A/N: Well… after losing my FF password, not knowing the e-mail associated with it, and lots of digging around in old files… I'm back! I can't believe how many follows this story has gotten... On my other account, I've gotten 13 follows for a 20-chapter story. This one had 60 for only 2. o_O

Anyway, I'm not complaining~ Happy New Year everyone! Special thanks to Princess PrettyPants, counterplots (also for kindly pointing out my mobile chapter-posting skills), Sparky She-Demon, Not so Blind Mieko, Cynthia Gunther, Mardre Ebridge, and Cotille S among others for your wonderful reviews, and also to those of you who continued to read my story! I'm looking to revive this, so stay tuned~

I really hope that you will enjoy the rest of Crimson Prison. Please favorite/follow/review if you liked it! And thank you again for stopping by. :)

~CC/Hakoniwa (Miniature Garden)

III - Encounters and Exchange

That scream, high and strident and clarion, sliced cleanly through the stillness like a knife through tepid butter, so harsh in its timbre that both the receptionist and I knew something was wrong—horribly, wretchedly wrong.

The receptionist had run over to the one of the first rooms in the corridor near the place where the elevator opened, one hand pounding on the door and the other fumbling for a ring of keys in his pocket.

"Miss?" he called out, the volume and intensity of his voice gradually escalating. "Miss, are you alright?!"

I stood behind him, my heart beating madly as my mind formulated possibility after terrible possibility, each more unlikely than the last. It might have been the moment's strain at work, but I couldn't stop turning to the worst-case scenario, and what we'd have to do in the aftermath.

"Miss?!" he asked again, finally able to jam the proper key into the keyhole, yet he was unable to turn it.

I gulped. "…Please tell me she's…"

"No, wait…" A small voice spoke from the other side. "Don't, don't come in."

The receptionist and I exchanged anxious glances.

"Why? What's wrong?" he questioned.

"N… no…"

"No? What is it?" I asked gently.

"…Is there a woman outside?" the guest asked.

"Yes," the receptionist said tentatively.

"Can she come in?" came the next question. "But only her."

"She…?" The receptionist looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I nodded to him. "…Alright. She's agreed."

Slowly the doorknob turned and slowly the door swung open, revealing a darkened room and no one there to greet us.

"If anything happens, I'll be right outside," the receptionist whispered in my ear.

I bobbed my head and walked inside, leery of my surroundings, eyes unadjusted. Then at once the door was closed behind me and the lights came on, nearly blinding me, and once I managed to refocus my vision I nearly screamed.

There was an Asian girl, late teens at most, covered from head to toe in bright red sludge standing near the door, her long, dark brown hair matted down by a strange substance, dripping it onto the floor and into a pool of what looked suspiciously like blood. Making matters worse, only a single white towel covered her figure, so saturated with vermillion liquid that it had turned a sickly burnt sienna hue. Through the mess her rounded almond eyes stared at me, confounded beyond relief, and I found myself utterly lost for words.

"I… what…?"

"There's… something wrong with the tub," she uttered between heavy breaths, a faint accent in her voice.

I glanced over to the bathroom door, and then back at the girl. "What is it?"

She shook her head vigorously, unwilling to talk, sending ruddy droplets flying about from her soaked tresses.

"Alright, alright," I said, putting up two hands in the hopes she'd stop. "Let me take a look."

Cautiously I inched my way towards the dim washroom, lit only by clouded sunshine, and peered around the corner to glimpse the white claw-footed bathtub inside, the abandoned showerhead and reddish water on the ground being the only immediately noticeable oddities. I went ever closer, scooting across the spotted granite tiles until I came close enough to lean in and view the bathwater: a shockingly bright crimson.

Despite the dilution it retained a strange and somewhat unearthly saturation, such that my eyes stung a little just from looking at it. I choked back a swear word as my brain drew a gruesome comparison to some sort of grisly murder scene. However, that didn't seem even remotely reasonable for the situation, since there wasn't a body or body parts in there, and the guest herself seemed otherwise unharmed. Finally, against better judgment I dipped my hand into the tub, scraped the bottom and pulled back out.

Dripping on my fingers was some sort of red-orange silt. I squeezed it and the runny sediment made an audible squelch, taking on the consistency of wet sand and becoming a little heap in my palm.

"Is this…?"

I dashed back outside and began to open the door using my free hand. The girl looked at me pleadingly, brows furrowed.

"Do you know…?"

"Hold on, I've gotta make sure," I replied, and went into the hallway where the receptionist waited for me.

"What is it?" he asked, and I held out my hand with the sediment heap. "…Clay?"

"You tell me," I said, staring it down at the same time. "If I try putting two and two together, I'd guess that girl was in the middle of a bath, and clay started coming out of the tap, mixing with the water. It's a real mess in there. I feel bad for her… Poor thing's scared half to death."

"Oh… oh dear. That's no good," he muttered. "I've never had this happen before, but… let me call for someone and… I'll be right back."

The receptionist headed for the stairs and started down, vanishing from my sight. I stood there, alone for the moment, and went to head back inside the room when the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up and it felt as if someone had touched my shoulder.

"Sir?" I whirled around, thinking it was the receptionist. However, no one was there. I whimpered. "M-Miss…"

After pushing my way inside, the girl noticed my blanched face.

"Why are you so scared? Is something wrong with that stuff?"

"N-no," I said quickly. "It's just clay, apparently. Maybe it got in the pipes."

"Clay…?" she returned, still looking concerned.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about. We should get you cleaned up though… D'you wanna use the bathroom in my room?"

"May I?" she asked.

"Yeah, go ahead. Look for room 2-4 near the end of the hall… Door's unlocked."

The girl beamed, happy as she could appear whilst barely clothed and covered in bloodlike clay. She flitted to the closet, collected some clothing and started for the door.

"Hold on," I said, removing my coat and putting it around her shoulders. "Hurry in, okay?"

"Okay! Thank you!" She started to leave, and then stopped to face me. "What's your name?"

"My name? It's Caelan."

"Kay…lin." The girl sounded out my name, smiling. "My name is Shiori."

"Nice to meet you, Shiori."

I followed her out into the gray hallway and watched her dash to my room, finally disappearing inside. It was creepy if no one else was around so I went back inside, noticing a portable folding cot in one corner of the room, aside from the actual bed. The girl must have been traveling with family.

"Miss O'Reilley!" The receptionist called for me, and I saw him come through the door. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. This has never happened before, and we'll have to call in a plumber… Ah, where has the guest gone?"

"I let her use my bathroom to wash up. I doubt she wanted to go back in there."

"Alright. I'll talk to her about a room change later. Again, thank you so much for your help."

"No worries at all. And I… I don't think I ever caught your name?"

"Valerian Ashcraft," he replied. "It's… rather a strange name, so just call me Val."

I shook my head. "Nah, not strange at all. Like the herb, right? Awesome. Gets cats kinda high."

"I, well, yes… cats?"

"Oh, I used to grow a lot of herbs back home. I even brought some with me, dried of course, but the TSA thought it was something else and had to search my bags…" I groaned about the dreaded weed accusations, and Val laughed in amusement, grinning. "Eheh, anyway, I'll go check in on Shiori, and you just let me know if I can do anything else to help."

"Thank you again, Miss O'Reilley."

"No problem, Val. And hey, if we're on first-name basis, just call me Caelan. See ya."

I darted out of the guest room and headed back to my own, my heart fluttering a bit at the memory of Val's laugh. It was quite the contrast to his servile all-business demeanor, and he honestly looked so cute wearing a genuine, spontaneous smile. Then I started to smack myself internally for those thoughts. What was I, an infatuated teenager?

As I approached the door to 2-4 I shifted my attention to the rustle of cloth and footfall from within, prompting me to knock and ask for entrance.

"Shiori? You all set in there?"

"Y-yes! Come in," she bode quickly.

Inside, I found the girl wringing out her hair and combing her fingers through the highlighted strands, having put on a pastel-pink knit sweater and light blue skinny jeans. She looked at me cheerily, lips curving upwards as she bowed her head politely.

"Thank you, for letting me use your bathroom. I feel much better now!"

"No problem, Shiori. You can probably go back to use the hairdryer in your room, but there might not be any water when the plumbers make repairs. Feel free to come back if you need to."

"Thank you again," she said, folding up a bath sheet in her hands. "I apologize that I had to use one of your towels… I can get you a new one, if you would like."

"No, no need to apologize," I said. "They always provide more than I need, so I think I'm good! So, uh, yeah, hopefully there won't be any further problems, and you have a good rest of the time here. On vacation with your family?"

Shiori nodded. "With my mother and father. We needed to get away, and after everyone talks about the hotel, I wanted to come here and…"

Something in her expression shifted and grew distant, as if she recalled something sad.

"Shiori…?"

"A-ah, I need the hairdryer soon!" she said abruptly, snapping out of that daze. "Wet hair, don't want a cold. I hope to see you again, Caelan-san!"

The girl bowed again, nearly teleported herself to the door, waved once and withdrew from the room. I raised an eyebrow, thoughtful.

"…-san… a respectful suffix in Japanese, I think?"

She seemed nice, if a bit eccentric. Not that I minded, since I wasn't exactly the definition of normality either.

Glancing out the window, I noticed the sun had gone completely, plunging the grounds into near complete darkness. While it was only 5-ish now, it would've been near noon back home, and I was exhausted. I drew the curtains shut, secured the locks on the door and opted for bed. Dinner wasn't that important at the moment, as I'd already eaten on the train, and the bed looked so luxurious that, after washing up, I couldn't resist throwing myself on it.

I rolled onto my back, looking at the room illuminated only by a dim bedside lamp, and then at the unlit chandelier above. Allerdale Hall Hotel truly was a lovely place, and I hoped to enjoy myself a bit, whether that involved paranormal encounters or not. In fact, I might have preferred if things remained this peaceful, unlike the sensation I experienced upon arrival. Sleeping at night decreased my chances of seeing anything, and the time shift would take some getting used to. Tomorrow, I decided, I would look around a little more, perhaps in the evening too, if I mustered the courage.

Content with my decision, I switched off the lamp and settled into bed, pulling the sheets over my body and up to my ears, the room warm and heated and perfect for a frosty night. In no time at all I slipped away into slumber, totally unconscious until I felt myself sitting up in bed, shifting to the side and dropping my feet to the floor. I saw my shadowy room through what looked like xenon headlights, brightening only the areas I set eyes on. It took a lot of effort to swivel even my head, and as I struggled to shift my field of vision, I spotted a man standing in front of the door, watching me with a reserved, sidelong glance.

I'd never seen such a person before in my life. He looked like he had stepped out of another era, wearing a tidy frock coat, a matching pair of black pants and a velvety sable cravat, the only other shade visible in his ensemble being the white collar of his dress shirt. I tried to move closer for a better look, but my limbs were leaden and nearly immobile. That man, on the other hand, moved fluidly through the heavy atmosphere, almost gliding through the air while he walked forth in an eerily smooth fashion.

"You are…?" I struggled to say, seeing him draw closer.

The sculptured cheekbones, proud nose and slicked hairstyle spoke to the nobility of a bygone era, though his thin lips were pursed and bloodless, his gaze begging for recognition, urgent, attempting to convey an unspoken, unspeakable message. Those irises were like glacial lakes, distant yet piercing, as if accustomed to a long and unrelieved suffering, resigned to and consumed by despair. It seemed like any of his suppressed grief had been renewed afresh by our encounter alone, yet I had no idea why—I had no idea who he was.

It was difficult to meet the man's eyes and see through those windows all the misgivings and shame he harbored but did not share. Perhaps the instinct itself stemmed from my empathic predisposition, but the emotions resonated inside my chest and shook me to the core, simply looking at him, looking at that expression, sharing his heartache without knowing the reason behind it.

I didn't realize that I'd forced my gaze to the ground until the man's patent leather shoes entered my line of sight. Slowly, I lifted my head, seeing the front of his coat, his shirt collar, and then the face—just not the face from earlier.

The faint nude tint of his skin suddenly evaporated; the raven hues of his wavy hair and even his clothing drained away until becoming the purest white, tainted only by the bright scarlet streaking down his jacket. Even his eye color had been inverted, and now a pair of sickly yellow irises, framed by inky sclera, regarded me quietly, almost fearful.

Most people would have been terrified. Most people would have run; maybe they would have screamed as well. But, despite his horrific appearance, he bared only the void of sorrow, the hollowness of his being, and I in turn mourned for him. He continued to look at me, entirely silent, while a bloody gash began to open across his cheek like a seam coming undone under strain. Wisps of red emerged slowly from the wound, tracing out tendrils of liquidy smoke which rose and undulated and faded out in a constant stream.

My consciousness was being pulled back into my body, and my face was wet, wet with the anguished tears I couldn't cry. I reached for him, uselessly.

I awoke, still reaching. I looked at the black outline of my hand, at the ceiling, and touched my face; I stroked the lines of water traversing my ice-cold skin. The room was chilled beyond relief, and in the light offered by the digital nightstand clock, I glimpsed the mist of my breath.

At the moment, I realized I wasn't alone. In the corner of the room sat a smaller human-sized figure without a face, a shadow within the shadows, crouched down with its arms folded across the knees, merely observing, invisible eyes on me and only me. I blinked once, unable to react, and after passing a single second, the silhouette had departed from its previous spot and now sat squatting at the end of the bed, half its form hidden by the mattress. This couldn't have been the man in my dream; it radiated nothing but resentment and negativity, and I didn't hesitate to lunge for the lights.

My fingers were already on the lamp switch when I heard it speak, rasping deeply in my ear.

"Shiori…!"