The Quimby Hotel

━ 04: Something In-Between

After the excruciating affair that was dinner, which seemed to drag on for eons, the ghostly lost son explored the halls of the hotel, digging around for a sign of what his father was hiding. Blue followed him curiously as he snooped through bookshelves and console tables and rummaged around housekeeping closets. In the end he came up with nothing. It was obvious he was missing something, but he couldn't pinpoint what, and until he figured it out he would be trapped within the walls of the Quimby Hotel like a caged mouse.

Cairo glanced down at Blue, irritated with himself and the new strange way he saw things and his family and the fact that he was here at all. "What the hell is he protecting that's so damn important?" he asked her exasperatedly, as if assuming she would suddenly develop the miraculous ability to speak.

She mewed unhelpfully, as one might expect. He hated that cat.

He would have to find a way to get into his father's office alone. Surely if anywhere Mr. Quimby would keep his valuables in the room which he locked up every night before bed. But opportunities to sneak in undetected would be rare, especially if HQ decided to pry into what he was doing with her omniscient army of cameras.

Whatever. He would attack this puzzle with fresh fangs tomorrow. Cairo couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a comfortable night's sleep, and he had to admit to himself that the prospect of a soft bed and a proper shower was tempting. He wished it didn't come with the contingency of meals with his family, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Cairo silently made his way back to the fourth floor, gaze darting back and forth to instinctively watch for threats. This wasn't a rainy, crime-ridden city street of downtown Tukwila like those that he'd been recently used to, but he was still on edge, refusing to believe his father's assurances of safety. Those who let their guard down had only themselves to blame when their throats were inevitably slit, and he wasn't about to allow himself to believe he was anything close to safe when he'd lost an eye just yesterday.

He slowed upon approaching it. His old room. Cairo opened the door carefully, squinting in the dark. He almost wished he'd pushed more for a paid room instead, because returning here would almost certainly mean—

"En garde," came his brother's voice as Cairo flicked the light on and pushed the door shut. And before he had the chance to register anything more than a cheshire grin, Shanghai had appeared out of seemingly thin air, jumped down from the nearest bed, and pointed the business end of a plastic sword at Cairo's chest.

Shanghai tossed him a sword of his own, and Cairo sighed, catching it instinctively. What were they, eight? "I really have no interest in doing this with you, Shang."

He let it drop unceremoniously onto the carpet, and Shanghai's smile flipped upside down. He didn't hesitate, slashing forward at Cairo's arm and sending him jolting back. Because to his frustrated shock, the toy blade had gone right through his jacket and surface layers of flesh, blood seeping from a very real wound. Cairo's good eye snapped towards him, glaring. Shanghai tapped his foot impatiently.

"Pick it up."

It had been too long. Cairo had forgotten—forgotten what he could do, that his brother could weaponize anything he so desired. All these years spent away from other In-Betweens had made him soft, crumbled his guard.

So he gritted his teeth, picked up the sword, and swung with the full force of his annoyance at his brother's plastic blade. They collided with a clack that should have been unnoticeable but reverberated in Cairo's mind, the echo pounding painfully in his eardrums. It wasn't the sound in reality that bothered him but the ferocity in Shanghai's eyes, slitted towards him, and the palpable fury between them that culminated in the slashes and parries that followed.