Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

1 6 ~ R u s t y

                 

Present Day ~ May 12, 2011

The silence of Wallen in the dead of night is what sends shivers down my spine. It's what whispers to me... what screams at me to go back and hide in the motel I had been shielding myself in before. The darkness of the night and the mountains that stand high around me are what bring me back to that night... on the highway... when there was nobody left to help. When I was on my own.

I leave my stuff in the alleyway beside the motel, sure to hide the bags in the safety of the shadows. As I move swiftly out of the parking lot, the smell of gasoline and barbecue clouding the air, I carry only the clothes on my back, a flashlight in my grip and the bobby pin in my pocket nestled next to the old theater ticket, as always.

Oh yeah, and the crowbar, just in case the bobby pin fails me. Now I guess I'm really turning into a criminal.

The theater sleeps across the street from the diner where I had played my music all this week. It was never a mistake that I chose Archie's as my stage... I may have learned a thing or two from him, even if by accident.

The theater is dark and empty and there is no sign of life from the outside. The shattered windows are framed by crumbling bricks and the whole structure looks tired and worn. I doubt anyone has been inside in a long time.

I creep across the vacant road and up to the old ticket window. It is so fogged over with dirt that I can't see in. The bright red letters that are fading out croak the word "TICKETS". There is a layer of quietness around where the ticket line stands as a ghost. A pair of warping wooden doors guards the theater and a poster behind cracked glass advertises a film. It's peeled at the corners and so water-logged that I can't tell what used to be on it.

When the beam of the flashlight finds its way to the roof, I take a step out of the way. It's caving in at the top, a disaster waiting to happen.

Before I make my move, I circle the perimeter. The front is too public-- anyone could see me if they step out onto the streets.

Another door hides in the back, right up against the woods.

For the first few minutes, I get to work with the bobby pin, only to find that the lock is rusted shut.

I ram my shoulder against it for a few minutes, then give in and pried it open with a crowbar, some curse words, and a whole lot of kicking.

I know how to make an entrance. Calm and controlled is my middle name.

I slip inside, the even deeper darkness engulfing me. I shine the light across the room, catching sheets pulled over furniture and blood red carpet that is stained by the water dripping from above. My foot gets caught on something I can't see and I try to catch myself, but pull a sheet down with me.

As I push myself to my feet I look back at the vintage couch with ripped leather seats. Before I toss the sheet back over it, I check between the couch cushions... nothing.

"Damn it," I mumble under my breath.

There has to be something here that can lead me in the right direction. All roads stop here, at this building. Surely he will get here soon enough, too.

I take a deep breath and look around at the original wooden decor, the old fashioned crown molding and stained railings. It's beautiful in a kind of antique way, and I could easily imagine it full of life and families, all gathered underneath the towering chandelier that now rests forgotten in the corner.

"This isn't creepy or anything..." Hearing my own voice in the dark doesn't help so I just shut up.

But now it's just dark and dusty and dead. Everything seems crippled in its own way, but somehow it is still standing. Although it was once strong, it has aged passed its time. There are a few rotted out holes in the ceiling where it is starting to fall in on itself. It lets the stars outside shine on the flooded floors and some tangled plant life snakes in from the trees outside.