What Goes Around

7 - LOVELY, DARK, & DEEP

What was going to happen? She had left New York, the city that never sleeps (and neither do the demons in it). She was transferring to the middle of nowhere to get away from all that. So... where had that come from? Mary's parting words ran dizzying laps in her head still when she finally passed a tiny sign proclaiming "Welcome to Catakano" with a few letters too faded to read clearly. Talk about a downgrade, leaving a sleepless city for a town too small and backwoods to even dream of something so eternally neon-lit.

Endless forest parted to reveal sparse civilization, all stout and shabby and shambling, and Tuesday kept glancing back in the rearview mirror expecting to see a pair of eyes illuminating the thick darkness beyond. She suddenly felt like her father was there, watching with disapproval and promise of retaliation. Shivering, she patted the kitten beside her for courage as the skinny gravel path became two-lane concrete.

Home sweet home.

She drove through town, doing a lap back and forth to survey the territory, knowing she wouldn't have a chance at rest until she had some sort of understanding of her footing. It took just ten minutes to reach one end from the other. Unable to keep the yawns at bay any long, Tuesday circled back to the one motel she'd seen crawling through town.

The kitten perked up beside her and eyed the building, tail twitching. "Yeah," Tuesday sighed back to it, "I don't like this either."

But it was yet another thing she hadn't really considered. Small dank town like this, there weren't dorms to go with the community college. There wasn't much real estate to speak of at all. Unless she wanted to sleep somewhere an hour or more away and make that commute, this was where her path led.

She patted the kitten, saying, "Hang tight, bud." Squaring her shoulders, she slipped off the seatbelt and cracked the door before pausing and glancing at her glovebox. After a few aching seconds she gritted her teeth and slipped the athame into a deep jacket pocket, telling herself it was fine because surely if she had it on her she would never have to use it–Murphy's Law was sort of a stickler for her, right?

Nonetheless, it felt like an anchor in that pocket. Not a reassuring weight keeping her stable in angry currents; no, this one was dragging her down with the rest of the sinking ship.

She shouldered open a gauzy glass door that blinked at her under a buzzing sign labeled, literally, 'MOTEL'. There was nothing else to call it, nothing else to say about it. Tuesday stifled a cough into her fist that scraped its way out in response to the heavy stench of cigarettes and weed and something even mustier she couldn't place. The weed, at least, brought watery memories of smoking with Jordan to the forefront of her mind and she stumbled, catching herself on gaudy (god-awful) wallpaper.

"Hello," a man at the counter said, but it came out sounding more like 'yellow'. He didn't look up from the magazine his nose was buried in, but took a deep drag on his cigarette and flicked ash off his fingers mere inches away from a little 'NO SMOKING' plaque.

"Hi," Tuesday squeaked out, shuffling forward.

"Yer gonna have to speak up, darlin'." The man sent more ash flying onto the counter.

Tuesday focused on the burning embers of his cigarette just to not look too closely at the contents of the magazine, and still couldn't help the blush that spread through her cheeks. "Hi," she tried again. She knew she should say more, ask for a room or something, but the attempt died in her throat.

The man looked up from the magazine with the leisureness of a cat, sizing her up around another puff. Smoke blew in her direction and she tried not to blink too hard. He said nothing either.

The silence grew unbearable enough that she found her voice again. "Is it, uh, always this quiet here?"

That elicited a slight quirk of his lips. "Only when the five-dollar hookers come around. Looks like youz could pull in at least ten though."