THE BROADVIEW

(A NOVELLA)

OSKAR WESTIN

The Broadview

Copyright © 2023 Oskar Westin

All rights reserved.

eISBN: 1230007061998

Book design: Oskar Westin

Cover design: Evan Long

Dingeridge Hall illustrations

© 2020 by Evan Long

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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The Broadview

A campy thriller set in Toronto’s

Riverdale neighbourhood.

Amateur detective John McNapp is on the case when a friend ‘wakes up dead’ in The Broadview Hotel. John packs his trusty lock pick kit and heads to The Broadview in the dark of night to gather clues about the mysterious murder. During his investigation, John is thwarted by Joseph, the hotel concierge. When John's alter ego, Jack, makes poor decisions, everything falls apart. Faced with an unexpected twist, this amateur sleuth must rediscover his identity to save his friend's life and his own.

CONTENTS

Preface

Neighbourhood sleuth

An elegant hop

Hair-trigger vegan

Dreamer’s conundrum

Undying friendship

Unwelcome reception

With relish

Unknown shadows

Potatoes in the cellar

Fry grease in the kitchen

Dancing elephants

Demented obsession

A likely story

Dingeridge Hall: A moral and sordid history

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Oskar Westin

John, Nell, Lisa, Joseph, and Lucy.

This story and its characters are a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to yourselves is pure, unadulterated ego.

PREFACE

The Broadview was written on a whim to determine if I enjoyed writing. Or specifically, if I would commit to writing something longer than a page. Most of this story was written on my phone during a daily subway commute. At times, on the train, I was surprised and sometimes terrified by the story. I didn’t know what would happen to the characters, and feared for their lives. And that is the joy of writing a story — in its discovery. The story took a few months to write and a few more (cumulatively) to rewrite and refine until I was ready to let go. While perfect is never the goal, some creative endeavours need an ending. The ending of this journey for me is the beginning of the journey for you, the reader. I hope you enjoy The Broadview.

- Oskar Westin

The Broadview Hotel, originally built in 1891, is an historic east-end landmark with a colourful and unwritten past. At the turn of the century, the corner of Broadview Avenue and Queen Street was a commercial hub and home to the Toronto elite. In the early 1900s, the hotel hosted less than high society. However, The Broadview has been meticulously restored and reimagined as a 58-room boutique hotel and charismatic gathering spot.

Warm light filtered into the street from the hotel windows. Its floor-to-ceiling glass was lightly tinted to effect a sophisticated, welcoming glow. Fresh snow sparkled before finding its temporal landing place on the sidewalk. In the lobby, a decorative payphone dangled off its hook. Nell Rosenfall, in full uniform, lay tilted across plush carpet and cold marblesque tile. A scarlet puddle matted against her red hair. The heavenly sparkle in her eyes was little more than the reflection of the crystalline chandelier floating above her. Her death was picturesque, spiritual, and displaced.

I can’t believe I’m dead.

What will affluent society think?

Nothing. I am a stain to humanity,

sure to be forgotten.

NEIGHBOURHOOD SLEUTH

…EARLIER THAT NIGHT.

John was tipsy as a sluggish squirrel as he pottered past the looming glow from The Broadview Hotel. He had started the evening at his favourite jazz bar, Relish, not far from the Eastbound Brewery but far enough from home for him to stop for another drink or two or three. John settled the tab before leaving the Eastbound Brewery with his favourite bartender, Lisa. He raised his hand to Joseph, the stalwart concierge standing tall at his post outside the doors of The Broadview Hotel. Joseph shook a powdered layer of snow from his cap as he nodded to John.

John (Jack) McNapp was a 55-year-old retired financial auditor turned private detective. He didn’t have any formal gumshoe training. Still, his P.I. personality kept him busy. John hadn’t solved a single case — sure, he saved Cheeto, his neighbour’s cat, from a tree, but his detective persona, Jack, was determined to crack a real case, or it would be the end of him. While John was unassuming and harmless, Jack liked to stick his nose into people’s business. The consensus in his neighbourhood was that the less you saw Jack, the better.

John walked north from Queen Street along Broadview Avenue. The chilled air did little to sober his mood. It wasn’t a foul mood; more like a step out of time. He jangled with his keys at the front door of his three-story house, the lock clicked, and he was home. Fortunately, John’s partner, Fran, wasn’t home; she’d often frown when John dawdled in after 9:30, never mind this close to midnight. Still, Fran was John’s anchor, but with Fran away, Jack often came out to play without her well-balanced presence. But tonight, like John, Jack was dead tired and passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 17

8:35 am

It was quiet this morning. A little cooler outside. I’ll grab a warmer undershirt to wear with my jacket and cap. Things have been slow at work lately. I’ll bring a book with me today.

12:34 pm

Nell was right; Wuthering Heights is sad. The moors are a lonely place. Heathcliff was miserable.

I can relate…

11:05 pm

The snowfall is peaceful. I’ll go outside to stand my post before I go home.

- signing off, JC

AN ELEGANT HOP

…EARLIER THAT MORNING.

Joseph Charon spent nearly half his 28 years working inside the hotel walls. He started fresh out of high school when The Broadview was known as Jilly’s. At Jilly’s, he was assigned one pair of reusable gloves, a spray bottle filled with disinfectant, and as many disposable washcloths as he needed. At that time, his shift started when the nightclub closed, and it didn’t end until the spotted sheets were stripped from their stained mattresses in every pay-by-the-hour room. For Joseph, it was part of the job. His commitment to his responsibilities provided him with the eventual opportunity to take the role of head concierge at the elegant, reconditioned Broadview Hotel.

Joseph greeted Nell with a nod when she arrived at work in the morning, as he always did. He ignored that she entered through the front entrance rather than the employee entrance in the back. Unlike the back alley, the lobby was elegant and spotless, with tall ceilings. Nell deserved a clean entry to brighten her day. Joseph had already spoken to management about giving Nell a promotion. Today was the day to share his joyful news.

“Nell, can you see me after your shift?” Joseph asked.

“Oh, yes, certainly, Joseph,” said Nell as she stumbled out of the lounge to the frenetic kitchen leading to the hotel break room. Nell was late again, but that didn’t trouble Joseph. Once they started working together to manage the front of the house, she’d be on time every time, just like him.

[Nicely done.]

I’m such a mess.

I hope they hide my body,

before the guests wake up.

HAIR-TRIGGER VEGAN

…EARLIER THAT AFTERNOON.

Lisa left the pub at the end of her shift at the Eastbound Brewery wearing her olive-green windbreaker over a long brown sweater and black leggings. She thumbed a cigarette behind her ear. Her dark unknotted hair shifted in the fading light. Lisa winked at Alex, her would-be boyfriend, if not her current boss and owner of the brewery. Alex’s warm smile followed her into the cold as she strolled to the corner of Queen and Broadview. Lisa closed her eyes and breathed in the greasy memory of Dangerous Dan’s, the diner that used to be across the street. Dan’s had clogged her arteries many times before it closed, and she paid for it with a weak heart and a short fuse. Now a vegan with an affinity for oysters, Lisa saved her patience for her close friends and favourite customers at the bar. She rarely offered this courtesy to the high society that floated in and out of the nearby Broadview Hotel. Lisa considered the polished hotel exterior as she tottered past the ostentatious facade of the Broadview. It did little to hide its pretence from Lisa. She knew its history and shady past. This hotel was little more than a dolled-up sow. Lisa would avoid The Broadview altogether if it weren’t for her delicate friend, Nell. Lisa lit another cigarette and stared at the sparkling lights shimmering through the hotel’s lobby window.

“Where is that girl?” Her lip twitched while her cigarette danced in her fingers.

“What’s keeping ya?” Alex yelled from the pub entrance down the street. “Are you lookin’ for overtime pay? I can book ya for a double. You’re my best girl, ya know that, right.”

“Shut it, Alex,” Lisa puffed her cigarette with a grin. “I’m waiting for Nell.” Another drag. “She’ll be here soon.” Alex was a handsome fellow. If things were different, they might be together.

“Don’t catch a cold.” Alex blushed. “I’d hate for ya to sneeze on payin’ customers.” Lisa laughed.

“I’ll sneeze on the drunk ones then,” she scoffed.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 18

12:35 am

Today felt longer than most — yesterday, I suppose.

She didn’t take to the news the way I’d expected.

Also, thank you, lord, for hydrogen peroxide.

DREAMER’S CONUNDRUM

…MIDNIGHT.

John awoke as the classic, red rotary dialler rattled on his bedside table. He treated it as his private bat phone. He never used it for making calls since rotating the dial triggered his arthritis. Still, the novelty item from his youth never ceased to pique his childlike curiosity.

“Hello?” John answered in a foggy voice.

John? It’s me, Nell. I think I’m dead. Dead. In the lobby, dead.

You need to find out who killed me, John.

The line went dead.

What time was it? The phone on his bedside table flashed: 12:03 am. John sat on the edge of his queen-sized bed in pale brown pyjamas. He tried to dismiss the phone call as another bad dream. He didn’t dream often, but lately, he’d wake up convinced that he was living an alternate reality. John shook his head, put on his steel-rimmed glasses, and tiptoed to the kitchen. It was early but as good a time as any for breakfast. Typically, he would have oatmeal in the mornings if Fran was home, but since she was at one of her retreats, he opted for Heritage flakes. He grabbed a bowl from a near-empty cream-coloured cupboard and sat on his favourite wooden stool by the window. He let his tired mind wander.

John … I think I’m dead.

The midnight interruption skipped through his head; I’m dead, I’m dead, like a divotted record. John recognized Nell’s voice. It was no illusion. Dead in the lobby, she said. Dead tired, he thought. Why would she call me at this hour? She didn’t often work this late.

John had met Nell six or seven months ago at the pub. Nell was chatting with Lisa over a couple of beers. He had told them about his detective aspirations and explained that Jack was always looking for a case to solve. Nell and Lisa had seen the flyers: NEED HELP IN A SNAPP? CALL JACK McNAPP, and they had promised to keep him in mind if they needed help.

You need to find out who killed me, John.

Maybe this was the case for Jack to crack, John thought.

Look at me on the floor.

So peaceful, like I’m sleeping.

UNDYING FRIENDSHIP

…THE DAY BEFORE.

“I’m sorry for being late, Lisa.” Nell fretted around the corner from the back-alley hotel entrance, her red waves tucked under her black beret. She wore a matching black wool coat with a red scarf, and her pale blue housekeeper’s uniform peaked out of her tote bag. Out of breath and flustered, Nell’s bright smile was still happy to see her friend. “I was putting away the last of the clean towels. I couldn’t just leave them on the floor, now, could I?”

Lisa brushed a lock of brown hair from her eyes, looked at Nell with a wry grin and said, “You don’t owe them nuthin’. You should make them fold their own dirty rags.”

Nell shifted. “Oh...well...you know” The blush on her cheeks lit her up like a grapefruit. “I won’t be a maid forever.” Will I? She thought. She hadn’t told anyone about her move to Paris, not Lisa, Joseph, or even her mother. Her partner Norman had talked about it for ages, and he left suddenly, a few days ago, to look at a house in Banlieue. He left without her. Nell’s lips quivered. A deeper shade plumbed across her face. She looked blankly down the street. The fragility of the falling snowflakes brought her back, here one moment and gone in the next, just like Norman.

“What’s going on?” Lisa said. “Lemme guess, you’re thinking about Norman?” Lisa lolled her tongue.

“No, no, I was just thinking about my day.” The supple skin below Nell’s eyes tightened. What else could she say? Her partner Norman was away, and her colleague Joseph made her an offer to work with him in the lobby. Things were moving quickly. Nell didn’t know what to think. She should have refused Joseph’s offer on the spot, but she couldn’t dismiss it outright, despite Norman’s plan for their move to France.

“Something’s up; I know it,” Lisa said.

Nell rocked back and forth on her heels like a baby in her crib.

“Let’s go inside and grab a seat in the hotel lounge,” said Lisa, “it looks quiet.”

Joseph watched them pass through the lobby from his post. Nell raised her eyebrows at Joseph and suppressed a timid smile. Lisa blew him a kiss and threw her head back like a brazen mare. “That man is a handsome man,” she said. Joseph nodded without a word.

The lounge decor had the same discerning light fabrics as the lobby furniture, with hints of dark blue and gold. Lisa waved to the host and ordered a Pinot Grigio for Nell and an extra spicy caesar for herself.

“So, what’s up? Is Norm angry with you or something?” Lisa said. “I mean, come on, he’s craze-balls for you.” Lisa scrunched her eyes and tapped her glass with her fingernail. “Nell, I’m sorry. I can see you’re upset, but seriously, you can’t possibly think that Normy’s mad at you.”

“No, that’s not it,” Nell’s crimson embarrassment drained from her cheeks. “He’s looking at houses for us in Paris.” Nell twitched. “I think I’ll be moving away soon.”

[No, you won’t.]

“That’s super wicked, Nell,” Lisa raised her glass. “You’ve always dreamed of living in Europe. You and Norman will be totally thrilled in France.”

“We haven’t made up our mind yet,” Nell quivered again. She sipped her wine and took a breath. “I can’t talk about it right now.”

Lisa’s fingers drummed the table, clicking like oversized beetles scurrying for a meal. Nell turned her gaze back to the window. From the lobby, Joseph stared at the same fragile flakes fluttering in the evening air. His placid eyes masked his thoughts. Lisa finished her caesar and signalled for another. It was going to be a long night. Eventually, Joseph rested his gaze on Nell.

[She already knows.]

The Broadview Hotel adopted many names over the century. In the 1930s, it was The Link Hotel; by the 1940s, it was named Dingeridge Hall after its recently deceased founder, Alfred Dingeridge. By the 1970s, the hall was downgraded to a boarding house with a strip club on the ground floor, known as Jilly’s, which served as the East end’s most notorious landmark for almost three decades.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 18

2:30 am

How can I safely describe my day?

I went to the basement. The card-stock tiger was still there.

I checked in on her. She’s okay, but she needs to be cleaned up a bit.

3:42 am

I hope to go home soon.

- signing off, JC

UNWELCOME RECEPTION

…AFTER MIDNIGHT

John finished his early morning breakfast, brushed his teeth, got dressed for work: grey slacks, white shirt, no tie, and grabbed his trusty lock-pick kit (just in case), cell phone, and film camera. John preferred classic photography for the satisfaction of developing his photos during a case. He stepped outside through his side entrance to a blast of the midnight air. The alley between the neighbouring houses was a great way to introduce Jack to a new mystery. John took his keys from his pants pocket, locked the door, and turned on his keychain penlight so that he, and Jack, wouldn’t trip over the cobblestones in the dark. It was a 45-minute walk to The Broadview, and the temperature was refreshing. John took his time walking and thought about the hotel from the days before it was called The Broadview. It was funny that they didn’t name the hotel after Queen Street. The Queen would have been closer to the hotel’s previous moniker. Jilly’s. That brought him back. Life was simpler those days; Jack wasn’t around for one. John would occasionally visit Jilly’s after work until he and Fran moved in together. Once they were together, John kept busy at the insurance firm, and Fran’s steadfast presence kept him in check. Sadly, John was politely coerced into early retirement a few years after they started to live together. Without the firm, John struggled to keep busy. Fran was good for him when she was around, but she was a busy woman and enjoyed life on her own from time to time. When she was away, John twiddled his thumbs, so to speak. From this daily ennui arose John’s hero persona Jack McNapp. Jack kept John’s mind busy with local mysteries and other distractions. The pastime was exciting; however, Jack’s temperament raised John’s blood pressure. Fortunately, Fran would come back home from her outings and help John relax. But this time was different. Fran wasn’t coming back. Not until you get Jack out of your system, she had said. John knew that the only way to satisfy Jack was for him to crack the case of the century.

Forty minutes into his walk, John eased his sore feet on a bench at the Thompson Street Parkette behind The Broadview. The wind was light, but the occasional snowflakes pirouetted with grace before disintegrating on the ground. As John rested, it was time for Jack to shine. — If John were a smoker, Jack would take a puff and blow whimsy in the air; if John had a flask, Jack would take a swig. Without those distractions, Jack focused his efforts on how to sneak into the hotel. He could pretend he was a customer and walk in the front door, but John had left his false moustache at home. Jack’s nose crinkled while his eyes narrowed. What else could he do? He spied an entrance in the alley behind the hotel. John was in a lull as Jack took over John’s motor functions. He got to his feet and tiptoed from the park bench through an empty parking lot, mindful of the cowling shadows. Soon enough, Jack reached the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY; the door was locked. No problem, John hadn’t forgotten his pick set. Jack kneeled by the doorknob, stroked his chin, and glared at the pins and spanners as he tried to force the lock. Sweat formed on his brow. John’s mind came into focus as Jack struggled with the door.

Click, “I did it!” John was stunned.

“Can I help you?”

John raised his head to the open door. “Oh, hi, Joseph,” he said. Joseph wore the same gold trim maroon jacket from earlier that evening; six gold-plated buttons adorned his coat. His matching cap and bowtie completed the outfit.

“Hey Jack, Late night?” Joseph played along with John’s detective persona by calling him Jack. “What are you up to this morning?” Joseph smiled. “Is Fran away?” Joseph had caught John picking locks more than once at Jilly’s back when hotel rooms needed keys instead of magnetic cards—purely for research, John had said, during the early days of his blooming detective career.

“Yes, Fran’s on a retreat,” said John, and Jack continued in his tough-guy voice, “I’m looking for Nell.” Joseph’s dark complexion faded. “As a matter of fact, I think she’s dead, Joseph,” said John. “Have you seen her?”

“Why don’t you come inside, Jack?” Joseph led him through the kitchen to the lounge and lobby. “Can I take your coat?” Joseph offered with a taut smile. If John were paying attention, he would have noticed that Joseph’s tone and gestures were robotic, like an old model replicant.

“No thanks.” Jack’s pretence took hold as he pulled John’s camera from his pocket and started snapping photos: the grand chandelier, the blue-green couches and dark grey chairs, the front entrance and Joseph’s blank stare. Click.

“Let me get you a coffee, Jack.” Joseph padded into a small room between the elevators and the lounge. John took no notice as Jack kept snapping photos of the rug, walls, and windows. Then he stopped. John’s lens pointed at the boutique-style rotary phone on the wall. Click. His first clue.

“Hey, Joseph,” said John. “I think this is the phone that Nell used to call me after she died.”

Jack turned to find Joseph carrying a gold-rimmed coffee cup on an ivory saucer in his left hand; he hid his right hand behind his back. Joseph drifted across the room like a lifeless apparition. The steady, steaming cup seemed to float before him. “You shouldn’t have come here, Jack.” Joseph’s words were measured.

Jack looked for an escape route: the front door (too far), the lounge (blocked). He noticed the stairs near the elevator—if he ran for it, he might find an exit.

Joseph’s pace quickened. Jack squirmed, dumbfounded by Joseph’s unfaltering steps. Joseph shifted his hand from behind his back. John felt his lungs compress as his trachea tightened. “Did I do something wrong?” John asked, “I was just looking at that phone on the wall.”

“No, John,” Joseph smiled, dropping Jack’s moniker, “It’s just that I know you like sugar with your coffee. I only have Stevia sweetener.” He revealed two packets in his right hand.

John’s Adam’s apple danced, he took a breath, and Jack disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” said Joseph, “Did you want the sweetener?” John nodded; a bittersweet coffee was better than nothing. Joseph seemed far less frightening now that Jack was gone. “Come on, John, have a seat.” Joseph walked over to the lounge and pulled back a chair. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

John sipped his coffee and described Nell’s phone call and that Jack McNapp was the only one who could help her. Joseph listened patiently and said, “you’re telling me that Nell is dead. And that she died here, in the hotel?” A chill flowed from the lobby to the lounge, settling next to Joseph. Maybe it was Nell’s spirit, John thought. “John, Nell is not here.” Joseph tilted his head towards the empty lobby.

Jack sat up and dragged his hand through his hair, making a fist against his skull. Something wasn’t right. John’s mind was playing tricks.

“Nell came to work this morning,” Joseph continued, “though I did not see her before she went home.” Joseph barely moved his teeth when he spoke. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

A pressing against John’s temple made him squint. Jack knew he couldn’t trust Joseph, but John didn’t know what to do, so Jack took control again and got to his feet, “I’ll just go then.” John suddenly realized what Jack was telling him: Joseph killed Nell, and neither John nor Jack was not prepared for the confrontation.

John sat back down. The pain in his head dissolved to twinkling dust; tiny points of dark and light danced in his eyes. Jack checked his pockets, buttoned his coat, stood up again and bumped into a side table. Time to go, John. Time to go.

“John,” Joseph called. “John. Don’t take another step.” Joseph’s voice was stern. “I put a sedative in your coffee, John; you look strung out. I’d hate for something to happen to you.” Joseph checked his fingernails. “You should stay the night. It’s not long till morning.”

Jack fought against nothing to reach the lobby doors.

“I’ll prepare the staff room, John, here on the main floor. Wait for me while I grab a cot from storage.”

John dropped to the floor, and Jack stopped trying to escape. “Ok. Joseph, if you say so.”

“John…Jack...McNapp?”

Someone’s calling me, John thought. It’s Nell; she needs my help.

John...you need to keep looking.

If you find my body, you’ll find me.

If you find me, you’ll find your answer.

“She needs me to help her. She⁠—”

“John.” It was Joseph’s voice.

Jack sat up abruptly in the tiny staff room. “Joseph, what happened? My head hurts. Where am I?” The fuzz in his skull was fretting. “What time is it?”

“It’s 11:30, John, in the morning. I gave you a sedative to calm you down, remember? I think you should go home now.” Joseph said and returned to his post in the lobby.

John sat alone in the tiny room. He hadn’t found Nell or her killer, and Joseph couldn’t be the culprit, could he? Without any leads, without a body, the case was dead. John felt like a fool, and Jack stepped back into his shadow. Nell had sounded so alive on the phone, but that didn’t make sense. John covered his face. Maybe Jack had killed Nell after a night at the pub. — he shuddered at the thought — and the inexplicable phone call was just a coping mechanism to reconcile Jack’s terrible actions. This was too much. John packed his things, put on his coat, and left The Broadview. He could use a cup of coffee but decided against it.

I’m an art deco floor piece,

Women-on-floor: Dead and Forgotten.

I hope they put me into storage and bring me back on display once in a while.

WITH RELISH

…LATER THAT DAY.

It was brighter and colder in the early afternoon; the melted snow had crystallized along the boulevard. As he walked, John kept his eyes on the ground with little intention or direction. The faint notion of frost-bitten trees fled past him as he ambled into a nearby ravine. The sedative from Joseph was still drifting through John’s system as he wandered between trees in Withrow Park. Words danced in an empty bag: Why would Joseph drug me? Did Jack do something wrong? Did I hurt someone? Dead leaves crackled underfoot louder than the muffled traffic as John continued to lose himself. He wandered, nearing nothingness. His insignificance in the world. He had no meaning. Go to the trees and stay there. You are nobody without me.

John stumbled over exposed roots, intent on getting lost.

Then, Nell’s voice floated with the wind, trembling.

Save me, John.

You’ll find your answer.

Dead in the lobby.

John resisted Nell’s hazy shade. “Your body wasn’t in the lobby. And Joseph didn’t kill you. He said so. If not him, then who?” John found no answers from Nell’s spirit. He questioned himself instead, Jack, why did you run and hide? John tripped over his feet. The motion felt like minutes, extended and definite. He was sure to hit the ground. Hard. Moments passed without consequence as John’s limbic system reset. When he came to, John was surrounded by a field of untouched whiteness. The untampered snow gave him a new sense of purpose. He would try again, and this time he wouldn’t let anything stop him, not Joseph, not Jack, or anyone, not even himself. But first, John let his whimsical habits take over.

The doors to the jazz bistro looked dark in the dimday glow. John pressed his face to the cola-tinted glass and peered inside. He spied a muddled light and tried the door. The dark haze from the entrance bled inside the club, revealing dull brown panelling and tables accented with off-green highlights. Dripping dark red curtains framed the booths near the back. The bartender barely looked up as John dawdled to his favourite seat. The front of the house followed him in.

“Hey, Lucy,” John smiled at the hostess, and she smiled back.

“The usual, John?” Lucy asked. The bartender handed her the drink before John could answer.

The din of the warm-up band mumbled from the stage. John sat down, and Lucy presented his drink, a tall glass with a couple of ice cubes and a classic glass bottle of Coca-Cola. Beer was John’s drink of choice, but not at Relish. He enjoyed the music and didn’t want to let the alcohol get in the way. Besides, he usually got to chat with Lucy and was always afraid to say something foolish around her. Lucy poured the cola into John’s glass and sat across from him. She pulled the curtain halfway to give them a needless sense of privacy; the place was empty, and the bartender was too busy staring at the counter to listen.

“Where have you been, John?” Lucy asked. “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.” John suppressed a heartfelt tremor. He could never tell if Lucy was flirty or just being polite. She seemed honest enough. Her dark hair, brown eyes with a hint of green eyeshadow and a touch of red on her lips genuinely suited the Relish ambience. John danced his hands over the table. “Oh, you know. Busy with my stuff.” was all he could say. He said that every time he sat down with Lucy. Still, she would keep him talking and bring more Cokes and snacks until the bar closed for the night.

Lucy looked at John’s fingers, ragged and twitchy. “No, seriously, John, something is different,” her eyes met his. “How can I help?”

“Well, Fran’s gone, Lucy. And I don’t know if she’s coming back.” John stumbled to pour his Coke on ice.

“Oh, so…Jack?”

John nodded.

“John, you came here to talk, I know it. Now tell me, what’s going on?” A stern warmth in her tone made John a little nervous, but he also trusted the feeling of belonging that came with it.

“Ok, but can I get a plate of chicken sticks, Lucy? Please?”

John crossed his hands over his lap when Lucy returned with dry chicken strips; she knew that he preferred his food without sauce, so she had left Relish’s famed yogurt dip in the kitchen. With a quiet smile, she leaned in and whispered, “Let’s hear it, John.”

With food on the table and without further hesitation, John told Lucy about the phone call from Nell: that she was dead and needed his help, that everything he had done so far had failed. Lucy listened while John described every single detail of his journey—Jack’s journey. By the time he finished, he had gone through three Coke bottles, another half plate of strips and a few nibbles of an indiscriminate sandwich. The opening act was roaring, and the restaurant was filled with customers.

“John,” Lucy said smoothly. “You have to help this girl. She reached out to you. You’re the only one who can save her, not the police or anyone.”

“But the dead-ends,” his voice cracked, “and Joseph?” John went on. “And I don’t know that I haven’t imagined this whole thing. What if I —Jack— killed her?” John rolled his shoulders forward like a helpless child.

“You know you didn’t kill Nell, and you’re not crazy. Stop losing your focus; you’re a good person.”

John took a swig of his cola.

“You can do this, John,” she said. “Close your eyes. Clear your mind.”

John put his glasses on the spotted Formica table and followed Lucy’s instructions. He gave himself to oblivion and found a different kind of nothing. John wandered through space until he found a faint light at the end of a tight tunnel. In the light stood Jack, the reflection of himself, an imitation, a copy. John understood. Jack wasn’t in charge; he was.

Lucy came back with the bill. “Do you know what to do, John?”

He was jittery from the carbonated caffeine and excited about his next steps. “I do, Lucy.” John paid the bill with his customary inflated tip and ran for the door. Lucy smiled as he left. The bartender gave her a wink. And a Brazilian eighth-note beat carried on well after John was gone.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 19

9:45 am

I didn’t get much sleep, what with taking care of the basement.

Jack came by, looking for answers; I think he did well to sleep it off.

I’m sure if everybody calms down, it will let go, and everything will be ok.

UNKNOWN SHADOWS

…MORNING.

Flurries turned to sleet and then to hail. It was Thursday, and Lisa would often sleep in till noon since her regular shift didn’t start until 3:00. But this Thursday, Lisa was up early, hair in a bun, before the sleet had started. She cleaned floral-patterned dishes that had been washed the night before, re-organized her mint-green kitchen cupboards—twice, and that spot behind the laundry hamper simply would not come out. Nell was on her mind; she hadn’t checked in for two days. The move to Paris and something else about that posh hotel didn’t sit well.

12:30 rolled around, and Lisa was busy greasing the wheels on her bicycle. Her mind was spinning like her spokes; Nell never forgot to text her in the mornings. Did Norman come back and whisk her away to Paris? By two o’clock, the front and rear reflectors were on the ground, spattered with oil stains. It was time to go to work, but the bike was a mess. Lisa popped in the shower and hailed a cab to work, leaving her bike in pieces.

The seven o’clock regulars and the late-night early birds cozied into the warm pub. Half of the high-top tables were seated with solitary figures, and the booths were filled with couples. The patrons at the counter included habitual chatterboxes and lonely introverts. Lisa worked the bar with a moderate but distracted temperament; she could do her job on autopilot, but her mind was on her friend. Something was affecting Nell. An unknown presence in the shadows. The Broadview, for all its embellishment, was not to be trusted.

“That’s it.” Lisa placed a drink forcibly in front of her latest customer. His eyes grew wide and leery, and he dropped twenty bucks on the counter and slowly backed away.

Nobody wanted to confront Lisa when she was angry; nobody but Alex, anyway. “Hey Lisa,” he smiled. “You need a break?”

“What? No…yes.” Lisa grabbed the twenty, broke the change, and slipped the substantial tip into a hat behind the counter. “I think I’m gonna need more than a break, Alex,” she said. “Cover for me? I’ll try to be back before the end of my shift.”

“I got you, Lisa. Take the rest of the night.”

Lisa left the bar and headed straight for The Broadview. A light rainfall pattered on her scalp as she stopped in the glow of the lobby. The towering Broadview doors were intimidating; the people inside were annoying and cosmopolitan. Lisa stepped out of the light and circled the block; she wasn’t ready to go inside. She clenched her teeth and sulked as dark clouds loomed above her. A crack of thunder echoed from the Don Valley like a convenient and coincidental threat.

[Go away.]

“Lisa?” Joseph towered over most people, but Lisa’s short stature made him look like a giant. “It’s raining,” he said. “You should come inside.” They walked to the lounge together. Lisa slumped into an armchair near the table where she and Nell chatted on Tuesday. The shadows under her eyes were no trick of the light; she looked dark and miserable. Joseph kept his distance on the cusp of the lounge and lobby. “So Lisa, you ok?”

“Jo, what the hell is going on with Nell?” His back pinched.

[He’s in love with her.]

“Calm down, Lisa.” Joseph’s words faded into silence as a guest walked into the lobby. “Can we talk about this later?” He turned to the patron, a regular at the hotel. “Good day, Ms. Hindler. Let me take your bags, I insist.” Joseph headed for the elevator. Lisa perched on the edge of her chair, ready to strike.

[He’s getting away.]

“Don’t you run away from me.” Lisa raced for the elevator door and barged in.

“Excuse me,” cried Ms. Hindler.

Lisa ignored the complaint as the elevator closed behind them. “Joseph.” She pushed him against the elevator wall. “What the actual fuck?”

Bing - The door opened to the second floor.

“Excuse me.” The woman scowled again, forcing her way into the hallway while Joseph wrestled with Lisa.

“You tell me right now, Joseph,” Lisa screeched.

“John, Jack, he was asking about her.” Joseph had lost the battle. “Please.”

Lisa let him go. Joseph crawled out of the elevator dragging Ms. Hindler’s luggage behind him.

[Jack must go.]

Being dead is boring now.

It’s dark, I can’t move, and I can barely breathe.

POTATOES IN THE CELLAR

…EARLIER THAT MORNING.

After his detour at Relish, John went home for a night’s sleep. He was up at six the next morning and ready to go after a quick breakfast—Fran was still away, but John had a plan. With a grin, he hobbled down dusty stairs to his basement lair; his darkroom, a reimagined cold cellar, where Fran often kept potatoes amidst his gadgets and chemicals. John placed his camera on a steel table, prepared the film developer and turned out the lights. Working in the dark was fun; John imagined he was defusing a bomb or breaking into a vault to keep his mind occupied while regularly rotating the film canister. Once the cycle was done, John poured the chemical mix down the drain and added the stop bath. John cut the processed film after the fixer and agent set, clipped the film to a dry rack, ran upstairs, set an alarm, and passed out on his faded yellow loveseat.

John jumped at the sound of his alarm clock. “It’s time to see what you missed,” he said aloud. John printed and cut the photos from the crime scene and brought them upstairs. He leaned into his loveseat and placed each picture on a darkly tinted glass coffee table. John focused on every aspect in each print: the crook of a lobby armchair, the curled lip near the zero on the rotary phone, and the sparkling crystal from the chandelier. John didn’t know what he was looking for, but he was convinced it was in the details. He reshuffled the photos and cast them aside sheet after sheet, letting them fall whimsically to the floor. John stared at them from on high, like an ethereal being looking down on his pictorial design. He imagined his pictures coming to life, moving on their own and restacking themselves in some order that made sense. Of course, nothing happened. Who was he kidding? He was an amateur, a fraud, playing at being a sleuth, despondent and empty. What a waste. Crestfallen, John fell into his cushioned seat, bumping his toe against the metal foot of his coffee table. “That hurt,” John wheezed. He leaned forward to move the table back in place and was struck by the eureka moment he was waiting for. John rifled through the photos again and pulled out a picture of the lobby’s thick cream-coloured carpet. There was a visible worn-out patch next to the chair legs, and the frame of the gold-trimmed table was askew. John’s pupils opened wide. “Someone moved the furniture,” he cried. John shuffled through the photos and found another closeup; the table legs in that picture didn’t flow either.

John left the mess of photos on the floor, grabbed his coat and phone, and raced out the door. He stumbled into the late afternoon blue and hopped into his Subaru Impreza. “To The Broadview,” John cried. He felt like Adam West as he raced down the street. ‘Same bat time…’

Jack took charge, parked the Impreza confidently between Broadview Avenue and Hamilton Street, and rushed to the hotel’s front door. He caught a glimpse of Joseph through the window and froze; he did not want to speak with him again. Instead, Jack tiptoed to the back of the building to see if the staff entrance was unlocked. A tall, broad sous-chef was smoking a few paces from the door; the hard lines on his face made him look like a bouncer. Jack decided not to push his luck with this guy. He looked for another option and noticed the wrought iron fire escape, but it was out of reach. He pressed his back against the wall and sidled back to the front entrance. Joseph was gone, and Jack slipped inside. He went straight to the tables and armchairs and knelt by the carpet. “I knew it,” he said.

Ding—The elevator chimed.

[He’s coming to get you, Jack]

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20

2:10 pm

Lisa is gone. Thank god. The day is seemingly back to normal. Everything is quiet. My customers are safe. The snowfall is beautiful.

4:15 pm

No. I was wrong …

Something is still broken.

7:25 pm

Jack is back. It will go after him next.

FRY GREASE IN THE KITCHEN

…EVENING CONTINUES.

Jack ducked as an angry woman stormed out of the hotel elevator. “Whoa. What happened to her?” Jack said under his breath. He continued his investigation with a shrug. There were indents in the carpet under the furniture, and it looked like there might have been drag marks. This was proof; Nell was here. Jack stood up and reached into his pocket for his camera to take more photos, but John had left it in his darkroom. He scrambled for his phone—the battery was dead. Jack shook his head. He couldn’t believe it; John had messed up everything. Jack crawled back into his gloom while John sat on the floor, knees curled to his heaving chest. His only option was to confront Joseph, but he simply didn’t have it in him. “I should just call the police,” he said.

[Don’t bother.]

But how was he supposed to call the police? His phone didn’t work—another failure. There was nothing left. John got up with a groan and plodded to the door. Jack hadn’t cracked the case; Joseph was on the loose, and Nell was still dead. Jack was mad at him. And Fran. Fran would never come back. It was time to go home.

Before leaving the hotel, John glanced over his shoulder to concede his defeat. There was nothing left to do. He’d call the police from his home phone. Then, delight struck again when he spied the boutique rotary phone behind the concierge desk. “That’s it,” he cried as Jack raced towards it. Jack picked up the receiver of the rotary phone and dialled 9-1-1. The decorative phone clicked and clacked, but it didn’t ring.

[Better hide.]

Ding—The elevator door opened. Joseph stepped out with slow, deliberate steps. Jack dropped the pretend phone and started into action: time to hide. He dove behind a nearby sofa, keeping one eye on Joseph while trying to find an exit. Jack couldn’t reach the lounge without crossing Joseph’s path. He trembled when he looked at the staff room. “I’m not going back in there,” he cringed. The stairs by the elevator. Jack crouched towards his escape on burning knees but still managed to stay out of Joseph’s sightline. In the stairwell, John sighed. “You’re too old for this,” he said and dragged himself to the next level. Ding—The second-floor elevator chimed behind him. Jack got to his feet in a scramble. He saw the fire escape at the end of the hall and ran for it.

The end is near. It’s nearly over.

I am dead.

And I am gone.

Jack’s buckling legs brought him down the ladder before he crashed into the concrete below the fire escape. His day wasn’t getting any better; Lisa stood staring at him on the ground with her arms crossed.

“Jack-John-Jack.” Lisa yelled, “What have you done with Nell? Where is she?”

“Did Nell call you, too?” John asked. Frown lines pinched between Lisa’s brows.

[Kill him quickly.]

Jack told Lisa about the phone call from Nell, Joseph’s involvement, and John’s own screwups up to the moment he fell from the second-floor fire escape.

“Lisa,” John said, “Nell is dead.”

Lisa’s fingers trembled before she balled them into a fist.

[Kill him.]

A murky haze stole the light from Lisa’s eyes. “Did you say that Joseph killed Nell?”

John’s head bobbed. “Umm, yes? I mean, maybe.”

[Do it now.]

“Well, then we gotta get Joseph,” Lisa howled.

[No, not him. Kill the other one.]

“I’m gonna beat the crap out of him till he bleeds.” Lisa’s face was goblin-like: ugly and ready for battle.

“Lisa,” John started, “we can’t confront Joseph. We need to set a trap.” Lisa ignored him and ran to the front of the hotel. John was losing confidence in Lisa’s ability to see reason. He hobbled after her and noticed an open door at the back of the lounge. “He must have gone through the kitchen, Lisa.” John was losing his breath. “He’s trying to make a getaway.”

“Not if I can help it.” She leapt into action, raced to the open door, and nearly knocked down one of the serving staff. John apologized and stepped into the kitchen carefully. The smell of sweat and fry grease attacked him. He removed his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Sorry,” John smiled quickly to the saucier as he stumbled by. Where did Lisa go?

[Left. Go left.]

John chose the mystery to the left. “Lisa?” He nudged the door—a hollow creak. He grabbed the penlight from his pants pocket and focused his light down the dusty wooden stairs. He saw footprints and— “Drag marks,” John stifled his voice and nearly gagged on his own spit.

[Wait…]

John saw a pale light by the landing and decided to take a chance. He turned off his penlight and put it back into his pocket. “Lisa?” John whispered as he padded down the stairs⁠—

[Now.]

— everything went black.

The east end’s working-class roots made way to gourmet food shops, restaurants, and stylish boutiques. The spirit of The Broadview Hotel has waned over the years. Alfred Dingeridge’s legacy lives on, but it will need new life to thrive for the years to come.

[We have our sacrifice]

I can see; two hazy shadows.

“What have you done,” says the tall shadow.

“Don’t you touch me,” yells the stout other.

“I haven’t, I wasn’t,” says the gentler, taller one.

[She is mine.]

“No, she’s not. She is the spirit.”

[She is the sacrifice.]

“No, not yet.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Never mind. I said I’ll take care of this.”

DANCING ELEPHANTS

…IN THE DARK.

It felt like an elephant balancing on the back of John’s skull as his groggy eyes adjusted to the dark. The smell of mildew and decay in this dark place was putrid.

“Lisa, where are you?” John whispered.

“Joseph...” A hollow voice floated through the air.

John’s eyes darted through the grey light. “What? Lisa, is that you?”

“Joseph...kill ...” the voice faded in the gloom.

“Nell, are you speaking to me from the grave?” John’s imagination got the best of him. Again. “Either that or I’m dead.” John lifted his hand and felt a corded knot dig into his wrist.

“Joseph...”

“Joseph, I know. He tied me up.” John shifted his arm down to his pocket and fished out his penlight. “Got it.” The sharp light revealed a dank corner, with grey water seeping through the concrete. John tilted his head back and turned his flashlight to find Nell tied to another mouldy cot with an intravenous tube stuck in her arm.

“Nell, I thought you were dead. Joseph didn’t kill you after all,” John sighed. “Lisa and I will save you.” John struggled against his restraints. “Hang on, Nell. I’ll find a way out of this.”

Silence. And then. Steps creaked outside the storeroom. John’s limbs stiffened as arduous breathing crept into the greyness. It felt like a sick 90s horror film, gross and stressful. John preferred horror movies from the 70s; they were more suspenseful; The Shining was his favourite, ‘Here’s Johnny!’

“John.” Lisa’s voice screeched through the shadows. John shone his penlight toward her voice. She was sickly white; her lips pulled back like a rabid dog.

[She is the sacrifice. Give her to me.]

“Jack-John,” Lisa’s voice sounded like too much sand on paper. “You shouldn’t have come.”

[He is the sacrifice. Give him to me.]

“Now I have to kill you too, John. It can’t be helped.”

John turned off his pen light. He felt Lisa would be less likely to devour his face in the dark. John’s eyes fluttered behind closed eyelids. What was going on? Did Lisa kill Nell? Nell was Lisa’s friend. And now, Lisa’s going to kill me too, he thought. An unexpected fluorescent light flickered through the room. John scrunched his eyes enough to see that the basement storage space was filled with old cots, pinup posters, and a life-size cut-out of a splendid white tiger. Joseph entered the room and went to Nell to pat her head tenderly with a damp cloth. “John,” sighed Joseph. “I told you to go home. Lisa and I have the situation under control.”

Lisa screwed up her face. “You said you’d take care of this, Joseph.”

“I will,” Joseph said with ease. “Leave us alone for a moment.” Lisa stood her ground with solid feet before stomping out of the room. Joseph turned towards John. In a calm voice, he said, “John, as you can see, Nell isn’t dead.”

[She is the sacrifice.]

“You’re going to kill her,” John nipped.

“I’m taking care of her, John. We always take care of our own. Once she accepts my offer, John, when she agrees to work with us, The Broadview will protect her. She is our spirit, John. Together we will find peace.”

[I want my sacrifice.]

“What about me?” John failed to sound brave.

“There’s nothing more I can do for you,” Joseph said as he walked towards John’s cot.

[Kill him.]

“You know you shouldn’t be here.” Joseph tightened John’s restraints. “The Broadview chooses for all of us. I don’t have a choice, and neither does Nell.” Joseph went back to the staircase, closing the door behind him. The green tinge on the walls nauseated John; he knew the mould would infect his lungs if Joseph didn’t kill him first. If he didn’t get away. Where was Jack in all this? He was the heroic one.

“John, you came.” Nell’s voice was weak but steady. “I knew you would. I hope I haven’t got you into any trouble. Have I?” John didn’t respond. Nell could hear him sobbing. “John?”

“I’m sorry, Nell,” his nose tingled; his eyes glistened. “I can’t get you out of here. I thought Joseph killed you, and now Lisa and Joseph are working together.” John sighed. “What are we going to do?”

“John. Joseph didn’t kill me. It was Lisa. She attacked me, and now you’re here.” Nell’s breath was shallow. “Joseph wants to save me. I will accept his offer and become the Spirit of The Broadview as he is its Heart.”

[You are the sacrifice. You will die.]

“Joseph will protect us; The Hotel will protect us.” Nell was lucid, but her words didn’t make any sense.

“I’m gonna get us out of here, Nell.” John fidgeted with his ties. To his surprise, they slipped away with ease. “Oh my goodness. Nell, my ropes are loose.”

[What?]

“Joseph didn’t tighten the knots. He let us go.” John sat up, and Jack looked around for an escape route.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20

8:10 pm

It knows what I’ve done.

I cannot stop it.

And I cannot protect them.

- signing off, JC

DEMENTED OBSESSION

… LIGHTS ON.

John ran to Nell’s side. “I promise I’m going to get you out of here.” John loosened the ropes around Nell’s wrists and held her pale hands in his. Her body was limp. Such a kind woman, he thought, don’t be dead. John checked for a pulse.

[She’s dead. You killed her.

Now I will kill you.]

Jack snapped into action. “Let’s go,” he said.

“We’re not going,” John replied. “She’s alive.”

Heavy steps slugged down the stairs. Jack tried to run, but John stayed to untie the ropes around Nell’s feet.

Jack looked around the room for a place to hide.

“Sorry, Nell,” John said, “I need to go.” Jack jumped for the light switch. Then, despite Jack's flight instinct, John managed to feel his way back to his cot.

Lisa called into the darkness, “Nell, you betrayed me.” Her frenzied stench entered the room. “You betrayed us.”

[I want my sacrifice.]

“You belong to us and need to die for us.”

[Yes, she must die for us.]

John could smell Lisa’s ragged breath and sweat. This time, Jack closed his eyes.

“I will take Joseph’s hand. I will be part of this place and its filth.” Lisa dragged past John’s cot. “I am the life and spirit. I will revel in the history of this house to celebrate its death.”

[Celebrate my death.]

“You had your chance, Nell. But you chose Norman over Joseph.” Lisa’s voice rang through the stillness. “Now it’s my turn to shine. I will be the spirit. You will be my sacrifice.”

[Give her to me.]

“I guess I should thank you, Nell. I wouldn’t have met Joseph if it wasn’t for you.”

Silence responded.

“He’s so kind and gentle. He’s nothing like those spoiled, rich snots that stay in the hotel. He doesn’t judge me as they do. He wants me; The Hotel wants me.”

“What about Alex, Lisa?” called a soft voice from the darkness.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Let Alex win my heart, so you could have Joseph to yourself. Why would you take my man from me?”

“He’s not your man,” Nell said. “The Broadview needs to rest; I understand that now. And Joseph wants me to bring it peace.”

“You shut up, Nell. You just shut up.”

John inched from his cot.

Nell continued, “Joseph is a good person, Lisa. He took care of me. He’ll always take care of me. I’m on his team.”

“No,” Lisa screamed and shuffled through the dark.

[I want death. Kill her.]

“Nell, I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill you right now.” A loud thump echoed through the room.

John dove for the light switch as Jack tucked his tail between his legs. Lisa was on the floor, covered in blood, gripping her throat. Nell’s IV needle clasped between her fingers.

Nell’s arms curled around her knees on the floor beside her cot. “I had to do it, John. I had to.” John could barely hear her. “Oh my goodness, I killed Lisa.”

John put pressure on Lisa’s throat; her dark, blood-soaked hair snaked around his fingers.

A patrol car escorted the ambulance with Lisa in it to Sunnybrook Hospital. The remaining police officers questioned John. He couldn’t do much more than nod his head at their inquiries. Paramedics lifted Nell into a second ambulance, bound for St. Michael’s hospital. Joseph stood outside the police tape near his lobby post.

“Nell, I’m sorry,” said Joseph to the breeze. He shook his head as the second ambulance drove away.

[Is she the one?]

“She is,” said Joseph. “She’ll come back to us.”

[No sacrifice?]

“Not for a while, no,” said Joseph. “When she comes back, she will join us. Then you can rest.”

[Yes. Then I can rest.

Will she be long?]

“No, not long,” Joseph replied. “He did not find a house for them in Paris. She will stay.”

Joseph wandered down the street.

[Where are you going?]

“I’m going to grab a pint,” Joseph said. “I’ll come back.”

[You always do.]

I can’t believe I’m working in the lobby.

What will affluent society think?

Nothing; I am just another part of The Broadview, sure to be ignored.

A LIKELY STORY

…A WEEK LATER.

It was warm and dark. A Chris Connor cover teemed through the background. John sat in his favourite booth with the curtain half drawn and a half-empty cola bottle in his hand. Lucy sat across from him.

“So,” Lucy smiled at John, “I see that look in your eye; tell me what happened.”

“Sure, you know how Nell was dead,” John started, “—well, not really.”

“Go on; I’m listening.”

John continued, “She was knocked unconscious with a decorative vase. Then she hit her head on a table when she fell.

“Who would hit Nell with the vase?” Lucy asked.

“Right. So, Joseph offered Nell a job, and Lisa found out about it, and it really upset her, so she tried to kill Nell.” John paused. “Oh, and The Hotel told Lisa to do it.”

“Slow down, John. The hotel did what?”

“The Hotel told Lisa to kill Nell.” John blinked and shrugged his shoulders. “The Broadview has a secret history of killing. A long and sordid history. I read about it in an article at the library the other day.”

“I don’t buy it,” Lucy said. “How can the hotel do that?”

“Well,” another shrug, “Joseph told me, so…” Lucy decided to let it drop. Bolstering John was one thing; talking hotels was entirely different.

“So, Nell called you from her cell phone, then?”

“Ya. I suppose Nell phoned me when Lisa and Joseph were arguing. She must have been hallucinating because she sure wasn’t dead.”

Lucy nodded.

“Can I get another Coke?” John swallowed the last of his drink. “And chicken strips. No sauce, please.”

“I’ll be right back, John.” Lucy left the table. John could hardly believe the story he was telling. Talking to Lucy helped, but it felt like a strange dream. Jack hadn’t shown himself since it all ended. The Broadview was still open for business. It seemed odd that everything was back to normal. When Lucy returned, she sat down with a new coke bottle and a clean glass.

“And Lisa, she’s ok?”

“Oh ya, sure, she’s ok. I mean, not really. The police are dealing with her.” John cradled his glass. “Lucy,” John placed his hands on the table. “You know I didn’t really save Nell, right? I just got in the way, and if it wasn’t for Joseph, I’d still be locked in that basement. He is the real hero.”

“That’s not true, John. You were there for Nell when she needed you, and that’s what counts.”

“Thanks, Lucy.” John relaxed and sat back in his chair. “I guess that counts.”

“And Fran?”

“Oh, yes, Fran is back. I think she’ll stick around for a while.” John smiled. He felt more like himself, back to his routine of saving cats and solving insignificant mysteries. His neighbours were glad about that, and so was John.

DINGERIDGE HALL: A MORAL AND SORDID HISTORY

1892-2014

Dingeridge Hall was built in 1891 by serial entrepreneur Alfred Dingeridge. It cost $25,000 to design and develop his landmark. As a commercial centre, the hall was the tallest building east of the Don River. Its imposing architecture made it an instant iconic landmark of the Riverside community. Mr. Dingeridge moved into a personally designed suite with his pregnant wife and firstborn son, occupying one of many upper halls on the top floor. Dingeridge Hall became a prominent social gathering spot for an astonishing array of upperclassmen from politicians, athletic clubs, and The Order of Odd Fellows. The middle levels featured doctors’ and lawyers’ offices. This was the golden age of The Broadview Hotel.

In 1902, Mr. Dingeridge turned his sights westward. He moved his family to Alberta, where he financed the first commercial oil well in the province. In 1907, he sold Dingeridge Hall to T. J. Rutherford, who turned the hall into The New Broadview Hotel, renting rooms for $1.50 a night. The neighbourhood mourned the loss of Alfred and his wife, the original heart and spirit of the hotel. This was the end of the golden age.

During these early years of the 20th century, the formerly elite Dingeridge Hall was host to less than high society. The upper floor’s luxury suite was closed to new patrons. It is said that Rutherford, the hotel’s new owner, used the rooms for his own private affairs of adultery and prostitution. The rumours of Rutherford’s escapades in the hotel tarnished its reputation and influenced the downward turn in the surrounding neighbourhood.

It seemed that Rutherford saw the error of his ways in 1913 when the comings and goings to the deluxe suite slowed to a halt. A short while later, Rutherford’s body was discovered in the cellar, tied to a chair, surrounded by his own blackened, tacky blood. His death was deemed a suicide by the coroner, though no cutting instrument was found. Rutherford was laid to rest in the St. James Cemetery, despite the coroner’s findings.

Under new management, the hotel lay dormant until the depraved deluxe suite was demolished in 1918. The New Broadview, née Dingeridge Hall, was reborn as Lincoln Hall in the 1930s. The great depression did little to help Lincoln Hall. After several unexplained deaths had been brushed under the hotel carpet, as it were, Lincoln Hall was rechristened as Dingeridge Hall in 1942.

Though charges were dropped, associates of Dingeridge Hall were implicated in several mysterious deaths in the Riverside community throughout the 1950s and 60s. The deaths were poorly documented and were dismissed as folklore. In 1974, a cover letter from a misfiled police report was discovered with the words, Case Open: Dingeridge Murders, stamped in faded, bold print. This file was also ignored by the authorities.

In the late 1970s, Bradley Gross and his wife Angeline remodelled the original Dingeridge suite. They moved into the upper hall as the self-anointed king and queen of Jilly’s. Under their reign, the undocumented and unexplained deaths subsided. Jilly’s brought a flourish to the neighbourhood as the new go-to place for a good time in the east-end. For more than three decades, Jilly's rekindled the heart and spirit of Dingeridge Hall. In 1991 Jilly’s centre stage featured a boa constrictor, a python, and a 203-kilogram defanged Siberian tiger named QeDesh as part of dancer Jane Jones’s “Exotic Circus.”

In the early 2000s, Jilly’s started to run into financial troubles. The dilapidated hotel faced ruin in 2013 when unavoidable emergency repairs were made to keep the building standing. In May 2014, Streetcar Developers Inc. purchased the land and demolished Jilly’s. The dancers and tigers retired to the club's institutional memory, and the rest, as they say, is history.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This story was inspired by real people and their unique perspectives about what they might do if faced with these fictional challenges. Thank you to Nell for posing for the photo that inspired this story and to John for suggesting it was a good cover for a detective novel. Thank you, Lisa, for snapping the shot in the first place. Thanks to those who shared your love of the characters and offered some ridiculous alternative endings after reading draft one: Vishakha, Mel, Elena, Karabi, Karl, Luis, James, Rosey, John, and Nell. Thank you to Kay Wan for doing nothing to resolve the outcome of this story (written in the most positively sardonic way). Thank you, Roy for the red pen edits. Special thanks to Evan Long for ‘etching’ The Broadview for the cover. And thank you to Michelle and our kids for making writing easy in my free time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Oskar is a musical, fun-loving, casual writer of poetry, flash fiction, and short stories.

Oskar was born in Sweden and grew up in Canada. He has two adult children, dogs and cats and lives in Toronto with his wife, life partner, and best friend Michelle.

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