The Investigation Chapter 1.

...Title: Mysteries of the Sixth Floor...

...Chapter 1: The Investigation...

...The Grand Dolphin Hotel loomed against the night sky, its façade an exquisite blend of white and gold, gleaming under the moonlight. Statues perched elegantly on each corner, their graceful forms adding a touch of opulence to the structure. A few minutes after Mr. Blackwood's death, the air thrummed with the anxious energy of a dozen police officers, their uniforms stark against the glistening glass windows. Flashing red and blue lights painted the scene in a chaotic dance, illuminating the faces of curious onlookers and reporters drawn like moths to a flame of tragedy. They pressed against the yellow crime scene tape, eager to glimpse the unfolding drama....

...Outside, the murmur of conversation swelled, punctuated by the crackle of police radios and the occasional muffled shout. Groups huddled together, voices mingling in nervous speculation, their breath clouding in the crisp evening air. A couple of fire trucks stood sentinel nearby, their sirens silent but lights flashing rhythmically, casting an unsettling glow on the surrounding asphalt. The chrome and red paint of the vehicles shone with a sickly brightness, a stark contrast to the encroaching darkness....

...An ambulance, doors agape like a gaping maw, awaited any potential emergencies, while the distant wail of sirens from elsewhere added to the cacophony. Inside, the hotel lobby, once a bustling hub of laughter and chatter, now lay eerily silent. The harsh white light from the overhead street lamps illuminated the marble floor, reflecting the panic and despair spilling in from outside....

...As two FBI agents stepped through the revolving glass doors, their presence commanded the attention of all in the lobby. The older agent, a tall man in his mid-forties, bore the weight of authority with graying hair and a jaw set in determination. His younger partner, lean and sharp-eyed, trailed closely, his charcoal gray suit and leather briefcase a stark reminder of the task ahead....

...The lobby's ornate chandelier cast a dim glow, its flickering light juxtaposed against the frantic flashing of emergency lights outside. Tension filled the air, heavy with the scent of expensive cologne mingling with the stale aroma of old carpet and fresh coffee from the now-closed café....

...Near the grand staircase that spiraled up to the upper floors stood a black man dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. He spoke quietly to a police officer, his calm demeanor betraying the anxiety that simmered beneath. The officer, young and earnest, jotted down notes with a frantic urgency, as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear....

...The older agent, Special Agent Reynolds, cleared his throat, his voice slicing through the somber atmosphere. "Good evening. I'm Special Agent Reynolds, and this is Special Agent Carter. We're here to take over the investigation. Could we have a moment of your time?"...

...The man in the black suit turned, meeting the agents' gaze with a composed nod, while the officer stepped back, surrendering the floor to the FBI's authority. The agents exchanged brief, professional greetings, their focus honed in on the gravity of the situation....

..."Mr. Hawkins, you're the owner of the Grand Dolphin Hotel, correct?" Agent Reynolds asked, his tone steady....

...Hawkins looked down, momentarily lost in thought. "Yes, but I'm leaving the position," he replied, a hint of frustration bleeding through his calm exterior....

...Agent Reynolds pressed on, his voice unwavering. "Walk me through what happened tonight."...

...Hawkins took a deep breath, his eyes locked on the polished marble floor as if it held the answers to unspeakable questions. "Mr. Blackwood is a reporter who specializes in haunted hotels. He contacted us repeatedly about accessing the sixth floor, which we informed him was off-limits. He was insistent on investigating because of its rumored hauntings and legends."...

...A flicker of unease danced across his face. "Despite our refusals, we eventually allowed him to explore the sixth floor. We provided him with files on past incidents, including all the suicides that date back to the 19th century, and warned him about the dangers. Mr. Blackwood chose to proceed regardless. He was determined to uncover whatever he believed was on that floor, and unfortunately, he was found dead during his investigation."...

...The agents leaned closer, absorbing the weight of Hawkins' words. The older agent's pen hovered above his notepad, while the younger agent's gaze drifted toward the grand staircase, already contemplating the mysteries that lay beyond....

..."Do you know what would drive him to commit suicide?" Agent Reynolds asked, his tone probing. "We reviewed his records and discovered that his wife and son both died in a car crash. Do you think he might have been driven to take his own life because of that?"...

...Hawkins appeared pensive, his expression darkening. "I don't think that was his motivation. His primary interest was the sixth floor. When he approached me, it was with a fervent curiosity about the hauntings. I warned him that everyone who investigated that floor in the past ended up committing suicide—hanging, jumping from windows, slitting wrists. It seems the hotel has a very peculiar way of leading people to their deaths."...

...Agent Carter observed closely, noting the strained expression on Hawkins' face as he spoke about the hotel’s grim history. Shadows loomed in the lobby, the flickering lights amplifying the somber mood of their discussion....

..."So you're suggesting that the deaths of all those people, including Mr. Blackwood, are the result of something on the sixth floor actively causing harm? That something on that floor is responsible for these deaths?" Agent Reynolds pressed, his voice low, almost conspiratorial....

...Hawkins met their gaze with a resolute look, his voice steady yet laden with urgency. "Yes. That floor is evil. It has a way of driving people to their deaths, and it has been that way for as long as I can remember."...

...The weight of Hawkins' confession hung in the air like a heavy fog, the hotel's cooling system humming softly in the background, echoing the eeriness of the moment. Agent Carter's eyes shifted to the staircase leading to the sixth floor, his mind racing with possibilities and dangers....

..."Alright," Agent Reynolds finally said, his expression firm. "The next step is to get permission from our supervisor before we investigate the sixth floor."...

...Hawkins' face grew serious, a flicker of fear crossing his features. "Just so you know, once you step onto that floor, there's no going back. You're trapped there." His voice dripped with urgency, a warning against the unknown that lay ahead....

...Agent Carter's gaze flicked to the ornate staircase that loomed before them, dark and foreboding. He turned back to Hawkins, offering a reassuring nod. "We understand. We'll handle this with caution."...

...With that, the agents prepared to leave the lobby, the tension thick in the air as they consulted their supervisor. Hawkins watched them go, a mixture of apprehension and resignation etched into his features. The chaos outside swirled around them, but the agents' determination to uncover the truth only grew stronger....

...As they approached their supervisor, the noise of the crowd faded into a dull roar, and Agent Reynolds spoke up. "We need permission to bring in a full team to investigate the sixth floor. Also, we'd like Mr. Hawkins to guide us, since he's still the owner of the hotel."...

...The supervisor nodded, his expression serious as he processed the request. "Granted. Proceed with the arrangements."...

...The agents returned to find Hawkins lingering near the hotel entrance, his demeanor still reflecting reluctance. Agent Carter addressed him, "Mr. Hawkins, we'll need you to accompany us to the sixth floor. We're bringing in our team for the investigation."...

...Hawkins hesitated, uncertainty clouding his features, but ultimately agreed. "Alright, I'll take you up there."...

...Agent Reynolds turned to his team, raising his voice to carry over the noise. "Everyone, follow us to the sixth floor. Mr. Hawkins will be guiding us."...

...As they moved back into the hotel, the lobby's oppressive atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, the shadows whispering secrets of the past as they prepared to ascend the staircase to the mysteries of the sixth floor....

...The FBI agents, led by Hawkins, approached the grand staircase, each step echoing in the silence. The elegant design of the staircase felt like a cruel joke, beauty contrasting with the grim task ahead. When they reached the elevator, something peculiar caught Agent Carter's eye....

...The elevator, a relic of the past, boasted polished brass doors and wood-paneled walls. Among the buttons, one stood out the button for the sixth floor, worn and faded as if it had borne the weight of countless lives and deaths. It seemed to pulse with a history of its own....

...Agent Carter reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before pressing the button. A shiver ran through him, an electric charge that set the hairs on the back of his neck on edge. The button clicked softly, and the doors began to close, sealing them in....

...As the elevator ascended, the numbers lit up one by one, each beep reverberating in the tense silence. The mechanical hum grew louder, filling the small space with an impending sense of doom. Finally, the elevator came to a halt, a soft ding marking their arrival....

...The doors slid open, revealing the sixth floor. A cool, musty draft rushed in to greet them, carrying the weight of forgotten stories and lingering shadows. The hallway stretched before them, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights that struggled against the encroaching darkness. Peeling wallpaper revealed patches of bare wall, each crack a testament to time and neglect....

...The air felt heavy, almost sentient, as if it was aware of their intrusion. The scent of dust mingled with decay, a pungent reminder of what lay ahead. The hallway was lined with closed doors, tarnished brass handles glinting dully in the feeble light...

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