or playing me?" Taline joked. "Is there something better or worse about the west wing over the east?"

Tasi blinked. "Ah, no. E10 is already taken."

Good to know. Out of the twenty rooms, she now knew that E10, E5, and W3 were occupied. She'd figure out the rest later.

Taline took the pen and the guestbook. Tate McGowan. Luke Galloway. Margaret Smith. Elsie Reese. Elijah Reese. Which of these names would look best in a headline? On a tombstone? She pondered the thought as she added her own 'name', Tally Mason, underneath Elijah's.

Taline noted that the room numbers weren't written in the guestbook with the names. Tasi likely recorded those somewhere else, on a private record that she didn't show to other guests out of confidentiality.

"It's odd, I tell you," Tasi said when she noticed Taline eyeing the names.

"And why's that?" Taline asked.

"I don't think the hotel's ever been this busy. And at this time of year, too? Late January? When all the fun of the holidays are over and people stop vacationing? I get it—some have work. I'm a little surprised, is all." Tasi smiled. "I guess I have a lot to do now."

Taline returned the smile. They were around the same age, and Taline had always been charming. People liked to talk to her. "Guess so," she said. "Goodnight."

Oh, the girl had no idea. Taline was still smiling as she walked to her room. The holidays might've been over, but the murders weren't.