Do Not Disturb(9)

And that’s when I see the sign on the side of the road. It’s so tiny that I almost miss it. And that’s perfect.

The Baxter Motel. That’s where I’ll spend the night, then tomorrow bright and early, I’ll get back on the road.





Chapter 7


If I were looking for a quiet, isolated place to spend the night, I couldn’t find anything more quiet and isolated than the Baxter Motel. I turn off the highway, and an almost invisible sign directs me to the motel. I have to drive down a nearly unpaved road until I see the weather-worn sign in front of a beat up old two-story house with a crumbling porch. The roof looks warped, almost sunken, like it could collapse at any moment. There’s a dim light shining in one of the upstairs windows, and if there weren’t, I would think the motel was abandoned.

Even though it’s isolated, I feel nervous about parking my car in plain sight. After all, that officer pulled me over only twenty minutes away from here.

Next to the motel, there’s another small one-story building. There’s a sign hanging from it that says Rosalie’s Diner in peeling paint. But this establishment is clearly closed. It’s dark inside and all the windows and doors are boarded up. I circle around the diner, and I park behind it, concealed by a large green garbage bin.

There. That should at least be good enough for the night.

I lift my bag out of the car and hoof it through the rain and sleet to the motel. My sneakers squish into a puddle and after about thirty seconds, I’m drenched. I regret not parking closer, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night if my car were in plain sight.

The front door of the Baxter motel is made of rotting wood that’s dark with moisture. There’s also a screen door loosely attached to the hinges that smacks me in the shoulder before I shove it out of the way. The knob feels ice cold to touch, and it sticks when I try to turn it. But after a second, it gives way and then I’m inside.

The inside of the motel isn’t much warmer than outside, but at least it’s dry. Well, mostly. There’s water dripping from the ceiling, leaving a small puddle next to me. A splintered wooden counter is in the back of the room, but nobody’s behind it. A single lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, and as I stand there, the light flickers.

“Hello?” I call out.

No answer.

I take a few steps forward. All I can hear is the dripping of the water coming from the ceiling. The motel feels empty, but the lights are on. And I saw that light on upstairs as well.

“Hello?” I say again, louder this time.

Still no answer. This place is making me uneasy. I wanted to find something out of the way, but this is a bit more isolated than I expected. Then again, the thought of having to run through the freezing rain back to my car isn’t too appealing.

“I’m here! Don’t leave! I’m coming!”

I whip my head around at the voice from behind me. A few seconds later, a man emerges from a back room, carrying a mop and a bucket. He smiles at me, revealing a slightly crooked left incisor. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I was in the back.”

“No worries.” I try to return his smile, but I’m too tired to put in the effort anymore.

He shifts the handle of the mop to his other hand. “So are you looking for a jump for your car or…?”

“Oh… no, I…” I look down at the bag that I had dropped beside me. “I was hoping to get a room for the night.”

He blinks at me, as if such a thing had never occurred to him. “You want a room?”

I frown. “Sorry, I thought this was a motel…”

“It is.” He scratches at his hair, which is the color of damp sand. He’s maybe mid-thirties and good-looking, but not in the same way as Derek used to be. Derek was lead actor kind of handsome, whereas this guy would get more of a supporting role. But he seems nice. Harmless. Like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. “We just don’t usually get many… But yes, we’ve got a room available. No problem.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Can you just…” He gestures over at the puddle of water on the floor. “I want to get this cleaned up before the floor gets damaged. Or more damaged.” He shakes his head. “Every time it rains, it starts leaking.”

My eyes stray up to the dark spot on the ceiling where the drops of water are coalescing. “But isn’t there another level above this one?”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “Right. It’s a mystery.”

He carries the bucket over to the puddle on the floor, then he dips the mop in the water. The puddle shrinks.

“Do you own this place?” I ask.

He nods. “Me and my wife do, yes.”

As he pushes the mop across the floor, I noticed the glint of a wedding band on his left hand. I look down at my own left hand and see the simple gold band still in place. All of a sudden, it feels like it’s burning my skin. I want to rip it off and throw it across the room.

“I’m Nick, by the way,” he says.

“Hi, Nick,” I say, but I don’t offer my own name. He doesn’t seem bothered by it.

Nick gives the mop one last shove across the floor, then rests it against the wall. He places the bucket in the place where the water is dripping down. I suppose that’s his makeshift solution.