[It is recommended to listen to the following track while reading this investigation Jason Lescalleet – Un Peu De Neige Sans Raison.]
“A truly impeccable hotel. Always half-empty, always brand new.”
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0
The crystal chandeliers swung unevenly over a broad segment of corridor through which a dozen or so mirrors reflected their dim and flickering amber.
An elevator opened its doors onto the 9th floor depositing three identical gentlemen.
The identical three were identically dressed with creased slacks and graphite ties.
The elevator closed its doors behind them, taking with it its shaft of light.
Our three gentlemen made their way through the curved corridor beneath the dimming and persistently surging amber light of the chandeliers.
None of them responded to the screaming that belted out of the single ovular room on this floor of the hotel; a single ovular room around which the corridor snaked like a windowless amber halo, leading back to the elevator.
The screams punctured the silent tinkering of the chandeliers, the padded steps of our gentlemen; the noises made the air warmer before they were absorbed by the halo, made quiet once more.
Our three gentlemen walked, soaked in amber.
Upon arriving at the first door to the room, our first gentleman stopped walking while the other two carried on.
Upon arriving at the second door to the room, our second gentleman also stopped
while last of the three still carried on.
Upon arriving at the third door to the room, our third gentleman finally stopped.
Our three gentlemen were positioned like the points of an equilateral triangle outside the three doors of the large ovular room.
No. 900
As one, the three identical gentlemen lowered onto their knees, each like a pot of plastic flowers, dumb, silent, and with an imperceptible quiver––pupils dilated with desire.
In time, with their shoulders hunched under the amber light of the corridor, our three gentlemen became tense and excited; something animal in them, in the hot skin of their arms and legs was raised: they began to tear at the thick carpeting, plucking up hot thread, panting quietly, persistently, intently; their toes curling inside their bright shoes.
The dozen mirrors of the corridor reflected them as they were grinding their teeth, as they were were peering through each of their keyholes into room
No. 900.
1
Mirrors only increased in number within the ovular room; pristine and lining the walls and parts of the ceiling. Some were framed with curtains.
The furniture was heavy:
A satin settee with fat buttons was a thread from bursting all over the room; the rugs, oriental and thick, lay there soaking up screams, collecting them inside their silk rectangles; some paintings, nudes in front of more mirrors hung over some of the mirror-walls; and, at the head of the ovular room, a well-made silk-thread bed of cold sheets––a bed of plump pillows and lifting scent.
Each mirror reflected every other one creating a manifold of vanishing infinities.
And at the center of each mirror there was the reflection two human figures: an older man on his knees, tied and gagged, and a woman, towering above him on a stool, leathered and frowning.
The whip came down silently on the older man’s clothed back.
His scream went straight into a carpet.
0
Our three gentlemen, still outside, peered intently through their keyholes.
Having forgotten everything but the spectacle inside, their bodies grew hot.
2
Black satin heels and naked legs came down from the stool.
The older man, still clothed, was pleading as the leathered woman kneeled over him with a small blade that she ran over his back.
She began to cut through his suit jacket and shirt, lightly grazing the skin.
Her eyes were wide and unblinking. Her smile was slight but intent.
The whip came down once more, this time on his bare skin.
This time, the noise of the whip was louder than the man’s cry.
She began to run the blade over his sleeves, again with a slight graze of the skin.
The older man’s face looked delighted.
0
Our three gentlemen, still hunched in terrible desire, did not hear the elevator return.
The doors of the elevator closed behind our man as he stepped off it, visibly concerned, dressed in pinstripe pajamas and perhaps more than a little sleepy.
His feet were bare.
He began to walk along the curve of the corridor, amidst the amber light, the shivering chandeliers, the fogged mirrors.
Reaching a certain point he stopped at side table with a notepad and a pen.
He wrote something before tearing out a paper and folding it into his pajama pocket.
A scream from inside the room made him stare at the wall.
For a moment, he studied his own reflection.
3
The older man was now entirely naked; his clothes, in tatters, were gathered into a mound on the carpet near him. He was still tied and gagged and the woman ran her fingers along the lines left by the blade on his skin.
She was standing behind him, kneeling over his lowered head.
Digging into his chest with her nails, she left cat marks, glowing red and swelling.
The older man instinctively kneeled toward the ground to protect his chest.
With his naked back parallel to the ground and hands tied behind him, fingers at the ceiling, the woman turned and allowed the weight of her thighs and the soft curve of her leathered backside, to sit on him.
Slowly her tight body came down onto his cold, naked and wounded figure.
She sat on his back, he facing in one direction and she in the other.
0
Our man, having disengaged from the mirror, began to walk slowly along the curve of the corridor once more.
After a few steps he saw the first of the three gentlemen hunched at the door to the large ovular room.
Our man hesitated but resolutely approached the gentlemen nevertheless.
Arriving behind him, he spoke.
“Hello.”
The gentlemen, so enraptured at the door, took some time in responding.
He slow turned toward our man, giving him a look that our man could not understand.
4
She removed the gag from over his mouth.
“Tell me your sins,” the woman demanded of the older man.
She was running the whip along the back of his naked thighs, his pitiful backside.
She sat, legs spread wide and lifted over heels.
Her chin faced upward; black hair severely tied back.
She was scraping the long nails of her free hand along the rope that held the older man’s hands together.
0
Our man hesitated in front of the scowling and hunched gentleman.
“Never mind, thank you.”
He walked away quickly along the curved amber corridor.
5
“I lived selfishly,” confessed the older man, face pressed into the carpet.
He began to have difficulty supporting the woman’s weight on his back; sensing this she dealt him a kiss of the whip to a fleshy part of his thigh.
He cried out in response and thanked her before arching his back once more in order to adjust her seat. The hot skin of her thighs pressed against the wounds of his back.
“More sins,” she demanded and suddenly turned to pull his graying hair back.
His face lifted: closed eyes, biting his lip in pleasure.
“I enjoy this.”
She stood up and landed the whip straight onto his spine, making him collapse.
0
The three identical gentlemen were violently aroused behind their keyholes. They persisted in tearing at the carpet, in writhing within their clothes.
They grew hotter but did not loosen their clothing.
Our man was slowly approaching the second hunched gentleman, note in hand.
Arriving behind him, he spoke.
“Hello.”
In his extreme agitation the second gentleman made no response.
Our man stared, transfixed by the gentleman’s fingers as they plucked at the carpeting.
He spoke again, but it made no difference; the hunched gentleman was not there.
Our man turned to walk again, but he heard a word from behind the door that made him stop. Unable to help himself, our man leaned over the hunched gentleman in order to listen through the door.
His pajamas brushed the back of the second gentleman’s suit jacket; this contact finally made the second gentleman turn up to face our man.
He gave our man the same inexplicable look that the first gentleman had given him.
Our man moved quickly along the curved amber corridor.
6
The woman was now on the settee.
The older man was complying with her demand that he stand up and walk toward the bed, where he was to sit down with his feet on the ground; hands still tied behind his back, he stumbled onto his feet.
Once in place, she uncrossed her legs and stood up, leaving the whip behind on a cushion.
She moved toward the bed, its scent filling her head.
She moved toward the bed, his pitiful figure pulling her.
She stood between his parted legs and slapped him cleanly across the face.
The older gentleman began to stir; feet flexed, he was becoming aroused
She slapped him savagely on the other cheek.
0
Our man was moving quickly along the corridor, persistently catching himself in the endless row of mirrors. The amber light was tiring him.
He saw the third gentleman hunched at the third door and called out to him.
“Hey.”
The third gentleman responded immediately: he stood up and faced our man.
“What do you want?”
Our man stumbled on his words; he had honestly not expected to be noticed.
“…to, to deliver this note to whoever is in the room.” He said this while holding out the folded note in his right hand. “You see, I … I had a long day this morning and, you see, I’ll probably be having another long day tomorrow. And the noise. I’m on the 8th floor, below, you see. The noise, I can’t sleep. So …”
The third gentleman simply looked back at our man as he spoke. He then made a gesture as though to invite our man to enter the room, to deliver the message himself.
As though this was a completely acceptable thing to do.
Our man stayed in his spot, not yet able to move.
7
She gagged the older man once again.
He was trying to bring himself closer to her thighs, but with each attempt he received a smack across his face.
Finally, the woman grew tired of the older man’s insolence and lifted her leg high above his and brought her heel straight into his thigh, allowing it to slowly pierce his skin.
The man let out a muffled scream; he only hardened.
Her red lips opened so that her white teeth could snatch at his hairy skin.
0
Our man, though uncertain, felt that he ought to approach the open door, that he ought not to pass up the opportunity to express his complaint about the noise. Moreover, our man was genuinely concerned about the screaming: he thought perhaps that something terrible was happening inside and that he should help if help was needed.
He stepped forward while the third gentleman simply looked at him.
Moving quickly he tried not to look into the third gentleman’s eyes, which he did not like.
When he reached the door, he prepared himself to knock on it. The third gentleman moved in closer to our man.
Upon knocking, the door – as though it had no mechanism – simply swung open.
The force of our man’s knock, though mild, was enough to push the door totally open.
Our man was surprised by what he saw.
Room No. 900 was dark as night.
“Idiot!” He heard the third gentleman snarl.
Suddenly, our man was pushed into the room and the door was pulled shut behind him.
“Stay in there!”
Disoriented in the impossible darkness of the room, he stumbled forward, trying to grab hold of something in order to steady himself. He expected to find a man, a woman, something, light; he found nothing as he stumbled forward.
Ø
Our man was at the centre of the black ovular room. Around him he heard frantic steps and hostile calls from the amber corridor. Their voices came and went, sounding much more than three at times, and at times, much less.
Then silence, and our man was as good as blind.
Suddenly, the three doors of the room burst open, allowing three streams of amber light to wash into the room around the silhouettes of the three identical gentlemen.
The three of them began to walk into the room; as one, they approached our man.
“You spoiled our fun,” one – or all – of them said.
––––––––––––––––– THE END
[For a brief essay revolving around themes addressed in this investigation, please visit the currently featured Thoughts on Idiocy.]
idiotic investigations 
Damn this is good…