Darling Belle

Sixteen

Maisie Belle rotated in place, eyes drinking in the quaint interior of the motel's front desk. Furnished with vintage items like a rosewood chess set, a few pawns moved forward on its light-and-dark rosy-brown squares-a game suspended in time; a blood-red, Gothic sofa framed in a metallic black; charcoal curtains; a fuzzy lamb's-ear plant within a deep plum pot of loamy soil; vermillion roses soaked in a sable-winged Victorian-themed vase-a miniature depiction of the Virgin Mary with her hands pressed together, praying, engraved in the ceramic-the edges of its peeling petals showing slight sings of rot, uncut thorns as sharp as blades; a print of Agnus Dei as well as other religious paintings hung and littered behind the counter, up on the north, burgundy wall. The lobby was well-kept, a whiff of peppermint assaulting her senses. Clean. Unusually charming.

'You're lucky,' a feminine voice said. A crack of thunder following, the lights flickered. Rain pounding on the windows. Maisie's heart lurched. The woman paused for a second before blandly adding, 'there's an angry storm outside.' As if Maisie and Noah were both blind and deaf. Like she were a seer, capable of seeing beyond the layers of the human realms.

Noah handed the girl-whose name was Marvella as previously introduced-his card.

Marvella's gaze narrowed, cheeks gaunt, skin lily-white. Very pale. Draped in loose, dark fabric. Almost vampiric. She sort of dressed like she were in existence during the Belle Époque era. Regal. 'We don't take card,' she informed dully. Wine-red nails tapping absentmindedly on a wooden surface.

Maisie was prepared for this outcome, the precise amount of cash needed to rent a room for the night stuffed into one of her pockets. She braced a hand over Noah's chest, nudging him to the side with her hip as she handed over the money before he could argue as he so visibly wanted to.

The sallow girl took the green-paper with a slow smile without counting, exchanging it with a numbered key. 'Room seven, breakfast is included and around seven. Enjoy your stay,' she spoke with the tiniest smidge of enthusiasm.

As they make their way down the lantern-lit hall, Noah muttered sarcastically, 'isn't she a delight?'

Maisie dragged her suitcase (Noah had prepared it even before seeking her out in that cursed house) on the carpet. The chorus of drizzle filling in her silence. Her tired gaze lifted, catching a shadow moving quickly in the corner of her eye, she kept going, it felt like her first day at Duvall all over again.

Without a word, Noah took her luggage from her as he had hours prior, (as well as the key) they'd silently ambled down the road to get here, thankfully before it started pouring. It was unlucky that the weather was so horrendous. That they couldn't just take a bus back to the warehouse. During their uncomfortable walk, there were only a few words traded-or rather given, your mother isn't dead and we have Mallory.

It was an unrequited-one-sided conversation. But at one point, he'd lifted his coat over her shoulders and she'd almost thanked him. Maisie hadn't spoken although she felt an enormous quantity of relief. She'd understood to a certain degree that him pressing a gun to her temple was for the greater good. Sometimes, she felt like Noah knew her better than herself, he'd known that she needed to completely snap out of her role of Pearl. And shock- fear would do the trick.

'I'll pay you back.' He entered the key into the hole, turning it with a click. Maisie flinched. 'It's sketchy,' he whispered. 'What motel doesn't take card?'

She almost rolled her eyes, finally breaking her silence out of irritation. 'Have you ever been to a motel?' she scoffed, a hitch in her voice.

Noah blinked, surprised that was what made her talk. To insult him elusively. He composed his features, blank. 'Are you insinuating that I'm privileged?' Monotone.