My nose is throbbing in a way I need to do something about. I force myself from under the covers, pull on a pair of jeans and that’s when I notice the clock on the nightstand says it’s five in the afternoon. Jesus.
I slip out of the room barefoot. The ground is cold, makes my toes numb in the way I want my face to be. The parking lot isn’t as empty as it was last night. Now it’s my car and one other at the farthest end of the lot, a little shinier, little newer. I pass a cleaning woman leaving one of the empty rooms. She’s tall, is the first thing I notice about her. Tall and sturdy, with wavy, sandy hair. She stares at me a little too long as I pass, her forehead crinkling in something that could pass for concern. I duck my head, can only imagine what my face looks like, and feel a little guilty. I want to turn around and tell her I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I grab a bucketful of ice from the machine and head back to my room where I dump the ice in a hand towel. I hold that to my face until I can’t feel it anymore. The ice melts and the cold water seeps through the minute gaps between my fingers. The room is uglier in the colorless late afternoon light. I throw the sopping towel in the shower, change my shirt, put my shoes on and open the window blinds before I get to work on the rest of me. There’s nothing I can do for my nose—it just needs time to put itself together, I guess. But I brush my hair, which feels softer and frizzier for the wash, and run my hands over it. I enjoy that feeling while I have it. I pull my hair back into a ponytail. I shove all my things into my pack and sling it over my shoulder. I’ve got another night here, but after what happened in Montgomery, I’m thinking it’s just always better to be ready to run.
When I step into the front office, the man I saw last night isn’t there and I realize I never got his name. A boy has taken his place. He looks to be in his midtwenties. He has the kind of baby face that looks too young to be attached to the rest of his body, which is muscular and lean. Dimples in his cheeks. He has curly brown hair and a light tan, like he’s already spent a good amount of this barely-begun summer outdoors. He wears a uniform as devoid of bluebirds as the rest of the place and is twirling a key ring around his finger—or trying to. It slips off and hits the floor with a thunk. He ducks to pick it up, and when he straightens, his face is bright red. He clips the keys back onto his belt. His eyes drift over my wrecked face, all the way down to my chest. I’m not wearing a bra. I stare at him, watch as his idle curiosity turns into something that knows it shouldn’t be looking before he finally remembers to ask if there’s anything he can do for me. He’s got a raspy voice. Hearing it makes me feel breathless. I clear my throat and walk forward, lean against the counter. He’s wearing a name tag. ELLIS. The TV’s on behind him, but tonight it’s playing the news.
“Is D-Darren around?”
He blinks at my stutter, recovers quickly—in his mind. You can’t really recover from the moment you make someone else feel like a freak. You just have to hope the person you made feel that way extends a level of grace toward you that you probably don’t deserve.
I force a smile at him that he doesn’t deserve.
“What? He’s back? I haven’t seen him and Joe didn’t mention it…” He looks past me, like he’s expecting Keith. “Usually Darren says when he’s gonna be in town.”
“He t-told me h-he was here sometimes.”
“How do you know Darren?”
“An old f-family friend.” I pause. “He’s only here s-some of the t-t-time? How d-does that work?”
“He’s got a permanent room. Him and Joe have been friends for years. He stays in ten and keeps all his stuff there, so we don’t ever rent it out.”
“S-sounds like a p-pretty shit deal for Joe.”
“Nah, Darren’s a good guy. Saved Joe’s life once,” he says proudly, like he had anything to do with it. “But I don’t think he’s around ’less you know something I don’t.”
“Well d-damn.”
“How long you here for?”
“Another d-day.”
“I guess he could always show up, maybe, but if you wanna leave a note or something, we can keep it for him until he gets back.”
I chew on my lip for a moment. “You c-couldn’t l-let me in his room, could you? What I w-want to leave is m-more … a s-surprise.”
“You can leave it right here, and we’ll get it to him.”
Fuck.
“Do you know w-where he is? If it’s near enough, I c-could just head on down th-there and g-give it t-to him in p-person.”
Ellis stares at me a long moment. “What’s your name again?”
“Uh.” I sniff and wince, bringing a hand to my nose. “Ow.”
“Mind if I ask what happened to you?”
“C-car accident.”
“Looks like it hurts.”
“It d-does.”
I eye his belt loop, those keys on it. I wish I could just sneak them away from his body, make some small part of this easy.
“You need anything?” Ellis asks.
I raise my eyes to his face. “What k-kind of m-motel is this?”
“I mean.” He shrugs, scratching his head self-consciously. “If someone looks like they need help, I’m gonna ask ’em if they need it, that’s all.”
I don’t like how that makes me feel. I never know how to meet people’s kindness or consideration, unless wanting to tear my skin off is the right reaction. I clear my throat, and change the subject back to what it needs to be: “H-how well d-do you know Darren, anyway?”
“Got this job, thanks to him,” he says. “We met online a while back. I was in a tough spot, he helped me out—got Joe to give me work. Joe let me stay here until I had enough saved for my own place. He’s a great guy.”
I step back, wondering if Keith has walked me to the edge of another nightmare like Silas Baker. Met online. What the fuck does that mean? And if it means— If it means what I think it does, will I hesitate this time?
“O-online?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“We share a common interest, that’s all.”
“And w-what’s that?”
He frowns. “You never told me your name.”
“You’re r-right. I d-didn’t.”
The TV pops again, turning to snow. I leave while his back is turned, my fingertips tingling, trying to quell my building panic. As soon as I clear the office, I move down the row of rooms until I’m standing right in front of ten. I test the door. It doesn’t open. It takes everything for me not to kick it. I run my fingers through my hair and I don’t know why this has to be so hard, why I haven’t been through enough. It should be easy. It should have always been easy. None of this bullshit with beautiful houses hiding ugly, sick fuck things that I can’t get out of my head. Every mile I’ve put between me and Montgomery is someone I didn’t save and my sister’s dead. She’s dead. I don’t know why that’s not fucking enough.
I punch the door with my scraped-up knuckles, hard, and hurry away from it, passing my own room. I keep moving, until I reach the end of the motel. There’s got to be a way in to Keith’s room. I stare at the highway beyond this place, at the scattered houses, some closer than others. Langford is small but there’s something about the feel of it that reminds me of Cold Creek. Smoke crawls up the skyline, a barrel fire in someone’s backyard. I think I can make out the faint shapes of people sitting round it, country music and laughter floating through the air.
I move around the building, to the back of the motel. This side of it is one long line of windows and you can tell exactly where the property line stops. The narrow strip of mowed grass suddenly becomes long enough to reach my waist.
I tiptoe over to the first window. They’re all just a little wider and taller than me. I grip the crumbling wooden sill and pull myself up, falling back at the sting of it splintering off into my hand. Goddammit. After I finish fishing the pieces of it out of my palm, I force myself up again, until I can get a good view in and it’s what I thought … bathroom.
I could fit through this. It’ll be tight, but I can fit. I push against the glass, can feel it give a little. Not enough to shatter. I jump down again and then start counting until I pass my own room and I’m standing at the back of Keith’s. Maybe this is the easy part.