𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥

Chapter 9: Questions

Wren thought about her options.

We stay precisely where we are and try are chances with two armed police officers, or... we could try to make a run for it on foot.

Before Wren could fully sink into a full depressive doom spiral another idea struck her like a bolt of electricity. She scrambled towards the window, and ducked behind the front display case again. She watched the police exit The Restaurant, step into their police cruiser, drive forward, park and enter the next business. Now was her chance, she quickly opened the door and made a mad dash for the police cruiser.

We can take the cruiser, drive away and figure the rest out on the road! Fuck ALL of this!

She sprinted across the street, bounded down the sidewalk, and just as she was approaching the cruiser, she hit the ground hard. She was pushed. No, She was tackled. Something tackled her to the ground and was dragging her into the alley way between The Restaurant and the building the cops were searching. She couldn't risk screaming, but she did try to fight.

She thrashed, she kicked, and she tried to break free. When that failed she tried to reach for her knife, but before she could, two strong arms wrapped her torso and covered her mouth. She could feel her wild heart beat in her chest and her assailant's hot breath on her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared herself for the end, but she never stopped thrashing, she wasn't going to make this easy for them.

She whipped her head backward, it landed with a satisfying thud, presumably to the unknown assailants brow. The stranger's let out a pained grunt and loosened their grip, for just for a moment, but that was all Wren needed to deliver a clean elbow to the stranger's kidney. The stranger slumped against the alley's wall and slid to ground. Wren quickly drew her knife and spun to face the figure.

On the ground in front of her was an older man with a wild beard and a sat and pepper mop of hair on his head. He wore well worn but well kept clothes, a denim jacket, jeans, a black tee shirt, and black converses. He was dressed almost identically to her.

The older man looked up at her with a level pain she hadn't seen before.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The old man muttered.

Wren looked down at him, confused, and spoke in a hushed "Who are you?"

The man looked back towards the opening of the alleyway, and then back toward Wren "We can't talk here. We have go."

He slowly rose to his feet and whispered "I have a place not far from here..." he paused for moment to check his surroundings "... We can talk there."

Wren nodded.

Sure, why the fuck not, this might as well happen.

"Stay close." The man looked towards the opposite end of the alley and bolted.

Fuck. More running.

Wren sprinted closely behind her new... acquaintance, as they headed back to the suburban hell scape she had just escaped. They ran past the identical houses, took a series of turns down identical streets, hopped fences, cut through yards, and just when Wren suspected that the man had absolutely no idea where they were, they stopped.

They were in the back yard of one of the cottages. It looked nearly identical to every other one of the yards they had cut through; an empty back lawn surrounded by a white picket fence.

"We're here..."

Wren looked around, trying to detect what it was about this house in particular stood out "How could you possibly know that?"