Page 30 of The Stranger
“We have to leave now,” I repeat when he doesn’t say anything. “Now, now. I don’t care about the roads. Something weird is going on here, and I don’t want to stay. I don’t feel safe here.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says, his voice dry and powerless. “We should find Ernest. See if he can help us figure out what’s going on.”
“You said you couldn’t find him earlier when you tried to book me a separate room.” I narrow my gaze at him. “And I couldn’t find him now. He didn’t come when I rang the bell or called for him.”
“You’re right. What if something happened to him?” He reaches across the desk and rings the bell several times, eyes darting back and forth with his obviously racing thoughts.
“There was a man who said he saw him,” I remember aloud. “He said he was coming in here. That’s how I found the blood. I was… I was looking for you.” I hate admitting that to him and can’t help wondering what he’ll read into it. “I just wanted to see if you’d found him or something when I realized you weren’t in the room. I was hoping you’d found a way for me to get my own so we didn’t have to stay together.”
It doesn’t seem like he’s listening. “What man? Someone saw Ernest? When was this?”
“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago. There was a man outside one of the rooms. He had gray, greasy hair and a mustache. He was smoking a cigarette. I’m guessing he’s staying here. He said he saw Ernest—well, he called him the manager, not by his actual name, but he had to have meant Ernest, right? Anyway, he said he saw him coming this way.”
“Good,” he says with a puff of air. “Good. That’s good. That means he was okay then. Twenty minutes ago. We should go look for him, though. We need to find him and make sure he’s still okay.” He rings the bell again and cups his hands around his mouth. “Ernest? Ernie? You in here, man?” When several minutes pass, and Ernest still doesn’t answer, Walker takes off in the direction he came from when we first checked in.
Down the hall, heading in a direction neither of us know, he leads me to a set of three doors. He pauses, checking to make sure I’m with him, then knocks on the first door.
“Ernest? Um, you…you in there?”
A lump sits firmly in my throat, refusing to go away. My heart pounds in my ears as we wait, but we get no answer. He twists the knob, and we look inside the dimly lit room. It’s an open living space, with a kitchen on the end of the room closest to us and a living room on the other. In the living room section, there are two matching recliners in front of a television, which is turned on to the local news. At least his TV works, I guess.
Walker flips on the light so we get a better view of the space, but it’s small and ordinary. The kitchen counter is littered with tiny orange bottles, evidence of his wife’s illness. The sink has a few dishes in it, and there’s a box from a frozen dinner lying on the counter next to the microwave. In the living room, there’s a single end table with an ashtray and a half-filled bottle of Dr Pepper in between the recliners. On the floor, there is a pair of black socks and another bottle of Dr Pepper, this one empty.
Walker crosses the room, checking for any sign of the man, and stops short when he reaches the recliners, staring down at something I can’t see.
“Is he there?” I whisper, hoping we’ve found Ernest asleep in his chair and this is all somehow just a misunderstanding.
He shakes his head, putting a finger to his lips. I cross the small room quickly and stare down at an elderly woman sitting in the chair. She’s so tiny she almost looks fake. She can’t weigh more than ninety pounds, and her thin skin is a sickly gray color. For just a moment, I worry she’s dead, but when I see her chest rising and falling with soft breaths, I’m relieved to be wrong. Her hair has been combed neatly, the gray tendrils cascading over her bony shoulders. Someone—Ernest, I’m assuming—has wrapped her lower half in a blanket and she has one fuzzy-socked foot sticking out. Carefully, Walker moves the blanket to cover the foot. Despite being very sick, or perhaps because of it, this woman is obviously incredibly loved and cared for.
Thinking of Ernest there with her alone in this sleepy little town makes me feel sad but also nostalgic in a way. Like I’m missing something I’ve never had, something I will probably never have. What Ernest and his wife have is special. It’s the dream. To have someone who will care for you even when the worst happens.
It makes me think of Craig, who would never be that man. I’m not sure how I was ever so blinded by him. He was always the man who stayed away when I was sick so he wouldn’t catch it and forgot the things I’d told him more often than not.
“We should go.” Chills line my skin over the thought of being caught. “He could be back any second.”
Just then, something on the news catches my eye, and I look over. Walker is headed toward me, but I hold up a hand to stop him and point at the television.
“Look.”
He turns as I say the word. The television’s volume is down so low it’s hard to hear, but I get all I need to know from the headline showing along the bottom.
There’s a split screen image of two teenagers’ faces. A boy and a girl. Young, beautiful, full of joy and hope. Their full lives should be ahead of them. Clearly loved.
But the breaking news headline reads: Two Teens Reported Missing, Last Believed to be Traveling Along I-57 Toward Chicago.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WALKER
Tibby rushes across the room, turning the volume up on the television just in time to hear the news anchor saying, “Police have asked the public to be on the lookout for a pair of teens tonight as the storm throughout the area worsens. Ben Harris and Nicole Truby, both just nineteen years old, are believed to be traveling north along I-57 toward Chicago. The teens’ families last spoke to them before the storm set in and they have been unable to contact the couple for the past several hours. At this time, police have no reason to believe the teens are in any danger as road conditions and several road closures have made a significant impact on travel times, along with cell towers being out all across the region, but as a precaution, if anyone has any information about the couple’s whereabouts, police are asking that you please contact?—”
She flips the television off. “That’s this area.” Her eyes are wild and filled with fear as she crosses the room. “What if they were here? What if they were one of the other people staying here, and this is their blood and?—”
“Tibby, breathe. It just said they were traveling near here,” I point out, jogging to keep up with her. “We have no reason to even suspect that they’re dead or hurt or that there’s anything wrong. Cell towers are down everywhere. They’re probably just caught out in this like everyone else with no service. It didn’t mention the motel. You have no reason to think that blood in the lobby had anything to do with those kids. Or that it means anything at all. I’m sure they’re fine.”
She doesn’t slow down, though—ever stubborn, and now terrified as she exits the room and dashes down the hall, then into the lobby. She spins around, pinning me with a glare. “You’re telling me it’s all just a coincidence? We find blood and then find out that there are people—kids—missing in this area. How many people are realistically traveling the interstate in this storm?”
I huff out a breath. “I’m telling you there’s no need to assume there’s a connection unless they tell us otherwise. It didn’t even say they’re definitely missing. She just said their families couldn’t reach them. It sounds like they’re just trying to make sure they’re safe in the storm. We didn’t pass any broken-down cars or anything. I’m sure they’re fine.”