The Evergreen Motel Page 2

  Memories threatened to take over as I sat up in the motel bed.

  Kyle, hunched over the sink…

  I shook my head, imagining the same fog outside my window within my memory, making his red, twisted face disappear between the wet clouds. I couldn’t think about that night. I would never sleep if I did.

  I set the phone back on the nightstand, face down, and turned off the lamp. I burrowed back down underneath the quilt, trying to ignore its faint aroma of mothballs. If I could only get a couple hours of sleep, I could be up before dawn, ready to hit the road, ready to put more miles between us.

  It’s not enough, a voice said in my head. You need a whole damn ocean between the two of you.

  “Shut up, Aly,” I whispered to myself in the dark. “Just take this one day at a time, one day at a time, …”

  It was soothing, somehow, to speak the words. As if saying them out loud made them more likely to come true. I repeated the words over and over as I sank back into the mattress, letting exhaustion take over.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

  Footsteps ran from one side of the room to the other. Crying out, I bolted upright, both needing to look and being too afraid to do so at the same time. I peered into the dark motel room, but could only see the large, square outlines of the shabby furniture.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

  They ran again, and I let out my breath, unaware that I had been holding it in. The footsteps were coming from the room next to mine, on the other side of my headboard.

  My relief, however, was short-lived.

  What if it was Kyle? What if he had actually found me, tucked away in this desolate motel, in the middle of nowhere? If anyone was capable of doing so, it was him…

  There had been times, too many times, when Kyle turned sadistic under the influence of alcohol. He would smirk at my discomfort, laugh at my tears. He wanted to punish me, but for what, I was never quite able to discern. All I had ever tried to do was love him, to be a good girlfriend. Over and over again he would tell me what an awful person I was, but he could never tell me why. That lack of explanation eventually became a suit of armor for me. He would chug his whiskey, verbally disparaging me as he’d sloppily wipe the cold, brown liquid from his mouth, but I would never let his words fully sink in. Just because he thought I was the scum of the Earth, didn’t mean that I really was….

  A voice, muffled but definitely there, made me scramble backward on the mattress, nearly falling off the edge. My heart threatened to beat itself right out of my ribcage. Trembling, I slipped off of the corner of the bed onto the dirty carpet, scrambling on all fours to get to my purse. I reached in, letting my fingers graze the .38. It was still there. I could still protect myself.

  Slowly, I eased myself into a standing position, careful not to make a sound. Keeping my purse and the gun at my feet, I leaned forward, bracing my thighs against the nightstand. I bent my torso in order to press my face and right ear as close to the wall as possible.

  It was quiet at first, then the voice spoke again. I clapped my hand to my mouth to keep myself from crying out. The voice was low pitched, definitely a male. Bile crept up my throat again. It had to be Kyle, enjoying the thought of scaring me before busting through my door to ambush me. Or maybe he’ll come through the window, I thought, eyeing it fearfully. I imagined him slowly rapping his knuckles against the glass, until I yanked the curtains aside, revealing his cruel, sneering face.

  I shuddered, hand still pressed tightly against my lips. Yes, he was capable of doing all of those things. Inch by inch, I pulled back from the wall. I sank down into a crouch on the ground, and placed both hands on the gun, still enveloped in the folds of my leather purse.

  I had one finger poised on the safety lock when another voice emanated from the room beside mine. It was louder and lighter than the first voice had been. Female.

  I jerked my hands away from the gun as if it had shocked me. It’s not him, it’s not him, I whispered to myself mentally, over and over. As if in confirmation, the female voice laughed softly, accompanied by the thud, thud, thud of running feet once more.

  I could picture the scene in my head. A couple, talking and joking about their journey, while their child ran back and forth about the room, expending all the energy he or she had built up during the long car ride that day. Nothing but an ordinary family, on an ordinary vacation. At the rate I was going, Kyle wouldn’t need to do anything to me. Fear itself would be my undoing.

  I checked the safety lock on the gun once more, and left it securely in my purse. I crawled back into bed, wiggling my feet back and forth in an attempt to warm up. The irony of the situation, accompanied by my frayed nerves, had me laughing to myself in the dark. I had wanted more people in the motel. I had wanted to hear the comforting sounds of children playing.

  Careful what you wish for, Aly, I reprimanded myself silently.

  By that point, it felt like I hadn’t slept in at least a week. Part of me wanted to just give up, get back in my car, and start driving again. But the logical part of my brain knew I wouldn’t get very far before I succumbed to exhaustion. My car would undoubtedly go careening off the road, maybe even roll over a couple of times, depending on traffic and the slope of the street. It could all be over, blissfully over, if I was simply brave enough to do it. Maybe I would be dead, but it would at least be by my own doing. Surely there would be some macabre sense of satisfaction, knowing I had deprived Kyle of ever being able to get to me. I would be forever out of reach.

  Grim as my thoughts were, they bathed me a warped sense of comfort. I heard the soft murmurs of the female again on the other side of the wall, as I drifted off. If Kyle were to break in and attack me, I know I could yell and the couple next door would be able to hear me. I hoped they were nice people, good people. People willing to come to the aid of another human, even if that human was a total stranger.

  I woke up, I could tell that some time had passed, but the motel room remained cast in heavy, dark shadows. It was still the middle of the night. Everything around me felt eerily still, and quiet. Like the furniture and the walls were somehow asleep too. I rubbed my eyes, wondering what had disturbed me, and why I felt so groggy. I sat upright, intent on reconfiguring the pillows when a sudden wave of vertigo hit me. I closed my eyes, willing the room to stop spinning and floating around me. I thought back to the previous day and realized that I had not eaten. I had been too scared to produce an appetite then, but I was paying the price now. The Evergreen Motel didn’t even operate on key cards, so I knew better than to expect a continental breakfast come morning. I vowed to find a drive-thru as soon as I hit the road.

  Or there’s probably a vending machine, I thought. A full belly would make me feel less ill and I’d probably be able to fall asleep again fairly quickly. The faint hope was enough to entice me out from under the covers.

  I swung my legs around, waiting for my vision to clear so I could stand up. Brow furrowed, I stared down at my limbs, flexing my muscles experimentally. I could see what I was doing, and feel what I was doing, yet something about the sensation felt...off. As if magically in the night, I had grown significantly taller. I peered down at my toes, wondering why they suddenly felt so far away, too far away.

  Once again, my brain warred within the chasm of my skull. The emotional, irrational side of me grew paranoid, wondering if Kyle had somehow snuck into the room and drugged me.

  The rational part of my brain, or what was left of it, recalled one of the lectures I had attended college. It was normal, even expected, to feel some degree of disorientation if you found yourself suddenly awake during REM sleep. I was too on edge, too intent on finding danger when there wasn’t any.

  Get a grip, girl, I chastised myself and struggled to my feet. Despite my physical maladies, I found myself in better spirits than I had been all day. The rest, even the little I had collected, had clearly done me some good. Stretching my arms up above my head, I turned toward the nightstand, where I had p
laced the room key. I reached towards the key, but something in my periphery made me freeze.

  I sucked in a breath, feeling every hair on my body stand on end. My heart began an erratic dance within my chest. I blinked, over and over, but what I saw did not go away.

  It was me, still sound asleep in bed, snug under the worn green quilt.

  I heard screaming but couldn’t register that it was coming out of my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to cope with what they were seeing, what they were telling me.

  I was back in bed when I opened them again. Eyes wide, I stared at my body, wrapped under the blanket. I was laying in the exact same position my ghastly double had been in.

  Gulping for air, I flung the quilt off of me and spilled out of bed. I fumbled in the dark for my purse until I felt the .38, still securely in place. Then I flung myself fully onto the floor, heedless of its dirt and stains.

  “Holy shit...holy shit,” I muttered. It felt like I had been swimming, my entire body was drenched in sweat. I could feel my legs quiver against the coarse carpet as I lay there, trying to make sense of what I had just seen, what I had just experienced. It felt like all the infinitesimal threads that made up my sanity were starting to unravel.

  I forced myself to stand. Grabbing the gun from my purse, I clutched it in my palm as I began to pace the room. There had to be a rational explanation for what had just happened to me, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to relax until I figured it out. I raked a hand through my tangled brown hair, and began another circle.

  The most logical theory was that I had simply experienced a nightmare--a sickeningly lucid nightmare. To say that stress could lead to bad dreams was akin to saying the sky was blue. It was obvious and unmistakable.

  And yet… It hadn’t felt like any nightmare I had ever experienced before, even the more realistic ones I had to convince myself hadn’t really happened. I had felt the coolness of the air on my skin, I had felt the roughness of the carpet on my bare feet.

  I was desperate to believe it had been nothing but a dream. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force it to make sense.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  A fist pounded on my door, making me jump. My breath caught in my lungs as I swung to face the door, hands outstretched with the gun in between them. I imagined Kyle, quietly standing, waiting, on the other side of the wood. I pictured his wavy blonde hair pushed back, a bottle in his hand. How long had it been since I had last looked at his text messages? They might have revealed that he had found me, that he was hot on my tail if only I had been courageous enough to look at them. But now, he had located me. Now, it was too late.

  I kept the gun pointed at the door and said nothing.

  Three more knocks against the door. They seemed to echo all around me, tormenting me.

  “Rebecca?” a voice called out.

  I blinked, uncomprehending. The timbre didn’t sound like Kyle.

  “Rebecca? It’s Phil. Are you alright? Will you please answer the door?”

  Practically sobbing with relief, I ran to the door. I was just about to unlatch the chain when I realized I was still holding the gun. I certainly didn’t want the motel manager to see it. I didn’t want him to ask me any questions.

  “Uh, just a second!” I called out, and ran, as quietly as I could, back to my purse. I placed the .38 inside it and folded it over, hiding the purse’s contents from view. I ran back to the door, undid the locks, and yanked the door open.

  There stood Phil, his fingers laced in front of him. He smiled, but the smile wasn’t relaxed enough to reach his eyes. All the same, I was so relieved to see him, I resisted the urge to fling myself into his arms, sobbing.

  “Hi,” I said, breathlessly.

  “I had started to drift off on my cot when I thought I heard someone screaming. I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he explained.

  I swallowed, silently searching for something rational to say. My name is actually Aly, and I am being chased by my ex-boyfriend, who very likely wants to kill me, and I’m fairly certain I just had my first out of body experience.

  “Oh yeah,” I said, waving a hand casually in the space between us. “I just had a nightmare, that’s all. It’s hard for me to sleep in hotels - I mean, motels. I’m so sorry that I woke you,” I added hastily. I clamped my mouth shut, fearing I would start to ramble.

  Phil’s smile deepened. The corners of his eyes creased, and I fought the urge to hug him again.

  “Don’t be silly,” he replied kindly. “All that matters is that you are ok. Don’t hesitate to knock on the door, or call the front desk, if you need anything. I can hear both from my office.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured. I’m more grateful for your kindness than you could ever know, I added silently.

  He dipped his head once and turned to walk back down the dim, narrow hallway. I had the door halfway shut when I jerked it back open again and popped my head out.

  “Oh! Please tell the family next door that I am sorry when they go to check out,” I added. “I probably woke them up as well.”

  Phil frowned at me good-natured. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re still the only guest here. You didn’t disturb anybody.” And he disappeared down the hall.

  I shut the door, slid the locks into place, and crept backward until I felt my body press against the dresser, as far away from the neighboring room as I could go. My face crumpled into tears, but I pushed my mouth into the crook of my shoulder, stifling the sound.

  There was no longer any doubt in my mind that the person in the room beside mine was Kyle. He had found me. In this moment, he was likely waiting for me to fall asleep again. Waiting to sneak into my room and hurt me.

  What about the female? A voice said in my head. For there was, unmistakably, a female voice.

  It was the television, I replied to the voice in my head, wiping snot off my face. It’s not like I could make out the words, just the sound of a female voice. It could have been just a TV show.

  And the child, running around? The voice continued.

  I physically threw my hands up in frustration. What child? It’s not like I saw a child, or even heard the sound of a child’s voice. It was probably Kyle, purposefully screwing with me. He wants me to think I am safe.

  Safe.

  That single word opened the floodgates, and foul memories flooded in, unchecked.

  I stood in the entryway to our kitchen, uncertain. Kyle had his back to me, hunched over the sink. I had become so achingly familiar with him, I knew he was angry without him saying a word. I felt my chin quiver of its own accord.

  “Are you alright?” I asked tentatively. My voice as substantial as smoke.

  “No,” he said, his voice icy. “No, Aly, I am not alright.” He put emphasis on my name, as though it were an insult.

  He turned to face me, and I fought the urge to retreat. His usually pale face was a vibrant red, a maze of lines and wrinkles as he glowered. He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, its liquid sloshing back and forth as he swayed. He was drunk. But then, he was always drunk.

  “What...What’s wrong?” I whispered. I didn’t really want to know.

  He snorted, a wet, unattractive sound. “Are you dumb?” he growled, spreading his arms wide. “Look at this mess.”

  Shards of glass lay scattered across the kitchen floor, a kind of tragic mosaic. Pools of beer and a clear liquid, either vodka or rum, were spread all over the tile floor. Of course, I had seen the mess the moment I had stepped into the kitchen, but I wasn’t about to bring it up. I didn’t want him to think I was nagging him. I didn’t want him to try to strike me again for complaining.

  I held a hand up in supplication. “It’s alright,” I said, quietly. “I can take care of the mess.”

  Kyle growled again, swinging his hand down until the bottle slipped from his grasp, slamming against the ground. The violent sound of shattered glass made me wince. “Alright?” he repeated, incredulous. “Alright?! Noth
ing is alright. God, I wouldn’t be in this mess, if it wasn’t for you,” he snarled, slurring the words. “You have fucked up everything about my life, Aly. Everything.”

  He stared at me, an expression of sheer loathing on his face. I stood where I was, trying hard not to move, not to breathe. I didn’t want to say or do anything that may provoke him. Not like last time…

  After what felt like an eternity, he spun around, facing the sink again, staring down into the silver basin. I took one step backward, then two, trying to leave the room as quietly as I could.

  And then I saw his shoulders start to shake. Small, jerky movements, up and down as he stood. Kyle was crying. In the fifteen years I had known him, I had only ever seen him cry once, when his cat was hit by a car and died in our driveway. I had felt so awful for him, then. I wanted nothing more than to absorb all of his pain. I had bought him a bottle of alcohol that day, to cope.

  I knew better, now.

  Despite his drunken state, despite his unfair ridicule, I watched him cry, and I wanted nothing more than to help him. Watching my feet, I moved slowly across the kitchen, avoiding bits of glass. My hand shook slightly as I reached out and touched his right shoulder.

  He whirled around so quickly that I stumbled backward, palms open to catch myself as I careened to the ground. A thousand tiny needles entered my skin as I landed on the tile. Without looking, I knew that both my hands were embedded with shards of glass.

  I wasn’t looking at the floor. I was looking at the knife in Kyle’s left hand. I hadn’t seen it before, so it must have been in the sink.

  Tears fell from his eyes as he scowled down at me. He was breathing heavily as if he had just returned from a run.

  “Everything is your fault,” he repeated again, spit flying with the words. “You’re the worst person in the world, Aly.”