Chapter 2

 

Jason Collick stood motionless in his motel room.

 

His mouth was curled in a disapproving frown, and his eyes twitched as they darted back and forth between various corners of the room. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the uncomfortable sweat in his palms as he tried to control the shudders racing through his body. He had stood in the same position for almost an hour, bag resting gently against his leg, the suit he was wearing forcing beads of sweat down his nape and back.

 

It’s filthy.

 

The single light above his head did little to hide what his eyes were quickly picking out. There, in a corner, a discarded napkin just below the left leg of the bed. Above it, a light stain that had not been properly washed out of the sheets, strategically tucked under the pillow to mask its presence. The small bathroom reeked of a mix of bleach and something a little more pungent, just below the surface, but enough to make his nose twitch.

 

He quickly reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He continued his scrutiny of the room as he squeezed the cold liquid into one hand and returned the bottle back into its designated place. He rubbed his hands together, squeezing the liquid in between his fingers as if this would somehow also clean the room around him.

 

I can’t sleep here.

 

Jason took a step towards the bathroom and immediately recoiled when he saw the specks of dust bursting into the air around his foot, small particles that threatened to invade his lungs and clog his breathing. His frown deepened into a disapproving scowl. He took off his suit jacket and folded it carefully, placing it on top of his carry-on as he slowly undid the buttons of his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.

 

He forced himself to cross the room and into the bathroom, quickly turning on the water. The faucet coughed sprouts of brown water, forcing Jason to gag, before a stream of clear liquid rushed out and into the porcelain sink. Jason covered his mouth with the back of his hand, closed his eyes and tried to stop himself from heaving. He took a few quick breaths before feeling his muscles relax a bit, and hurried back to his bag. In the outside pocket, he pulled out a small towel and returned to the bathroom, rinsing it out before using it to clean the faucet and sink.

 

Beads of sweat collected on his brow as he worked, his teeth clenched as he wiped off every surface of the bathroom, eyes watering at the strain caused by the fluorescents above his head. When he was finally done, he switched the lights off and sat down heavily on the edge of the small bathtub, breathing deeply, letting the surrounding darkness soothe him.

 

You can’t sleep in the bathroom. Get to work!

 

Jason walked out of the bathroom and methodically began wiping down the small table and chair pushed up against the large motel room window. He had pulled down the drapes the minute he had walked in. He had wanted a room on the second floor, away from the prying eyes of the other guests. The man at the front desk—the disgusting man that smelt like cigarettes and alcohol—had told him that this was the only one available, and although Jason had accepted it, he wasn’t happy.

 

Just one night. You’re only here for one night.

 

Jason heaved his bag on top of the table, unzipped it and pulled out the spare sheets he kept for emergencies like these. In a side pocket, he grabbed a pair of surgical gloves. Within seconds, he had stripped the bed of the filth that had been covering it, and replaced it with his own sheets. He continued to work, wiping down the small commode and bedside table, and hesitating before deciding to clean the mirror as well.

 

A loud thump sounded from above, and Jason hissed at a cloud of dust that freed itself from the ceiling lamp as it began to sway gently. His eyes watched the small particles diffuse through the air, cursing as they slowly fell on top of the furniture he had just wiped clean. A second thump followed, and more dust blew out.

 

Chapter 5

 

“We can’t keep doing this!”

 

Owen Little threw up his hands in exasperation, face flushed and eyes burning. He stormed to the far end of the living room where a small cupboard stood, his own private stash of whiskey, and began to pour himself a drink. The conversation with Janet was going south quickly, and the more he pushed, the more stubborn she became. At this point, it was almost as if he were talking to a wall.

 

Janet watched her husband patiently, holding her knitting close to her chest as she fiddled with the threads, her newest project laid out before her in a splendid mix of red, blue, and yellow. She had already chosen a spot for it, the large coffee table she had recently bought and placed in front of the television, much to Owen’s dismay. It seemed that any time she spent money, the result would be the same. She was slowly growing tired of the fighting.

 

“Honey, I really think you should look at the long-term benefits,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm as she fought back the urge to kick him out of the apartment and force him to sleep in the front office.

 

Janet had always known this would eventually happen. Ever since their marriage, Owen’s obsession with her money drove a wedge between them. It hadn’t been this bad at first, slight comments here and there, a joke that would seem to insinuate something more, but that was basically it.

 

Ever since they had opened the motel, though, his money-monitoring passion grew to the point where it was unbearable. Her insistence to keep the establishment under her name had driven him crazy, and the fact that he had little say in what she did with it and with her hard-earned riches only added to the tension. Still, fifteen years was enough for any woman to truly understand her husband, and Owen was like an open book to her. There was little chance she would leave the decision-making to him.

 

“It’s a motel, Janet,” Owen said, pointing at her with his glass and spilling half its contents onto the rug. “We’re not running the friggin’ Hilton!”

 

“I never said we were,” Janet said, deciding to return to her knitting and ignore the newest of outbursts. “I am merely suggesting we increase the value of what we have to offer.”

 

“It’s going to cost a fortune!”

 

Janet nodded and winked at him. “True, but it will bring in double what we paid for in less than three years,” she said. “I worked the numbers. We’ll break even within a year at the most, nine months if business is good.”

 

“And until then, we’ll be eating scraps and living on candles,” Owen hissed.

Janet almost laughed at that. Deep down, she knew that wasn’t what bothered him. She knew that if it were up to him, he would probably have them living like that anyway. What was really pissing him off was that he wasn’t in control of the renovation project and couldn’t rip her off in the process. She knew that Connor’s involvement with everything was annoying him more than the money that would be spent.

 

“We’re going to have to shut down the entire motel,” Owen said. “Then what?”

 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Janet scoffed. “Business will be the same as always. Besides, we’re starting during the off-season anyway. We won’t be bothering anyone who actually decides to stop and spend the night.”

 

Owen stared at his wife in anger, already imagining the many different ways he could throttle her until her eyes popped out of her sockets and rolled in bloody streaks across the floor. He took a long sip from his drink, his eyes burning holes into her, his anger apparent across his face. He watched her fingers move swiftly as the needles in her hands added more patterns to her already ridiculous looking placemat.

 

“At least have Sal work alongside Connor,” Owen said. “Four hands are better than two.”

 

Janet looked up and eyed her husband warily, already lining up a list of reasons why she didn’t want Owen’s right-hand man involved in the renovations. She knew how Sal always went back to Owen with any news, how his eyes were like a vulture’s as he watched her every move and kept an ear to the ground about all things happening. She didn’t trust Sal, and if it weren’t for her husband, she would have fired him a long time ago.

 

Chapter 8

 

“Watch out!”

 

Carl Stern brought his foot down on the brakes and braced himself as the cruiser swung dangerously left, then right, then left again. It came to a screeching halt only a few feet away from the woman who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, the headlights finding her between the torrents of rain as if she were a ghost.

 

Joanne Pullici slammed her hands down on the cruiser, using it to guide her way around to the driver’s side as she felt a breath of relief escape her at the sight of the Sheriff. Carl rolled down his window and stared in shock at Joanne as she stood topless by his door, the look of fear in her eyes enough to make him anxious.

 

“Get in!” he cried out to her, not waiting for an explanation.

 

Joanne opened the back door and slid into the cruiser quickly, repeatedly slamming her hand against the wire mesh between the driver and the backseat. “Go, go!” she yelled.

 

“Joanne, what’s going on?” Jack Stern asked, his shock mirroring his father’s.

 

“Not now!” Joanne screamed, looking past the boy sitting next to her and out at her building. In the dark, she could see shadows moving. “Just go!”

 

Carl pressed down on the gas and shot forward, briefly glancing at the woman in the rear-view mirror before looking to his son for answers. Jack only shrugged and readjusted himself in his seat.

 

Joanne looked out the back window as the car sped away, half-expecting to see Victor Fanning race after her in the rain, screaming for her confession. The street was empty, though, the falling rain obscuring her vision as thunder bellowed above her and lightning flashed in the skies. She turned back around and slumped in her seat, her eyes meeting Carl’s for a moment before she looked away. She recognized the boy from the bar sitting beside her, his eyes locked on her as if he knew what she was running from, and a thousand questions sprung to mind.

 

Not now. If I start talking, they’ll start asking, and I have no idea what to say.

 

Joanne sighed loudly and pushed wet strands of hair out of her face. It was then that she realized she was sitting half-naked in the back of a police cruiser with two men and a teenage boy, and she quickly wrapped her arms around her chest. Her bra was wet and heavy against her skin, and she scanned the backseat quickly for anything she could use to cover herself.

 

“On the floor beside you,” Carl said from the front. “There’s a blanket.”

 

“Thanks,” Joanne muttered as she reached past Jimmy’s legs and found what she was looking for. She spread the blanket out, her eyes briefly looking to the front again, and stopped midway when she saw Jack Stern staring at her.

 

“Up here, Jack,” she said, a small smile spreading on her face when Jack stammered an apology and quickly turned back around. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare pair of boots or something back here?” she asked Carl.

 

Carl shook his head. “But we’re heading to our place. You should find something there.”

 

Joanne nodded and glanced at Jimmy, a bit taken aback by the way he was staring at her, and gave him a weak smile. “Didn’t think I’d bump into you so soon,” she said.

 

Jimmy didn’t answer, and that only made the way he was staring at her seem even creepier. She wondered where the man that had been with him was, and decided to push the thought away for the time being, her mind preoccupied with more pressing matters.

 

Joanne pulled the blanket higher and around her neck as Carl drove down one empty street after another, heading further away from the town center. Joanne looked out her window, realizing that they were headed towards the opposite side of town. It was where the first ever cluster of Darville houses stood with their colonial architecture and the endless stretch of woods behind them. Joanne had rarely been there, her route usually limited to the few hundred yards between her apartment complex, the bar, and Darville’s small shopping center. Still, she was familiar with the area, enough to know that she would be a safe distance away from the ghost of Victor Fanning.

 

They rode in silence for almost fifteen minutes before Carl turned onto a small uphill road towards the Stern home. He parked by the curb, pulled the handbrake, and sat silently for a few more seconds before finally turning around and looking at Joanne.

 

“We should get out of the rain,” he said softly. “Then you can tell me what the hell you were running away from.”

 

Joanne didn’t answer and watched Carl and his son climb out of the cruiser and open the back doors, letting their passengers out. She followed silently, walking up to the front porch behind Jimmy where she was sure he couldn’t stare at her. The rain blew hard against them, and she could feel the sting against the scratches on her arm. It was like a cruel reminder of how close she had come to …

 

To what exactly? What was going to happen to me?