Vacancy

The sound of the buzzer woke Paul out of a dream about game shows, which probably meant that it had been going off for quite a while before it managed to penetrate his consciousness enough to rouse him. He stumbled out of the small twin bed, staggering forward as the floral sheets clutched at his ankle in a way that seemed downright intentional, pressed a button from which the letters 'FRONT DOOR' had long ago been rubbed away by repeated use, and glanced quickly into the mirror to make sure he looked presentable for his customer.

A few frantic moments of smoothing his short dark hair into something a little bit less overtly emo, and rubbing blearily at the dark shadows under his muddy brown eyes until they didn't advertise quite so blatantly that he'd been sound asleep just a few moments ago, and he was satisfied he at least wouldn't send any potential customers screaming back out into the night. Not that he was exactly worried-if they were showing up at an out-of-the-way dump like this in the middle of the night, they probably didn't have anywhere else to go anyway.

Satisfied with his appearance, Paul stepped out of his bedroom behind the front desk to find a tall woman waiting patiently for him. She was dripping wet, the moisture making her russet brown skin practically glow with a lustrous sheen, and her long black hair was pasted down against her body, clinging in strands to the side of her cheeks. Despite all that, she broke into a cheerful smile on seeing him, her broad nose wrinkling as the enthusiasm of her joy spread over her entire face.

"Hullo," she said in a plummy British accent, extending a hand to him to shake. Perplexed, Paul took it. "My name's Maryam, Maryam Nawab. I'm here about the vacancy I saw outside?" It was odd-she looked utterly bedraggled, her expensive-looking suit practically plastered to her lush curvaceous frame by the rain outside and her suitcase leaking water onto the floor in a way that suggested it had long ago taken on a second job as a canteen. But at the same time, she seemed completely prepossessed with confidence, as though a walk through a thunderstorm was just a minor obstacle on her way to a wonderful future.

It absolutely sand-blasted through Paul's half-asleep brain, prompting him to respond automatically like a soldier snapping to attention. "Sure thing, ma'am," he said in the polite, cheerful, slightly over-bright tones of someone trying to sound convincingly alert. He reached back and grabbed a room key pretty much at random from the rack. "Looks like Room Four is open."

They were all open, but Paul still felt better maintaining the polite fiction that tourists still came down State Route 20 on a regular basis. Even if Maryam could see that every spot on the rack had a key resting on the hook, he could at least pretend that he got more than three customers a week. He put the key on the desk and said, "It's seventy-five dollars for the night, five hundred for the whole week." He couldn't imagine anyone staying a whole week-most of his customers were just waiting for a tow truck to come by in the morning-but he said it anyway, out of habit.

Maryam looked at the key for a moment, her expression comically non-plussed. "Oh!" she said after a slight pause, chuckling to herself. "I'm sorry, I thought you were quoting me a salary for a moment. No, no, I don't need a room. Well, I suppose I will eventually, if I'm to stay on in the position, but I'm here about the vacancy." She stressed the last word as if trying to make it clear to someone who was slightly hard of hearing, or possibly just American.

Paul rubbed his hand through his hair in confusion, undoing most of the hasty work of a few moments ago. "Vacancy, like... as in job?" he finally asked, rummaging around in his brain for every bit of Britishness he'd picked up from watching public television at night. "Um, I'm sorry, ma'am, but the sign-it's not, I mean, it's not that kind of vacancy. It just means we've got rooms available."

Left unspoken was the cold fact that Paul couldn't afford to pay a second person, and that frankly his business selling Hoosiers memorabilia on eBay was the only thing that kept the lights on and the water running. It had been a long time since running the Rest-a-While Motor Lodge had been profitable for Paul's family, even before the interstate came through. Just keeping the property taxes paid ate up more than a year's income. If the land was worth something, Paul would have sold the place a long time ago, but he'd pretty much resigned himself to a quiet life in the middle of nowhere and a second identity as 'IndianaBBMan43'.

"I should say you do," Maryam said, breaking into Paul's momentary dip into melancholy. "Don't worry, we'll soon change that. I'm assuming I am hired? Only I'd very much like to get changed-" She gestured at her soaking clothing, still clinging to her body in a way that reminded Paul about how very little companionship he got living this far out of town. "-and I don't want to step around the desk unless I'm on staff. It wouldn't be polite." She beamed at him with a polite camaraderie that didn't so much ignore his words of a moment ago as render them moot and irrelevant.

"Um, ma'am, I..." Paul tried to find the right words in his groggy brain to dent the barrier of unbounded confidence Maryam had erected. "I don't have a job for you. We, um..." He blushed, ashamed of his failure even though he knew that it was nothing to do with him and everything to do with geography. "We don't really have the kind of business that needs a second person helping out." It was the understatement of the year. There wasn't much to see on this stretch of Route 20, and too many other ways to get to the places tourists were interested in. The Rest-a-While was too far off the beaten path even to make advertising worth it.

But Paul's words didn't seem to impact Maryam's cheerful ebullience. "That's because you're not taking advantage of your opportunities," she said brightly, looking around the room as if she was taking stock of a treasure vault. "Don't forget, every obstacle contains the potential for opportunity. Take me, for instance. When my car broke down, I could have decided to give up. I could have said, 'Well, Maryam, clearly this is the final setback, just the universe's way of saying you don't deserve success.' But instead, I thought of your sign, the sign I passed just two miles earlier. A beacon in the darkness, telling me that there was always another chance out there for someone willing to reach out and take it."

Paul just stared at her in blank incredulity as she went on, her exuberance almost manic in its intensity. "I said to myself, are you just going to wait in this car for someone to come along and pick you up? Or are you going to march back down that road, present your best self to whoever owns that motel, and take charge of your life? And here I am." She reached out and took his hand again, pressing it between her warm palms. "Here we are."

Paul blinked. He felt like he might still be dreaming, the situation in front of him so bizarre that it couldn't be real. He was used to all sorts of late-night customers, from the jittery truck drivers following a detour off I-90 to the freaked-out single women who needed near-constant reassurance that they hadn't walked into the plot of an Eli Roth movie to the tired families that he had to talk into sleeping off their exhaustion before getting directions back to the freeway. But this was something else. His brain simply didn't know how to process it.

He opened his mouth, but only a quiet, "umm..." came out at first. It felt like a small eternity before anything else joined it. "That's, um, very kind of you. Ma'am. But..." He shrugged, a motion made slightly awkward by Maryam's refusal to let go of his hand. "We just don't get much traffic out here. Most of the ones that drive by, don't stop. Don't see how you can make much of an opportunity out of that."

Maryam's eyes lit up like he'd just said the doorknobs were made out of solid gold. "That's what I'm here for... Paul!" she exclaimed, glancing over at the 'manager on duty' sign that he hadn't changed since his father died. "I'm here to help you build customer relationships, explore alternative revenue streams-to grow the business! You think it's a problem that so few people stop, but I see it as a chance to truly provide attentive customer service that will bring people back again and again! Take your rooms, for instance. Do you have anything like cable, wifi, anything like that?"

It took almost everything Paul had not to burst out laughing. "They've all got TVs," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "But I can't afford satellite-heck, I can barely afford my own Internet connection." Thank goodness for college basketball fanatics, he thought to himself. Maybe it wasn't the 'alternative revenue stream' Maryam had in mind, but it kept the lights on and the bills paid when nothing else did.

"Well," Maryam said, shrugging off his practical objections like a duck shedding water, "we'll soon fix that. We can start with Room Three, connect the television for Internet access-I can take care of that myself, I've got loads of experience with wiring. And once we've had a few customers stay in Room Three, I'm sure we'll have the money to get the other rooms modernized. You've got... twelve rooms, it looks like? Yes, this should do quite nicely."

"Um, I..." Paul was starting to feel like Maryam was having another conversation entirely, one that didn't include him. "I can't afford to hire someone, ma'am. I'm sorry. I can't fix up Room Three, and even if I did, there's nobody driving down this stretch of road who's going to stop for the night just because I have cable TV." He shrugged helplessly, feeling a bit of anger stirring underneath the fugue of exhaustion and confusion. "I'm a nice guy, I do whatever I can to be helpful, but the people who come here don't have a relationship to build. They're just here by accident."

"Exactly!" Maryam said, her eyes wide with excitement. Paul half-expected her to do a little pirouette. "They're here completely by accident, in this little out of the way hotel on a stretch of road where no one ever stops, tired and confused and exhausted. What's the first thing they're going to do when they get to their room? They're going to look for something comforting. Something familiar." She paused dramatically, as if waiting for a tiny fanfare. "The television! Oh, it's just perfect."

Paul's brow furrowed in utter bewilderment. "Because we'll have cable?"

Maryam grinned so wide he could see every single one of her perfect teeth. "Because we'll say we have cable. Free cable, free wifi, a network for all those devices to connect to. The people who don't turn on their TV will go to check their phone, and of course everyone uses wifi over data. I shouldn't think we'll have to wait more than a few minutes before they're staring at one of the screens. And to think, we'll have all night before anyone even thinks to look for them!"

Paul felt a little stir of apprehension, a tingle of anxiety at the back of his neck. "Look for them?" he said, hoping that his previous confusion made the question sound natural. "Wh-where will they be?"

"Oh, right where we want them," Maryam said absently, her eyes staring at a vision that only existed in her head. "Right there in Room Three, at least until we're finished building our new customer relationship." Something about the way she said it twisted the meaning of the words, giving them a strange and sinister quality. "Three people a week, most folks driving by without stopping-it's absolutely perfect! Can you imagine, Paul? We'll have at least eight hours of uninterrupted programming with every last one, possibly days with some of them! And to think, you're letting them go on their merry way with their wallets less than a hundred dollars lighter." She chuckled. It was a surprisingly unsettling sound.

"Programming?" Paul seized on the one word that didn't make him feel like he was in sudden, grave danger. "Like, you want to put... original programming on the televisions?" He realized that he'd somehow stepped far out of his depth, that something was very wrong with Maryam's behavior that his drowsiness had prevented him from noticing the signs earlier, but he also felt increasingly certain that confronting her about it would be a mistake. Go along, he told himself, keep humoring her, keep her in that cheerful happy confident place for a little while longer.

The way she looked at him told him it wasn't working. "Oh, it's definitely quite original," Maryam purred, her voice suddenly silky with menace. "And it definitely programs, at least when it isn't interrupted by people with tiny, nasty, suspicious minds." She spat out the last few words, her lips pursing as her face twisted in sudden anger. She fixed him with a furious, blazing stare. "I do hope you're not the closed-minded sort, Paul. Because I can do so much to help you make this place a success, if you'll only just let go of a few tiny preconceptions here and there. If you ignore all those obstacles and focus on the opportunities."

Paul didn't say anything, but Maryam must have seen the doubt on his face because she snapped, "Just think about the possibilities, Paul! All those people driving by, each and every one of them with jobs, bank accounts, friends, families! Think about them wiring over their spare cash to you every week, bringing everyone they know to spend a night at the Rest-a-While and rest a while." She laughed. Paul could only call it a cackle.

"And maybe a few here and there without any friends or families. They'll have their uses too." Maryam's eyes seemed to retreat into that realm of imagination again, no longer really seeing her surroundings as they were but as she wanted them to be. "We're close to the interstate, close to the airports-I'm sure it won't be hard to find some people who won't be missed. Sell their cars, liquidate their assets, and then..." Her smile widened, becoming predatory. "Oh, there are still a few people who will remember me fondly, Paul. I destroyed all the records, they won't forget a thing like that. Once I show them that it won't happen again, they'll come back. You'll see."

Paul tried to extricate his hand from between hers, but Maryam gripped it too tightly for anything other than a full-on adrenaline-fueled struggle to get it free. And Paul wasn't sure what she would do if he struggled. "I'm a little lost here," he said slowly, keeping his voice pitched low and soothing like he was talking to an escaped criminal. (Because he was pretty sure he actually was.) "What, um..." He swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was closing up on him before he could finish his sentence. "What is it you're planning to do? To these, um. Customers."

Maryam stared at him as if he was the one who sounded like he was losing his mind. "Program them," she said, as if it was too obvious to even bother saying before now. "I'm going to show them my special brainwashing videos, and it's going to empty out their minds of everything but obedience. Then, when they're totally mindless, I'm going to instill new thoughts and ideas in their heads to make them completely loyal to me, and they're going to serve me in whatever way best suits me. Financially, sexually, personally... whatever I need from them at the time."

Paul's eyes widened, his mouth blurting out, "You can't do that!" before his brain even had a chance to intervene.

"Oh, Paul," Maryam said, her expression becoming sad and forlorn. "And I thought you weren't going to be closed-minded. It's not like it hurts them or anything. Honestly, it wouldn't work nearly as well if it did. People gravitate toward pleasure, Paul, and my program binds their pleasure to my will. They're going to feel nothing but pure, obedient love in their blank and empty minds, like floating in a blissful dream of thoughtless ecstasy while their bodies follow my instructions."

Paul shook his head, his eyes wide and terrified. "No, I-unnnh!" He broke off with a grunt of pain as the grip of Maryam's hands became painfully tight. He gave up on subtlety and yanked hard, desperate to pull free.

When she unexpectedly let go, he fell back against the door to his room hard enough to make the keys rattle on their perches. "And really, who's to say what 'ethical' is when it comes to convincing someone? Advertisements try to entice you into buying their products without thinking, politicians use dishonest rhetoric all the time. Is it really that far of a jump to me interrupting their higher brain functions with neural-disruptive graphics and implanting thoughts in their minds?"

Paul tried to speak, but then she came around the desk with her eyes wide and her teeth bared in a rictus grin and it was all he could do to stammer out, "I, I just, I..." as his fingers scrabbled for the doorknob.

"You're just like the rest of them, Paul," she shouted, either confident that no one would hear her or simply uncaring. "All of the narrow-minded busybodies at the university, with their 'boards of inquiry' and their 'formal charges' and their 'federal investigators'! Just because one snotty little twerp walked in on me before I could fully establish control and finish programming some other snotty little twerp, and they went to their parents and the parents went to the Chancellor. Well, I'm not going to let that happen again, Paul. Nobody's standing in my way this time. I lost the police, I lost the FBI agents trailing me, and I have lucked into the absolute perfect base of operations, and I will not let your whiny, pusillanimous objections stand in my way DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Paul shrank away from her until he felt his shoulder blades digging into the walls and realized he had literally backed himself into a corner. "I, I just meant... it's impossible," he whimpered quietly, certain that he had just infuriated some escaped mental patient into bludgeoning him to death with a paperweight. He squeezed his eyes down to slits, waiting for the killing blow...

And Maryam stopped. Her face sprang back into her polite, friendly smile, and her posture relaxed into easy calm. "Oh, is that what you meant?" she said, her voice light and lilting with breezy amusement. "I'm so dreadfully sorry! I thought you were raising, you know..." She lowered her voice a little and winked at him. "Obstacles."

She chuckled again, a conspiratorial little laugh that invited Paul to join in. He didn't take the invitation. "I simply can't abide people who insist in putting obstacles in my path, Paul. When life throws you so many challenges, I just don't understand why someone would want to give you more. You know?" Paul struggled to connect the charming, vivacious woman standing in front of him with the furious, shrieking Maryam of just a moment ago. It was as if they were two different people. He began to understand why she was able to hide her bizarre schemes for so long.

She patted him on the shoulder. "But if it's simply a practical concern, I can fix that right now." She pulled out her smartphone and tapped the screen. Instantly, the display began to fill with strange, rapidly pulsing and twisting geometric patterns. "Here."

Paul's eyes locked onto the screen, his gaze tripping over itself as he tried to follow the impossibly complex shapes that rotated and interlocked and swelled and shrank. "You know, Paul, it occurs to me that what I need here isn't so much a partner as a slave," Maryam said, raising his and and cupping it around the phone at eye level. Once she let go, Paul found that he didn't want to move it anymore. "I'm sure you'll understand," she said, gently stroking his cheek as his eyes widened in rapt fascination.

Paul nodded absently, already forgetting what he was nodding at. It felt impossible to focus on anything but the screen; the whirling, twisting blur of patterns seemed to simply suck each thought into the depths of the display as soon as it formed, leaving his mind hazier than any interrupted sleep cycle could produce. He barely even heard Maryam saying, "Honestly, your major contribution to our enterprise is the property, and I'm sure you can manage that in your sleep. Your obedient, waking sleep." Her voice seemed softer, more coaxing, and Paul found himself nodding again automatically.