✓ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 || 𝐫.𝐧.

003 | 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, the two brothers swapped places, so now Fuller was driving and Lewis was sitting in the passenger's seat. Y/n wanted nothing more than to drive her car, but Fuller insisted that he should do it instead, at least until they got to the motel. And that's exactly where they were. No one in the vehicle could say they were surprised to see Fuller in a handicapped parking space, just a few feet away from the motel's office.

"Hey," Lewis spoke up. "Hey," he repeated himself, finally gaining his brother's attention, but only after Fuller pushed down on the emergency brake. "Don't park in a handicapped space."

"There's spaces all over the place." Fuller pointed out the obvious. In his eyes, he was doing nothing wrong by doing this since the office was so close.

"That's... exactly his point." Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose as she laid her head against the nearest window. She was tired, so she really hoped that neither of the boys would try to raise their voices over this.

"Dude, I'm gonna gimp it. I'm not just gonna run in there." Fuller said to appease both parties. Naturally, both of them groaned at his words. What a douchebag. "God!" He cursed after seeing Y/n's and Lewis' reactions. "Just stay in here, will ya? I'll go work us out a deal..." He then hops out of the car and moves toward the hotel office—limping exaggeratedly, as he said he would.

Upon entering the office, Fuller immediately stopped at the entrance when he saw an older man— an impressively large 45-year-old, beady-eyed blow-hard— arguing with the Mexican-American night manager. "... one more goddamn maid knocks on my door askin' about towels—"

"Sorry, Mr. Ellinghouse. That won't happen again." The manager reassures.

"Sorry, my ass! Where's your boss?" The older man barked, prompting Fuller's eyes to widen. "I want the real manager. The white one. The one whose first language is English? Can you understand that?" He insulted. Who did this racist fuck thing he is?

"Hi. Could I get a room for the night?" Fuller awkwardly asked, interrupting the very heated, very one-sided argument, smiling awkwardly as he shuffled toward the reception desk. "You can disturb me all you want. I love towels." He joked.

"Not done here, friend. I haven't slept in two days. You'd best not mess with me. Just take care of your own shit." Mr. Ellinghouse didn't want Fuller getting in the middle of this, he wanted to prove his point. And so, he turned his attention back to the man behind the counter. "Tomorrow mornin', you mark my words, asshole... I'll be havin' a long talk with your manager and you're brown ass is gone," from inside the car outside, Y/n gently poked Lewis' shoulder and directed to the confrontation inside where they watched Mr. Ellinghouse storm out of the office—very intentionally bumping Fuller into the shoulder as he leaves.

"What a dick..." Y/n whispered. Just then, the CB quietly sputters bits of distance signals. She tries to think nothing of it at first, until in the very next moment, a ghostly voice appears, calling out creepily: "Candy Cane?"

It is Rusty Nail. Lewis and Y/n, in unison, shift toward the radio, their blood running cold. What the hell... he's persistent, Y/n will give him that. A pause came shortly after before the stranger continued calling out, "Candy Cane" to call out for a woman that did not exist. "Hello? Candy Cane?"

Before either of them could question what they should do, Fuller suddenly enters the car, agitated from his talk with Mr. Ellinghouse. "Did you see that guy?" He asked the others, shifting his body to look out the back window to see the older man enter Room 17.

Lewis wasted no time shushing his brother, mumbling, "Listen..."

"Hello, Candy Cane. Are you there?"