Deadly Lies (Sequel to TBFOWS)

Deadly Lies- Chapter 18

            The manager, a plump middle aged woman with high arched eyebrows, always seemingly in a state of surprise, told us that she knew next to nothing about Sam. I watched John question the woman in a calm state, trying to ensure that the woman would not fall into a frenzied panic. John asked if she saw Sam with any other persons, what time he usually came and left, but the manager was only able to shrug her shoulders. The only help we were able to receive from her was the key to the room in which Sam was staying. 

            Opening the door, I found the room a stark difference to what I had expected. Although I wasn't certain what it was that I wanted to find, but a tidy and seemingly untouched room was not something I was hoping for. The bed was made, the curtains drawn, the pillows fluffed; not a single thing was out of place. Without any fears, John and I tore apart the room, looking under all of the furniture and inspected every atom of the room.

            When the room was turned upside down, I sat onto the stripped bed and looked at John who was looking through the drawers, a third time. My eyes traveled down the curve of his back, to his legs and then to the legs of the cabinet. Something gray was slumped and cozy in the back corner, underneath the dresser.  Standing up, I nudged John to the side and fell to my knees. Plunging my hand underneath the dresser, I shifted my hand around and felt my fingertips brush against a coarse material. 

            I wrapped my fingers and pulled the material with me as I sat up. A book bag. I crossed my legs and John crouched beside me, a frown on his face. Unzipping the bag, I dumped its contents out onto the beige colored rug. A notebook, pens, pencils and crumpled papers fell out of the bag. I grabbed the crumpled papers and smoothed them out.

            "A real Picasso." John murmured looking at the doodles on both papers. Snorting, I picked up the notebook and flipped through the pages. I felt my breathing slow and John tense beside me as we realized the same thing. Although the book was only filled with school notes, the handwriting was identical to the notes that were being left at the crime scenes. Sam was the one who was writing the notes, not his father.          

            "Are you seeing this?" I asked, throwing the book down, frustrated. "We had him, John. He was right there and we believed him!" I felt myself becoming irate. "Do you think he's the one, is he the-?" I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence.  

            "I doubt it," John said standing up and taking the book with him, "Sam would've been still under ten years old when my parents- highly unlikely, but it appears as though they're working together now."

            "Sam and that monster?" I asked, not knowing how else to describe the person who hurt John and taken innocent lives.

            "Yeah." He said and gave me his hand, helping me to my feet.

            As we were exiting the motel, the manager ran after us. She was worried about her safety, questioning what she should do. While John was reassuring the petrified woman, my phone came to life in my pocket. Pulling it out, I ran over to John and began dragging him away from the manager. I shoved the phone in his face and he nodded once. I answered the phone and he excused himself from the woman.

            "What?" I asked coldly, putting the phone on speaker.

            "Sophie, John," He greeted with a mocking laugh, "no need to look around for me, no amount of squinting will reveal myself to you." Neither of us said anything and the silence seemed to drag. John was looking around, a look of murder on his face, trying to see where the bastard was, but we were surrounded by countless sky scrapers, he could've been anywhere.