Page 8 of Madness & Mayhem

“Uh, that’ll be ten thirteen,” she whispers.

I let out a wince, reaching back and pulling my wallet from my back pocket. The movement reveals some of the wound on my stomach, and she lets out a gasp as her eyes connect with my blood-stained clothes.

“Are you injured?” she whimpers.

I glare at her through the mask. “No questions.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, and I pull out a twenty, slapping it on the counter. When I pull my fingers away, I can see the bloodstains covering the green paper. “Keep the change, Sonya, and don’t say a word about my visit, yeah?”

She nods, pulling the bill toward her.

I give her a small nod, grabbing the kit and beer without a bag and stumbling through the automatic doors.

The cool, fresh air slaps across my face, and I stumble through the parking lot, just to the other side where there’s a Motel 6. It looks nearly abandoned, with the empty lot, the unlit sign.

It’s not abandoned, though, and it’s exactly what I need.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the kit around my back, shoving it into the waistband of my pants and lowering my sweatshirt over it. I clench my jaw as I straighten the best I can, holding my breath as I pull the front door open.

The front desk is empty.

I stumble toward the counter, my feet dragging as my hand slaps down on the bell. I can hear a chair groan in the back room before a set of heavy feet slide across the carpet.

An old man comes into view, his white shirt stained with coffee stains and a little too stretched out around the neck.

“Can I help you?” he growls, too many cigars having burnt through his esophagus.

I nod, pulling my wallet back out, attempting to mask my wince without giving away my pain. “I’ll take a room for the night.”

He nods. “Got a preference?”

I shake my head. “Whatever.”

He nods, slow as a fucking turtle as he turns around, his fingers brushing against all the keys for the rooms that are available. When he backtracks, I reach forward, my fingers curling around the counter. The pain is throbbing through my skull, and I grind my teeth together as he grabs the keys for room eleven.

“Here you go,” he grunts, turning around and placing them on the counter. “It’ll be sixty-seven fifty.”

I grab eighty, tossing it onto the counter. “You can keep the change if you don’t bother me until checkout tomorrow.”

He stares at me a moment, as if he finally realizes a masked man is standing in front of him.

Yes, it’s Halloween, but yet it’s still a little unusual.

“You in trouble or something?” he grunts.

I stare at him blankly through my mask.

His eyes narrow. “Or are you causing the trouble?”

I sigh. “I can take my money elsewhere.” I reach forward, ready to grab the money, when his hand slaps down on bills.

“No need. No one will be botherin’ you until checkout. Which is at eleven tomorrow morning.” He snorts, clearing the phlegm from his throat before audibly swallowing it.

My stomach lurches, and I hold back the bile.

I slip my gloved pinkie through the ring of the keys. “Wonderful.”

He stays where he is, watching me, as I turn around and walk toward the door.

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