The Sun Down Motel(89)
“Tell me,” she said.
Behind her came the click of heels from the corridor, turning to soft footsteps on the cheap motel carpet. Ice-cold air touched Viv’s back.
“Betty,” Hess said, his voice high with fear.
A low moan came behind her, the sound unearthly. Viv wondered if Betty was wearing her purple dress, if her hands were bloody. How did this happen?
“She doesn’t love you,” Viv said to Hess, pushing on the knife. “She never did. She hates you. She haunts this place because she hates you so much. You come here and she gets so furious I can feel it, taste it. She makes me furious, too. Do you understand me? Betty hates you.”
That low moan behind her again, and she felt the rise and fall of Hess’s chest. Slower and slower by the minute. “I can see her,” he said softly. “I watched her for so many weeks. I memorized her face. She’s mine. She’s still mine.”
“She isn’t yours,” Viv whispered back. “It’s the other way around. You’re hers, or you’re going to be.”
His voice was trembling now. He let go of her hair and traced his hand over Viv’s face, his fingertips cold and clammy. “I know you from somewhere,” he said. “Where?”
Viv went still, feeling his touch on her skin. He was touching her. Touching her. She tightened her grip on the knife handle.
Hess’s fingers brushed over her mouth, traced her lips in the dark. “I don’t remember,” he said, his voice faint and vague now. “There are so many. I know all of their faces. But I can’t see you. Which one are you?”
“I’m the one you didn’t kill,” Viv said. She pulled the knife out of his chest. And as he took in a breath of pain, she plunged the knife back down.
Fell, New York
November 2017
CARLY
Was I awake or asleep? I didn’t know. I was somewhere dark, and my phone was ringing.
I opened my eyes. I was on the sofa in my apartment, where I had sat down a long time ago—for just a minute, I’d thought. Now I was slumped against the arm of the sofa, fully dressed. My cheek ached and my throat was dry. It was dark outside the windows and there was no sign of Heather.
I picked up my phone from the coffee table and answered it, picking up my glasses with my other hand and putting them on. “Hello?”
“Carly, it’s me. Callum MacRae.”
I cleared my throat. “Um.”
“I’m sorry. Were you asleep? It’s only six thirty.”
I glanced at the dark windows. Night came early this time of year. “I’m fine,” I said. “I work nights. What’s up?”
“I got some news,” he said. His low, pleasant voice was excited. “They found a body in an old barn just outside of town. It was just this morning. And I know you’re looking for your aunt, so I checked it out for you.”
I scrubbed a hand under my glasses, rubbing my eye. “It isn’t her,” I said. “I already asked. It’s a man.”
There was a beat of silence. “Oh, okay.” He laughed. “You’re good. I called some of my contacts, and the word from the Fell PD is that they have an identity and a cause of death.”
“Already?” We’d found the body just this morning.
“Well, it isn’t one hundred percent yet. They won’t announce it until they know for sure. But yes, they have preliminary findings already. Why don’t you come meet me?”
“Meet you where?”
“There’s a coffee shop just down the street from the central library. It’s called Finelli’s. It should be open for another hour or two. Come down and I’ll tell you what I know.”
I looked around the darkened apartment. Where was Heather? She’d gone to bed when we got home; I wondered if she was still asleep. Nick had said he was going back to the Sun Down to try to sleep, too.
“Carly?” Callum said.
“Yes,” I said, getting my thoughts on track. “Um, sure. Yes, I’ll meet you.”
“Great. Twenty minutes. I’ll see you then.”
I hung up and stood, stretching my aching neck. “Heather?”
There was no answer. I turned on a lamp and saw a note on the kitchen table.
Gone to see the rents. I need to retreat for a while. Don’t worry, I took my meds. I don’t really know when I’ll be back. But I left you this present, which I got from the depths of the Internet. Don’t ask questions. Here you go.
In my half-asleep state, it took me a minute to translate that Heather had gone to her parents’. I picked up the sheet of paper she’d left with the note. It was a printout of an old scan. A list of numbers.
I pulled out a kitchen chair and turned on the light, studying the page. I was looking at a phone record, I realized. Just like Viv’s roommate Jenny had said. The cops would get a big old printout.
Heather had circled the name at the top of the report: Sun Down Motel. And the date: November 1 to November 30, 1982.
I scanned the numbers. There weren’t many; the Sun Down didn’t make or receive a lot of phone calls in 1982, a situation that hadn’t changed in thirty-five years. Some of the calls were marked as incoming, others as outgoing. Near the bottom of the list were the calls made on November 29 and the early hours of November 30.