Destination 1974

Chapter 21

|Am I selfish for living? |

~***~

We enter the hotel parking lot by dusk. The bright lights of the boardwalk behind the hotel illuminates the outer silhouette of the building. There are various odd lights on in the tower in front of us, and I put my bag over my shoulder before looking over at Clyde.

"You ready for this?"

"Not quite," he leans over me and opens his glove department. As it opens, I catch a glimpse of the handcuffs, and the black wallet he used earlier today. He shoves those over, and I see a collection of tapes - one of them being 'Leanne's Mix'. Clyde moves the tapes out of the way, and my jaw drops as he pulls out a pistol and a glasses case. He closes the glove department and opens the glasses case to reveal bullets. Clyde starts putting the bullets into his handgun one at a time with intense focus.

"Holy s***, Clyde. Your glove department's like a f***ing clown car with the amount of surprising s*** you have in there," I stare at the gun in his hand with an aghast expression. Clyde flicks the barrel before clicking it back into place.

Clyde looks over at me and lifts an eyebrow, "I could easily say the same thing about your bag."

"Touchè," I reply, deciding to take off my bag and leave it here, since it may get in the way.

Clyde tucks the gun into the back of his jeans and puts his dull-brown jacket on. He stares at me, not moving from his seat, and I just stare back at him, wondering why the f*** he's just staring at me. Then it hits me, and I pull my gun out and check it for bullets; full barrel. I tuck it in the back of my jean shorts and pull my oversized flannel over it with a stern nod. We both exit the truck and close our doors in sync. It feels like we're in an action movie, but the consequences to come are much more life-threatening. This isn't a movie; this is real life. Everything feels so real and surreal at the same time. I want to look over at Clyde and review all of his features one last time, but I resist the urge.

"Do you know the room number?"

"Four-oh-seven," I reply under my breath as we casually enter the hotel. It smells like chlorine, and it's over air-conditioned. My legs are covered in goosebumps almost immediately after walking in. We walk through the foyer and pass by a fountain big enough to be a kiddie pool in a splash pad water park. We pass the concierge and little shops set up, and head straight to the hotel elevator. Clyde presses the button with the up arrow, and I stare at the bright red light that illuminates from it. I glance over my shoulder while tapping my foot, but my foot stills the moment I see a large group of people entering the hotel. Before I can see who they are, the elevator dings, and we enter it quickly. Clyde presses the level four button and holds the close door button immediately after. The doors close, and we stand still, surprisingly keeping our casual facade going strong.

I watch the numbers change in dread. Two; what could happen up there? Three; somebody could possibly die, and it'd be all my fault. Four; I should be the one who dies. The elevator dings again, and the doors open to the hallway of the fourth floor. We walk out and turn left, following the sign leading us to rooms 400-420. I scan the doors, trying to keep my confidence as if I know what I'm doing. I never truly know what I'm doing. I just go through the motions, hoping I'll make it in the end. It's not too difficult to find room 407, but when we approach it, we both hesitate. The key is in the keyhole, with the door left ajar.

Clyde reaches behind him and pulls out his gun, and I quickly follow suit before nodding to him; encouraging him to open the door. He pushes the door open and eases into the room with his gun aimed and ready to shoot. This isn't his first time holding a gun since his form is perfect. In fact, it's so perfect that I consciously adjust my own form to mirror his, realizing I'd have more control holding it that way. I wonder if Donna taught him how to shoot, or if he learned some other way.