Page 14 of The Stranger
“Again, I didn’t lie.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Fine, I won’t lie to you. But now I feel like you have some hidden secrets you don’t want to share with me.”
He points up ahead. “Hey, look! I think there’s a motel coming up. It’s probably not much, but it’ll do for the night and get us off the road. If I still don’t have service here, and you don’t want to stay, you can use one of the phones in the room to call someone. Although, if we can’t get there, there’s a good chance no one can get here, either. We might be stuck here for the night.”
“What? No. We’re stopping? I thought you said we could get to Marion from here. We have to keep going, keep trying. We’re doing fine.”
The car jerks forward, sliding as we hit another patch of ice as if trying to prove me wrong.
He slows the car down even further, holding the steering wheel with a vise-like grip. “I don’t think it’s safe to keep going. Especially not if we’re having to avoid the interstate and take backroads.” He fiddles with the defrost again, turning it up even more. “I’m sorry. I swear I’ll take you to St. Louis just as soon as road conditions are safe. We’ll pull over, get warm, then you can call your friend and at least let them know where you are. And we’ll go from there. What do you say?”
I rest my tongue against my teeth. “I don’t know.”
The building comes into view up ahead, a small roadside motel with a glowing “Vacancy” sign and two cars in the parking lot. The building is red with eight white doors and windows and a concrete, covered walkway outside them, illuminated by small porch lights outside each door.
“We have to stop,” he informs me. “I’m sorry. I’ve taken you as far as I can tonight. Let’s just go inside and call your friend, and you’ll feel better. There’s honestly no other choice. Walking now will take you even longer without the ability to walk the interstate. And, without a map, you’d end up lost. Just…come on. Rest for the night. Shower. Warm up. We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”
As much as I want to argue some more, to tell him he’s giving up and demand we keep moving, I know he’s right—though I’d never admit that to him. To drive any farther tonight with no idea where we’re going or how much worse the roads will be is foolish. We’ll end up hurt or dead.
I puff out a breath, pinching the skin around my wrist. “Okay, fine. Yeah.”
“Awesome.” He slows down as we near the motel, easing into the small parking lot on the corner of a four-way stop. There are no houses around. No businesses. Just this tiny motel and the woods. Across the street, there’s another lot that I imagine could be used for additional parking, though with just eight rooms, I don’t see how it would be necessary.
It’s impossible to tell if the parking spaces are marked underneath all the snow, so I have no idea if we’re in an official spot as we come to a stop in front of the office. Walker pushes open his door and eases out of the car without hesitation.
“Watch your step,” he warns, gripping onto the hood of the car as he makes his way toward the front. I step out, following him cautiously. As we walk, I discover the parking lot is slick with random patches of ice underneath the snow, and I can only imagine how much a fall would hurt.
We make it to the front door and then inside the building. The small lobby is the size of an average kitchen. Its yellowing, laminate floors and cherrywood desk tell of its age. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, giving everything a sickly yellow glow. The boxy, old computer on the desk has a dark screen, and as I look around, I realize there’s no one here.
A single bell on the desk sits next to a sign that reads Ring for Service.
Walker looks at me, a brow quirked. It feels like we’ve walked onto the set of a horror movie. Everything is too quiet, too strange. He outstretches a finger and rings the bell with a soft ching!
Stepping back, he moves next to me, hands folded in front of him as he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Several minutes pass with the incessant buzzing above our heads—the weird, disorienting glow of the lights making the room feel hazy and strange—before we hear a door open from somewhere down the hall, and then there’s a set of footsteps moving slowly our way.
I swallow, turning my full body toward the sound, preparing for whoever might be coming.
A man pops his head around the corner, his gray hair standing in every direction as if we might’ve woken him up. He runs a hand over his white, coffee-stained beard.
“I thought I heard something out here,” he grumbles, more to himself than to us it seems like.
Slowly, he shuffles forward, making his way down the hall and behind the desk before he looks up at us with a long inhale. “What can I do for you, kids?”
I look up at Walker, trying to decide if I should be insulted. I’m in my thirties, and I’d guess he is, too. Hardly kids, if you ask me.
Walker clears his throat, resting both hands on the wooden desk. “Um, we need to book a room.”
The man’s eyes bounce to me with a gleam that tells me he thinks this is something it certainly isn’t.
“You kids from around here?”