ROUND ROBIN, part 12 (by Eisencookie)



 "AHHHHHHHHHH, Paul Stanley", Elizabeth sighed for perhaps the

fortieth time of the day, as she slowly keyed his reservation

information into the hotel's computer.  "Can't say a whole hell of a

lot for this job", she snickered to herself, "but THIS weekend, it

will suck just a LITTLE bit less."  She had been working at the

Waldorf Astoria for six months now behind the front desk and this was

definitely going to be the high point of her "career", if one would

care to stretch and call it that.  A devoted Kiss fan, Elizabeth had

been thrilled with the news that the final Kiss show was being held

at nearby Madison Square Garden, because it was a given that the band

and crew would gravitate to her hotel, as would many of their rabid

fans.  As a matter of fact, people were beginning to pile in already

and the excitement was building.  "Kiss Army, let me HEAR YOU!", she

chuckled in amusement, using her best Paul impression.  An angry cry

of "Elizabeth, aren't you finished yet?" shot forth from her boss,

followed quickly by his icy glare for good measure.  She shifted her

weight from one foot to the other, took a quick glance at the clock,

nervously tugged on one of her brown curls, and it was back to

business.  Boring business.



"Excuse me," a voice interrupted her typing, "I need to check in.  I

think I'm on that list".



"What?", she said, confused.



"That list you're holding.  McGhee Entertainment/KISS reservations.

I'm on that list.  I'm with the Kiss road crew."  Elizabeth looked up

from her keyboard into a pair of very familiar and friendly eyes.

The man in front of her smiled mischievously and placed his Kiss road

crew access pass on the desk.  She noted his black ponytail, his Kiss

hat (turned backward, as always) and his Kiss road crew t-shirt, and

immediately knew who was before her.



"Will that be a smoking or non-smoking room, Mr. Papadatos?", she

chirped pleasantly.



Spiro gave her an approving nod.  "You know my last name?  Not only

that, you can say it AND SPELL it.  I'm impressed."  Elizabeth could

feel herself blush as she once again averted her vision to the

keyboard in front of her.



"I've put you in room number 212.  I'll need you to sign these papers

for me."



"No problem", he grinned.



As she watched those skillful hands race through the paperwork, she

was filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread that she was going

to begin to babble incoherently, and unfortunately, she did not let

herself down.



"Spiro.....I mean, Mr. Papadatos...I understand that all the guys are

coming here after the show for a party....I mean....I heard this is

the place to be.....I even heard that...well....Calen McGregor will

be here.....she and Gene, well....you know, the rumor is they.....and

if Paul is here, would you tell him...."



"Will you be working the night of the show?"



"Yes, I will," she said, forcing a pretty pout, "Not enough time in

to get the night off".



"Well, then if you are here, I'm sure you will hear ALLL about the

festivities.  I just don't want you to hear about them from ME.

Gene, he's the boss, you know"  He winked.



"Oh, OK", she said, her heart sinking, "I'm so sorry," as she

gathered his paperwork.



"No problem.  Room 212 it is.  Later, Sunshine".



The next guest in line was not nearly as pleasant or a fraction as

good-looking.  A large woman, with three young children in tow, was

demanding to have a room "away from these damn rock and roll

freaks".  As Elizabeth began to key her name into the computer

system, the phone began to ring.  Noticing no one else was rushing to

answer it as usual,  she rolled her eyes ever so slightly and moved

to pick up the line.



"Waldorf-Astoria.  This is Elizabeth.  May I help you?"



"I.....I.....have....a.....message........".



The voice on the other end of the phone brought immediate and

electric cold chills up and down her spine, and she inadvertently

snapped her pencil in two attempting to grab a note pad.  For some

odd reason, she found herself clinging to the pieces as if her very

life depended on their safety.



"Girl.....talk......."



"G-G-Girl talk, sir?  I'm afraid I don't understand".  But was it

a "sir"?  What in God's name WAS it?  It most certainly did not sound

human, but more so like a looming beast of sorts.  "Don't be

ridiculous," she chastised herself.  Too many damn horror movies.

Too many Gene Simmons pictures.



"Val..........Val.....KYRIE..........."



But this time, she was even more sure that the bone-chilling voice on

the other end was evil.  TERRIBLE evil.



She quickly checked the reservation system with trembling fingers and

managed to stammer out, "Not here y-y-yet".



"You.....tell.....her......you.....TELLLLLL.....her........", it

slowly demanded.



She could no longer mutter a response, coherent or not, but she held

onto the phone with a death grip.  Whatever was speaking to her, was

it even ALIVE?



"Tell......her........welcome......to.....the......ssssssssssssssshoww

wwwww", it's malevolent voice hissed into her ear like a snake from

Hell, then the line went dead.



Elizabeth dropped the receiver to the ground, with a scream of shock

and agony.  Suddenly, her mind, dulled by the conversation, became

sickeningly aware of a new sensation in her hand.  She slowly glanced

downward at her outstretched palm, which was newly searred by an

angry burn mark in the shape of the telephone receiver.  "THIS CAN'T

BE!, " she thought, wildly.  The pain, oh, the pain was awful,

climbing her arm like white lightening.  She stumbled backwards into

the back wall and slid down it, helpless and confused, fresh tears of

fear and pain running down her face.  Three words repeatedly ran

through her troubled mind again and again like a teleprompter out of

control, as she stared at her own burnt flesh..."MUST HELP THEM MUST

HELP THEM MUST HELP THEM...".