The Hotel at the End of Time

Chapter 27 - Vain and the group do some planning.

They piled into the van and peeled out of the parking lot. Outside the building, a crowd had gathered, drawn by the gunshots. Vain squinted, looking through the windows into the restaurant. Everyone looked normal. How many of them were Trick's hired goons? How long before they realized the Wyatt attack had failed? Minutes, maybe.

Mark drove recklessly, winding the minivan through the streets of downtown Minneapolis. Beside him, Blunt tapped on his phone, calling out confusing and contradictory directions.

"We have to get to highway thirty-five. Take the next left." Mark put on his indicator and Blunt protested. "No, my left. The other left."

"We're facing the same way, Blunt," said Mark through gritted teeth. "We have the same left."

"Yeah, but I'm looking at the map on my phone, so left is up. You need to turn up, not left."

"I don't know how to turn up. What does that even mean?"

"At the next lights, go up-left but straight!"

"Jesus Christ." From the backseat, Hush yanked the phone from his brother's hand and corrected the directions.

Shortly after, they were on the highway heading for Nevada. They all kept checking out the window, looking for signs of pursuit. Any car that pulled up behind them caused a mild panic, and only Mark kept them calm. After an hour free from any indications of Trick or the Wyatts, they managed to relax.

It was a long drive, and they went in shifts, with Mark, Emma, and Roman doing most of the driving. For whatever reason, Vain was positive that she didn't know how to drive a car, and the twins and Charm seemed uncomfortable about it too. They took turns napping, waking up to worry or ponder out the window. None of them managed any real sleep. The next day was it. Come hell or high water, it would be over in twenty-four hours.

To the extent anyone talked, it was for planning. She grudgingly admitted they improved on some of her original ideas, most of which involved hitting people with tire irons and punching. After the incident in the parking lot, she found herself a huge fan of tire iron-based assaults. She wondered how Pranav was doing or if he was telling people her story. She wondered if anyone would tell her story.

On the outskirts of Nevada, long after dark, they pulled into a motel and piled inside. Hush threw a wad of money at the clerk and booked five rooms. Everyone went to their own spots and Vain slumped onto her bed without even bothering to check what shows were available. She couldn't stop her mind from racing.

Of all the horrible things Arthur had done to her, taking her memory was the worst. She had watched movies about people who were taken prisoner, and they always told a story about their childhood, or their home life, or the loved ones left behind. They would take strength from that, and it would give them courage to get to the end.

Vain had nothing to draw on for hope. No one waited for her outside the Hotel and she had no soft and blurry memories of childhood to fade into; no downy thoughts of better days to gather strength from. Just hard edges, hard choices, and hard times.

She wished for one memory before the Hotel. Just one; even an inkling. That didn't seem unreasonable. She ran her finger over the scar on her elbow, the one that had no stitch marks. Who was she? Had she been loved? Did someone miss her? Did they go to the police, tearfully handing over crumpled pictures to bored officers, taking communion in the hopes their prayers would be answered and their little girl would be returned?

God damn it, what was her real name?

The thoughts piled on, faster and faster, and she pushed away tears with the heel of her hand. Enough of this. If she died tomorrow, all the wishing would amount to nothing, anyway. If she lived, she'd have Roman, and they'd figure out what to do together.