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  The Evergreen Motel

  Sleepless Book 1

  Marc Layton

  Copyright © 2019 by Marc Layton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or location is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

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  Table of Contents

  The Evergreen Motel - Book 1

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  Cursing, I fumbled for the steering wheel, shifting my car back towards the center of the lane. The antacids I had been trying to unravel from their wrapper now lay scattered along the floor of the passenger side, tinged a light orange as the sun continued to sink towards the horizon behind me.

  I wasn’t entirely sure how long I had been on the road, but heartburn had been my constant companion throughout my journey. My eyes flickered to the tiny round discs longingly, but I didn’t try to reach for them. The street had morphed from a straight, four-lane highway into a winding, rural road, with unexpected turns every couple of miles. I watched as the buildings outside became fewer and farther between, comforted by the external silence. I felt as if I could safely disappear in a place like that. My wandering path would be hard to follow.

  My stomach clenched as I heard the soft buzz of my cell phone, vibrating against the cupholder that held it in place below my dashboard. The screen lit up, a pale blue, beckoning me to look at it.

  I’m really starting to worry about you, now, babe. Please come home. Let’s talk.

  I could hear his voice, Kyle’s voice, in my head as I read the message. Bile continued to creep up my esophagus as the words repeated themselves in my head. It was his fortieth text message since I started driving that morning. Every other hour or so, his texts would become docile, pleading. Sweet, even. They unnerved me even more than his angry messages did. I ignored it, just as I had ignored all of the preceding messages. Eyes still trained on the road, I reached over and dipped my right hand into the folds of my worn leather purse, which lay nestled against the seat beside me. The cold, hard metal of the .38 against my skin was my only sense of true comfort. I erupted into a bitter chuckle, wondering how it came to be that having a gun so close to my person felt like a positive thing. I could practically feel my mother rolling around in her grave at the mere thought.

  It was all his fault. Everything had been his fault.

  I reached over, and let my fingertips touch the gun again, even though I had checked it not two minutes before. I had to know that it was there. I needed to double, triple, quadruple check it was always within arms reach.

  The contents of my stomach lurched threateningly upward again as another text from Kyle popped up on my cell. I swallowed hard as if I could swallow down the words, stripping them of their power over me.

  I’m going to get you for this, bitch. Be ready. I’m coming.

  The angry words filled me with dread, but even so, I was relieved the text wasn’t another pliant, cajoling one. The skin on my arms and legs erupted into a million goosebumps every time he pretended to be kind. He felt deranged, even unpredictable when he acted like that.

  Like he had been on that night, our last night, I thought to myself, turning the steering wheel to match the contours of the country road. Large, looming trees bordered both sides of the street, like giant fingers, reaching up towards the sky. I tried to concentrate on the beauty of the scenery, but memories flooded through my brain, unwavering and unwelcome.

  Kyle, hunched over the kitchen sink. Me, asking if he’s alright as I walk into the room, my voice shaky. The ugly contortions of his face, red with anger, as he jerked around to face me.

  “Stop it, Aly,” I commanded myself, gritting my teeth together. “Just keep going, don’t look back.” But my eyes kept darting to my rearview mirror even as I said the words out loud.

  Two hours later, the tension of the day started to creep up on me, rendering me exhausted. Suddenly it felt like someone had attached weights to my eyelids, and I was no longer strong enough to hold them open. I briefly considered just pulling off to the side of the road and sleeping in my car. But this idea was a laughable one. All Kyle would have to do is ramble down the road, and there my car would be, a beacon in the dark. I could picture him smashing my car windows, showering me with glass, and I shuddered in my seat.

  No, I would have to find a hotel, and soon. Of course, there was still the distinct possibility that he could travel from inn to inn, from sleepy town to sleepy town, until he found me. But that was a possibility--no, a likelihood--no matter where I went. There was no such thing as a safe place.

  A sudden gap appeared in the trees to the left of me, and I realized there was a building, tucked back about fifty yards from the road. A large, rectangular sign had been planted near the driveway, red neon letters reading The Evergreen Motel. A smaller sign hung from the larger one by two chains, and it glowed with pink letters, swaying slightly in the fall breeze. Vacancy.

  There was nothing about the sign that compelled me to stop, beyond the ever-growing threat of falling asleep at the wheel. Would that be so bad, though? I wondered. If I fell asleep at the wheel, I’d crash, and I’d most likely die. And all of this would finally be over.

  The ease in which these morbid thoughts so casually entered my brain made me feel like I was losing my mind. I had no doubt these thoughts were a result of Kyle’s influence over me, clinging to me like a virus. He was always telling me I wasn’t good enough, that I was a horrible person. I reached over to touch the cold, reassuring metal of the gun a final time, clenched my teeth, and forced the car to turn into the motel parking lot.

  The building itself looked dated and tired. The main structure was square in shape, constructed of dark wood and natural stone. Long, narrow wings, like outstretched arms, jutted out from either side of the main building, lined with small, square windows. The sprawling darkness of the motel made it seem as if, at any moment, the entire building could sink into the surrounding trees, and never be seen again. Maybe, just maybe, the place would slip by Kyle, unnoticed. Maybe I could be safe, after all.

  The gravel crunched under my tires as I drove to the farthest corner of the parking lot, where I knew my car would be hidden from the main road. The engine gave a soft wheeze as I turned off the ignition and reached for the white plastic grocery bag I had placed behind my seat. I had managed to hastily grab my toothbrush, a pair of jeans, and one clean shirt before I fled from our house that morning.

  Kyle’s house, I corrected myself. I didn’t live there anymore. Deep in my gut, I knew that everything I had been forced to leave behind, was going to stay behind. Even my poor Beta fish, Betty. Swallowing back the sudden urge to cry, I grabbed the plastic bag, my purse, and my phone, and made my way towards the double-wide front doors of the motel.

  The lobby was decorated like a log cabin. The walls appeared to be the same dark wood that made up the exterior, and two large wooden totems stood guard on either side of a massive stone fireplace, built in the center of the tall, open room. All four walls were adorned with mounted dead animal heads, I could d
istinguish deer, bears, mountain lions and even one that looked to be a coyote. Their dark, cold, glassy eyes stared at me from all directions, and I shivered.

  “Hello there!” a voice called out, breaking me out of my reverie.

  I flinched and turned to the farthest corner of the room, where a man stood behind a large wooden desk. He was pale, and likely somewhere around his mid-thirties. It was evident by his patchy, brown hair that he would be bald in a few short years. But easy crinkles formed around his hazel eyes as he smiled at me, as if he laughed often. His friendly demeanor put me quickly at ease.

  “Hello,” I said back, surprised I could still manage a smile. “I was hoping you might have a room available for the night,” I added, walking up to the desk.

  The man chuckled. “Oh, I think we can manage that for you.” He sounded amused by the request.

  “I take it you have a lot of vacancies.”

  The man nodded, his smile widening. “Several. In fact, you’re the only customer here. You’ll have free reign of the place tonight.”

  I had assumed that there had been additional parking at the rear of the building, and that’s where all the cars from the other guests were parked. I wasn’t sure how to feel about being the only person checked in at the motel. Scenes from the movie Psycho came to mind, but I shook them away.

  “I’m Phil, by the way,” the man said, extending his hand over the desk. “I manage the Evergreen. If you could just show me your ID, I can start the reservation process.”

  I’m Aly, I said in my head, but I bit back the words. “Rebecca,” I replied, taking his hand in mine. “You must be pretty bored,” I added, rummaging in the interior pocket of my purse for the fake ID I kept. I could recall Rebecca’s ID picture with perfect clarity. I knew the plains of her face almost as well as I knew my own, and I knew that, to a glancing passerby, we looked enough alike for the ID not to be questioned. Even so, I tried to make small talk, hoping the conversation would distract him.

  Phil laughed again, a light, merry sound. “Oh, I find plenty of ways to entertain myself,” he said, clicking away at the keyboard in front of him.

  I wanted to know how such a massive place could stay in business with only one customer, but it felt rude of me to ask. Doing so might compel him to start asking me personal questions in return, and that was the last thing I needed.

  Phil tapped away at the keyboard a couple more times before he handed my ID back to me. “I’m assuming one full-size bed will be okay with you?” he asked, peeling his eyes away from the computer screen to glance at me.

  “Yes,” I nodded, tapping my fingers nervously against the top of the desk. “I mean, it’s only me,” I added as an afterthought. I hoped that should Kyle should up, Phil would remember my words, and realize something was amiss.

  “Very good,” he said, clicking away with the computer mouse. “I’m going to set you up in the East Wing,” he continued, gesturing with his left hand. “There are spectacular views of the sunrise on that side of the building.”

  I glanced through the open doorway, down the long narrow hall that made up the East Wing. The trees had been cut back away on that side of the motel, exposing that portion of the motel to the road, and any curious drivers passing by.

  “Actually, I’d like to sleep in-,” I lied. “I think I would much prefer being in the… well, I’m assuming you call it the West Wing. With all the pretty trees I noticed driving up.” I forced my cheeks into a casual smile. You don’t understand how invisible I need to be, I told him in my head.

  Phil smiled again, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All of our rooms come equipped with fairly thick curtains. The sunrise will not disturb you if you do not wish it.”

  I could feel a bead of sweat form and trickle down the length of my right arm. I tried my best to act casual. “It sounds silly, I know,” I mumbled. “But I’m really sensitive to light. Maybe I should just find another motel…” I deliberately turned my head to look at the front doors.

  The motel manager threw his hands up in surrender, laughing. “Alright, alright,” he gave in. “West Wing it is. I can appreciate a woman who knows what she wants.”

  A few minutes later, Phil was escorting me down the hallway of the western wing, the ancient wooden floors creaking underneath us as we walked. I hoped the noisy planks would alert me if Kyle tried to sneak into my room while I slept. I felt my phone buzz several more times in my pocket while I spoke with Phil, but I deliberately ignored it.

  We passed several rooms, all of which stood silent behind their respective doors. I couldn’t help but wish that some of them would emit the sounds of children playing, or adults laughing. Any sounds indicative of normalcy.

  “And here we are,” Phil said in a sing-song voice, stopping halfway down the wing. The white door had a shiny, brass-plated 27 nailed into it. He placed a long, skinny key into my palm. “Now, should you need anything, anything at all, just come to the lobby and call for me,” he added. “I have a cot set up in the office, and I will be staying there for the night.”

  I blinked down at the key in my hand. It was gold, with three looping circles at the top. It looked old enough to be a relic.

  Phil laughed. He must have caught my incredulous expression. “Expecting a key card, right? We haven’t had much need for that technology here at the Evergreen. Seems like our customers kind of like this nod to simpler times. I call it ‘old-world charm.’”

  I wrapped my fingers around the key and smiled tightly. “It’s lovely,” I said. “Thank you very much, for everything.”

  The crinkles around Phil’s eyes were back. “You are quite welcome, Rebecca,” he smiled. With one last nod, he turned and walked back towards the lobby.

  I was alone, and I felt it.

  Sighing, I jammed the key into the metal slot and jiggled the lock into compliance. The door swung open with a soft creak, and I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find a light switch. There wasn’t one. Puzzled, I moved cautiously into the room, arms outstretched, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I spotted on the nearest nightstand and fumbled for the switch. It flickered to life, and I blinked, studying my temporary dwelling.

  All four walls were made of wood paneling, rising to meet a ceiling that felt uncomfortably low. The floor was clad in beige colored carpet and had more than its fair share of stains. The dark green quilt draped over the bed was old and worn, but at least it looked clean. Two shabby dressers sat along the wall opposite the bed, and a small wooden desk was positioned under the curtain-clad window. It was by no means a pretty room, but it would serve its purpose. With two quick strides I was back at the door, securing the lock into place. I positioned the white plastic bag, and my purse on the ground beside the nightstand, to ensure I could easily reach down and grab both quickly, should I need to.

  I sunk down into the bed, letting the mattress absorb my weight, silently pleading with my joints and muscles to relax. I couldn’t recall when I had last eaten, but the idea of food made me gag. Stress sat in the pit of my stomach like a two-ton brick.

  I jolted upright in surprise as my cell phone vibrated against my leg, snug in my pocket. It had been maybe twenty minutes since Kyle’s last text message. It’s a new record, I thought glumly.

  I pried the phone out, incapable of resisting reading the glowing message on the screen as I did so.

  This isn’t over until I say it’s over. No matter where you go, I will find you.

  I shuddered, and placed the phone, screen side down, on the nightstand beside me. It had been dumb of me to look. All of the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck began to stand on end, as I got to my feet and began to pace in nervous circles. I felt incredibly uneasy in the room, but was it really the room’s fault? I likely would have felt just as uncomfortable in a five-star resort, knowing that my ex-boyfriend was still after me. Paranoia was inevitable, no matter where I slept.

  Wiping tears off my face, I searched the motel room for the remote. Cr
adling it to my chest, I pulled back the quilt and crawled into the bed. I needed to sleep more than anything, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do it in silence. My ears would be alert, breaking down each and every noise I heard, certain it would be Kyle, coming to claim my life. I turned on the modest television, clicking through channels until I got to the TV Land station. Lucille Ball appeared on screen, her face wrinkled in disgust as she clumsily squashed grapes with her bare feet. It had never been one of my favorite episodes of I Love Lucy, but it was a funny one. I hoped her ridiculous antics would distract me just enough that I could relax and drift off to sleep.

  A short, loud scream cut through the air, waking me with a start. Kyle stood in the corner of the motel room. Whimpering, I jot my hand out, groping for the lamp’s switch.

  “Oh, Christ,” I whispered, clutching my heart. It was nothing but a coat rack, looking ominous and frightening in the darkest corner of the room. Paranoia, indeed.

  Rubbing my eyes, I turned off the television with a decisive click of the remote. My life was plenty scary enough… I didn’t need any fictionalized terror to make it worse.

  As if on cue, my phone went off, vibrating rhythmically against the nightstand. I flipped it over, squinting against the blue light, and entered my password. 124 unanswered text messages, only one of which had been from somebody other than Kyle.

  Craning my neck, I glanced at the clock on the opposite nightstand. It was 1:15 in the morning. Trying to avoid reading the actual words, I scrolled down the text log to see each timestamp. The twenty-minute gap had been the longest stretch of time between text messages. Kyle had spent his entire day trying to contact me, trying to unnerve me. Even at that moment, it was clear that harassing me seemed like a more valuable use of his time than sleeping. His priorities had become so warped, so ugly…