Page 61 of No Surrender
Sheila just shook her head as she came up to his bedside and leaned down to kiss him on the lips. “Idiot. There goes my chance to trade up.”
“Aw, you love me.”
“You’re right. I do. I must be crazy.” Sheila kissed him again. Ross’s hand reached up to draw her closer, and he palmed her butt. Vic barely stifled a snicker, and Simon had to muffle his laugh.
“Before you get too inappropriate, we’ve got company,” Sheila reminded Ross. Simon remembered that a lack of inhibitions could go with head trauma, glad Ross was among friends who didn’t care.
“I always said you were klutzy,” Vic said, taking the cue to move closer. “Admit it—you just wanted an excuse to get out of going to the trial.”
“As long as I can walk, I doubt I’ll get a pass on that,” Ross replied. “I feel like I lost a prize fight and didn’t even land any punches.”
“By all means, go beat the ever lovin’ shit out of your driveway for revenge when you get home,” Vic snarked.
“Pass. I fucked up my shoulder. Don’t need to break my hand too,” Ross said ruefully.
Vic glanced back at Simon. “All clear?”
Simon focused his gift on Ross, attempting to see if he could pick up vestiges of the spell. “He’s clear,” Simon answered. “No residual magic.”
Ross looked to Vic and then to Simon as Sheila sat on the side of his bed and took his hand. “I’m sorry. We don’t need to have one of us out of commission, with the trial so close and all the other weird shit going on.”
“Thompson’s ghost won’t be a problem anymore,” Simon replied. “So that’s one down—two to go.”
Simon dug a hex bag out of his pocket and handed it to Ross. “Another hex bag—figured you didn’t get a chance to bring the one I gave you before to the hospital. Keep this with you at all times. Put it under your pillow—whatever you have to do to hold onto it. It’s the best I can do since housekeeping isn’t going to let me put a salt circle around your bed.”
Ross’s eyes narrowed. “What now?”
“Simon and his buddies figured out more about the creature responsible for the nightmare epidemic. We’re going to deal with it tonight, but in the meantime, there’s no point in taking chances.”
“Deal with it,” Ross repeated. “A ‘creature?’”
“A boo hag, if you want to be specific,” Simon deadpanned.
“They’re real?” Ross’s eyes bugged a little.
“Among other things,” Vic replied. “With luck, that part of the drama will be done with after tonight.”
After promising to make sure Ross heard all about their fight with the hag, Simon and Vic left Ross with Sheila and headed for the car. In the lobby, the TV news snagged Simon’s attention, and he motioned for Vic to pause.
“—some questions raised about whether the more unusual parts of the William Fischer case might have been fabricated,” the reporter said. Simon grimaced, recognizing him as one of the less reputable anchors who seemed willing to say anything to grab a headline.
“Business leaders have also expressed concern about holding the high-profile case here in Myrtle Beach, fearing a negative impact on the Grand Strand’s reputation. They’ve filed a formal request to have the trial moved elsewhere, but so far the judge has refused to consider a change of venue.”
“Fuck,” Vic muttered under his breath. “No surprise where their priorities are, huh?”
“Come on.” Simon grabbed Vic’s arm and hurried him to the door. “No point in raising your blood pressure. We’ve got a big night ahead of us.”
9
SIMON
“Ididn’t think they still had motels like this,” Vic said as he and Simon walked into the room. The 1950s-era motor lodge looked like it should be in a Route 66 documentary.
“Technically, I guess they don’t since this one closed down for good last month because the owner went bankrupt,” Simon replied.
The decor colors reminded Simon of a sunset—teal, pink, and Creamsicle-orange. Beach Dreams’ darkened neon sign looked period-authentic. Wall sections of white breeze blocks separated the one-story motel’s doorways from the parking lot, screening the pairs of sea-foam green shellback metal lawn chairs that still sat outside each room.
The place had vintage charm, with teal and pink bathroom tile, a sunburst clock, and mid-century modern furniture. For its age, the motel had held up well, shutting down just short of its chance to become ironically trendy.
