Scars And Stories

Chapter 5

Ryan entered the room that had a black 7 sticker adhered to the door with the key the woman at the counter gave him. He threw his backpack on the bed and took a glance at the room.

Just like in the hall of the motel, the wallpaper was peeling off at some corners of the small room. The wall adjacent to the door and the one behind the double bed were covered with planks of wood. Beside the bed were to nightstands with old looking lamps sitting on them, and in front of the bed on a low dresser was an old, small TV.

Ryan walked to the bathroom that was a few feet away from the bed. He peeked his head in the room and turned on the lights. There was a bathtub against the wall and no shower, but a curtain was installed so that people could still take showers in the tub. He turned away from the bathroom, shutting the lights off, and sat on the bed.

He wiped his hands that were getting sweaty on his thighs as he heard a faint sound coming from the room next to his. He put his hood on, something he would do when he was feeling anxious, like when he was scared that people would see his eyes under the effect of the Novocaine. That was actually what was happening, his eyes were slowly starting to turn yellow as the noise was getting louder.

He stood up and approached the wall, turning his face so his ear would be against the wooden surface and he could hear the music being played in the other room. He lifted his hands up, bringing them closer to the wall but not touching it, almost as if to feel the waves the music was producing. He knit his eyebrows together, making his facial expression change from nervous to angry.

"Stop," He muttered, his voice deeper than usual, the effect of the Novocaine changing it, "Stop that noise." He pressed his hands against the wall.

His breathing grew heavier and he started to grit his teeth. He was about to bang on the wall when he pushed himself away from it.

"No, don't do that," He said, this time with his normal voice. He walked over to the television and turned it on in hopes that its sound would drown out the music. However, it was just static, an annoying noise emanating from the speakers.

He sat back down on the bed. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and moved his legs nervously as he tried to focus on the sound of the TV.

"Calm down, Ryan," He whispered to himself, "You can control it."

But the music was too loud. He spun his head to the wall, his eyes getting even more yellow. He narrowed his eyes at the wall as his hands tightly gripped the fabric of his pants. He turned his head away and looked down at the ground, closing his eyes tightly. He took a deep breath and focused on the TV.

Both of the noises were mixing themselves in Ryan's head until it formed a voice, an almost inhuman voice that obviously belonged to someone under the effect of the Novocaine. He couldn't understand what the person was saying. Flashes of some of the nightmares he had appeared in his mind - a dark emergency staircase, a white hockey mask with black paint on one side looking like the american flag, a car driving at night, and a car burning in the middle of the road.

Ryan shot his eyes open, the morning light shining on his face from the window. He was lying on the bed, still fully clothed. Sweat was rolling down his face as he caught his breath. He sat up and looked down at his watch. It was nine in the morning.

He stood up and looked around the room. The television was on the floor, screen against the ground and pieces of glass scattered around it. He squinted his eyes at it. How did that happen? He thought.

He went in the bathroom and washed his face with cold water before leaving the hotel room with his backpack. Before stepping foot out of the room, he glanced back at the TV, hesitating on whether or not he should leave it there or tell someone he broke it. But since he had no money left to pay for it, he left it there. He hoped nobody would come in this room anytime soon.

He went in the hall of the motel where the woman from last night was standing behind the counter.

"Hi, sir," She called and he walked closer to the counter, "I called a friend of mine last night. He's willing to help you. He should arrive soon."

"Oh, awesome. Thank you," He replied, sitting down on the couch in the hall.

"Do you want anything to drink, or eat?" She asked him.

"Uh, yeah. Please." The woman nodded her head and walked into the backroom. She came back a few minutes later with a coffee and donut. She set the food and drink on the coffee table in front of Ryan. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why are you asking that?" Ryan retorted.

"I just, I heard some noises last night," She explained, "I just wanted to know if everything was alright. I didn't dare to knock on your door."

Ryan furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding what she was talking about. Then he remembered what happened to the television and said, "Oh no, everything's okay. Don't worry." He bit his tongue before tacking on untruthfully, "But the TV was on the ground and broken when I entered the room."

"Oh, okay. Thanks for telling me. I'll let my boss know," She said before leaving his side.

Just about ten minutes after he was done eating, a tall man with a beard entered the hall of the motel. He went straight to the counter. Ryan stood up and made his way to the counter, his backpack hung over one shoulder.

"Oh, Mark, this is Ryan," The woman called out as she saw Ryan walking toward them, "The guy with the broken car."

Mark turned to face Ryan and shook his hand. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, like he'd already seen him before. Ryan swallowed the lump in his throat and the man spoke up. "So, where's your car?"

Ryan sighed in relief. "Just, right there." He pointed to the car.

"Alright, let's go." He patted Ryan's back and walked out of the motel.

Ryan took a last glance at the motel and waved the woman goodbye before leaving the building as well.