Predator

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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When I was little, there was a particular feeling I got if I stepped out in the middle of my neighborhood street. I wasn't allowed to go into the street, but if a ball happened to roll out of my grasp and I was left no choice, I did.

It's a strange feeling to stand in a forbidden place.

Much like it feels to be running away from home.

"Let's stop here," Will mumbles, turning into the parking lot of a place called Starlite Motel. I drowsily look around, just now waking from a dreamless sleep.

"Where are we?"

"Richmond, Kentucky," he answers. 

The car pulls into a spot with a jolt. Yawning, I open my door to get out and stretch my stiff arms. Will comes to me.

"I think it'd be best if we just slept in our clothes tonight," he says. "It would be a hassle to unpack everything and I want to be able to just get up and go in the morning."

I frown. "But I have to take a shower," I protest. "This is our last chance to utilize indoor plumbing." He sighs.

"Fine. You can get our suitcases out and I'll go get a room."

I'm taken aback by the irritated tone in his voice, but I brush it off. We're literally fugitives, it's no wonder he's on-edge.

He's walking into the main office as I pop the trunk. Each step kicks up a dusty cloud of dirt, and looking around, I see that the entire road behind me is of the same surface. It twists back into the distance, lined with tall evergreens, and I wonder how close to Richmond, Kentucky we really are.

The building in particular makes me wrinkle my nose. Five small rooms lined up under a decaying porch roof, the staccato walls painted a sickly seafoam green. A separate building, the main office, looks newer than the motel, like it's been renovated recently. Renovated tackily, however, due to the cheap fake paneling plastered to the outer walls. A tall pole stands next to it, bearing a painted 50's style sign that reads its name.

I yank out our suitcases with a grunt, letting them land on the ground before I pick up the handles. Soon, Will is outside again, and he takes his from my hand.

"Room 2," he tells me. "I had to show I.D but we should be long gone before they realize anything."

We walk up to the rusty-looking door of Room 2, a cool night breeze making me shiver. Will sticks the key in and the door opens; I step inside to observe.

"It's...cozy," I attempt, trying to suppress my mortification. Normally, I would immediately start pointing out all of the flaws and demand to find another motel, but I sense that Will is not in a mood to be subject.

It's awful. The room is filled with a horrible garage-sale mustiness, and it's tiny. There's hardly any room to fit the terribly dated four-poster which the door opens up to. A cheap picture frame hangs above it crookedly, and they both face a weathered bureau. Sitting on it is an ancient black tube TV, probably as old as me, the entire lot covered in dust. Beyond the left side of the bed is a small counter with a sink and a grimy mirror above it. There's another door adjacently which must be the bathroom.

We drop our suitcases against the wall beside the bed, and I sit on it tiredly. "You can go get in the shower first," I tell him. "I'll take longer than you."

"Huh," he grins. "I figured it was because you want me to kill all the spiders before you get in."

I smile, genuinely. "That too," I tease, thankful for the first spot of levitivity all night. As he heads into the bathroom, I kick off my pink tennis shoes and grab the TV remote. It turns on with a staticky click to some low-budget news broadcast.