Lockdown

Chapter Three

  Chapter Three

24/06/2019. 07:33 hours. Golden Leaf Motel, California.

Unsurprisingly, Spencer had been unable to return to sleep after his nightmare. The thunderstorm had cleared, and the air was still and peaceful. He had laid in the bed staring at the ceiling and reciting The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde in his head. Unease continued to swirl around his stomach and creep up his chest to wrap around his lungs. Realising that he was delaying the inevitable, Spencer sat up on the side of the bed, his bare feet pressed into the ivory carpet, and brushed his wild curls out of his face. He pushed against the bed to his feet, his left knee clicking and twinging as he straightened. With a small groan and his walk favouring his throbbing knee, he made his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The pellets crashed against the basin as he unzipped his go bag and retrieved his toothbrush and off-brand toothpaste, carrying them back to the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Spencer quickly brushed his teeth and spat the remaining foam into the wash basin. Steam clouded the small bathroom. He cast off his white t-shirt and navy sweatpants and stepped into the cascade of water.

After he scrubbed the entire previous night from his raw and reddened skin, Spencer turned off the stream of water and stepped out of the shower cubicle. The water from his feet soaked into the mat on the tiled floor as he reached for one of the towels and wrapped it around his waist. Another towel ruffled his locks and was draped around his neck. He made his way into the bedroom and tugged his clothing out of his go bag, placing them neatly on the bed. He quickly dried his genitals and legs with the towel around his waist, then stepped into his boxers and pulled them up. He donned his black dress trousers, leaving them unfastened and pulled on his aubergine-coloured button-up shirt. His slender fingers felt lifeless as buttoned his shirt. He tucked the bottom of the shirt into his trousers and fastened them, then buckled his leather belt. Spencer gave a long sigh and flipped up his collar and wrapped his matching silk tie around his neck, and knotted it, straightening his collar afterwards. The shrill sound of his cell phone ringing brought Spencer back to the present tense. Emily's name flashed up on the screen. He tapped to answer the call and held the phone to his ear, damp curls hanging against his wrist.

"Hey, Emily," said Spencer with a fond smile dancing on his lips.

"Spence? Are you okay? I tried to call last night but couldn't get through!" came Emily's panicked voice.

"Sorry about that. There was a big storm here from around eight, and all cell signals were lost."

"Oh, thank God. How was your flight?"

"It reminded me why I hate commercial flights," chuckled Spencer.

"That bad, huh?"

"Yup." Spencer accentuated the 'p' with a pop of his lips. "I had a crying baby behind me the whole time, and commercial flights aren't built to accommodate six-foot tall individuals. The motel is pretty nice, though the owner may be a cougar." Spencer's top lip quirked upwards at the musical sound of Emily's laughter.

"How so? Perhaps our little genius might get some lovin' after all!" Spencer snorted.

"Emily! The woman's about seventy who dresses like she's twenty! She could easily pass for my mother!"

"Age is only a number, Reid."

"I am not going to date a seventy-year old woman!"

"Okay, okay. How are you feeling about interviewing Melnick today?" Spencer cleared his throat and glanced out of the window.

"Uncomfortable. Anxious. Scared. It's not Melnick I'm worried about, Em. I've put away a lot of men incarcerated there over the years, and if they see or recognise me, I'm in trouble." Silence befell the pair as Emily contemplated Spencer's words.