Back to Contents

Solomon bolted upright, gasping for breath as he clawed at the vaulted ceiling. It took him a few panicked breaths to realize he was no longer being flushed down into the depths of an underground lake. What a dream. He looked around and wondered at his surroundings. He lay on a large round bed in the center of a giant room. The carpets were of a lush red variety and spread throughout the ground, hitting the walls and running about a quarter way up; the walls themselves a deep crimson as they climbed to the ceiling. The crown and ornamental mouldings were gilded, as was the moulding along the walls where the carpeting ended. Large fleur-de-lis carvings capped the mouldings at the many corners of the room. A chestnut escritoire was placed beside a large bay window while a giant chiffonier of chestnut stood sentinel on either side of the double doors, which were painted white and ornately carved.

Surrounding the bed were eight columns of chestnut--also ornately carved--between which were draped sheer curtains of grey. The bed itself was dressed in satin sheets of gold. The pillows were dressed in satin sheets of red. Solomon was dressed in silk loungewear of grey. Everything matched. All was in its place. And yet he felt strangely uncomfortable, as if he didn't belong, foolish amidst all this vulgar luxury.

After letting out a wild yawn, Solomon rolled to the edge of the bed, turning to sit up and throw his feet over the side. He let them dangle before sliding down off the bed and walking to the bay window to bask in the warmth of the sunlight pouring in. He felt exhausted to his bones and he knew not why. Something lingered at the edges of his mind, something to shed light on his plight, but it eluded him. He shook his head. Maybe some coffee would help.

He opened the doors and stepped out of the room into an area for entertaining guests fashioned after the bedroom. Large glass sliding doors to one side opened out onto a wide balcony. In the center, taking up most of the space, was an inset of sofas and large bean bags. Opposite the sliding doors was a full bar, with bottles lining the wide shelves behind a chestnut counter. Solomon strode across the room and entered a short hallway which ran alongside the entertainment room. This was plain, lacking the vulgar red and gold, with cream-colored walls and beechwood cabinets and drawers, a black mini fridge with glass door, and a stainless steel sink. Solomon walked to the end of the hallway and peeked out the other side. The hallway opened onto a foyer which was also fashioned after the bedroom, though an ornate hanging lamp illuminated this space as there were no windows. Solomon recursed his steps to land beside the sink in the hallway, where there sat a rather fancy contraption he assumed to be a coffee maker.

Knobs and spigots sprouted from all over the device, and he wondered if he had the mental capacity to figure out how it worked. After a few minutes of attempting to find the reservoir, he decided to find a place where he might acquire coffee already made. He abandoned the contraption next to the sink, walked through the foyer and threw the double doors open onto a hallway. He looked down the hall in both directions and noticed only a single set of double doors opened onto it aside from his own. On the plaque directly across from him where directions to the elevator: an arrow pointing to the right. Stairs were to the left. There was a vague impression of concern with regard to the stairs. He didn't know from where it arose, but as he tried to remember, this too sprang away.

All the more reason for coffee, thought Solomon. He turned to the left and walked toward the elevator, leaving the doors to his suite wide open.

Solomon was surprised to find the elevator waiting for him, as the doors popped open the moment he pushed the down button. He stepped in and turned to the wall of buttons, searching for the one which would deliver him to the lobby. The many rows and columns of buttons were marked with floor numbers and parking levels, making it difficult for him to locate the correct button. He found it nestled between the door open and door close buttons at the very bottom of the array, marked with a bold "L". He pressed the button, the doors closed, and he was on his way. The trip down was swift and uneventful, with no stops. He arrived at the Lobby floor, the doors spread apart, and he stepped out of the elevator and into a crowded casino.

Continued after the break

The smell of tobacco and stale cigarettes; the scent of sweaty, unwashed bodies; the murmur of countless conversations; the incessant bells, pings, dings, and alarms of innumerable slot machines; and the flashing and strobing lights of all manner of devices assualted Solomon all at once, causing him to shuffle to the back of the elevator. The doors began to close. He considered returning to the suite above, but was intent on finding coffee, and so he slipped through doors while there was just enough space and threw himself headlong into the crowd of people and machines.

Slot machines were setup up back to back in long and close rows, making it difficult to navigate to the center where he hoped to cross to the other side and find a lobby or concierge or a brunch bar. The stools and the people perched upon them were staggered such, Solomon often had to stop to let someone by, or scurry past someone who stopped for him.

Upon exiting the row of the slot machines, he then had to navigate across a room full of table games. A lively game of roulette was in progress to one side, and the shouts and cries of the players drowned out the general noise, which returned to prominence once Solomon stepped away from the roulette wheel. He dipped and dodged around guests and servers alike, aiming for the long round counter in the center which appeared to him to be a bar. He came to a stop next to a card table to wait for a train of servers to pass. The dealer looked up from shuffling the cards and the two made eye contact. Solomon offered a polite smile, and the dealer offered a hand.

"Have a seat, Mr. Garcia." The dealer gestured to the empty chair at the end of the table. "We've been expecting you."

Solomon glanced at the chair, then to the patrons seated at the table who were all glancing back and forth between their respective hands and the cards on the table. He returned his attention to the dealer.

"I can't, I'm on a mission."

"Yes, of course. But the mission isn't going anywhere and you're here now."

Solomon raised an eyebrow to the dealer. "What do you know of my mission?"

"Everyone has a mission, Mr. Garcia. For just about everyone here--" the dealer made a vague gesture encompassing the casino floor, "the mission is to escape. But you and I both know not one of them is getting out."

This jogged something familiar in Solomon's mind. Escape. Get out. But he wasn't here to escape. He was here to do something else.

"But not you, Mr. Garcia," said the dealer, leaning forward. "You're here with purpose. Take a seat," and he nodded to the empty chair.

Back to Contents

Back to Contents