Fragments

1 | The Motel

The faint smile on her lips appears from my response. She clicks on something and types a short passage before bouncing out of her seat to retrieve a silver key from the battered wooden board behind her.

"You're in room 61, which is just up the stairs and to the left."

"Thanks." I smile.

"Housekeeping comes once a week . . . if you want fresh linen, you can always ask at the desk. We don't serve food here, but there's a diner across the street."

"Cheers." I take the key from her fingertips and trek up the stairs. My suitcase hits each step with a thud. I'm worried that with each thwack, it might break the creaking steps.

I wander down the hallway in search of my room. I already know the red stained patches on the dirty carpet isn't lavish wine spilled over casual giggle. It is from something far more sinister; the street was evident to support that idea.

The theme of the hotel lobby carries through to the decorations in the bedroom. I dump my suitcase beside the single bed and wander into the closet sized bathroom attached to the room. At least there aren't communal showering facilities because that would be worse.

Attached to the far wall is a shower/bathtub along with a single sink, cabinet and toilet. The drab colour scheme and printed tiles make me feel like I've fallen back through time.

"At least there's a television," I mutter.

Perched on a small wooden cabinet, the television sits across from the bed and opposite the tall set of drawers.

I stride across the room and press the power button. The blank screen doesn't change despite the power cord being attached. Disappointment floods through my system at the loss of the television. This might be the only good thing about living here and it doesn't work.

Leaving the television alone, I grab my suitcase and place it on the bed. The springs inside the mattress groan from the weight. I quickly unzip the top and begin tossing my clothing into the drawers.

Once my clothing is unpacked, I take the cash from my case and scatter it around the motel room. Some hidden in nooks and crannies, others behind bits and bobs. I leave my cheap laptop in the suitcase and slide it under the bed.

I stretch my aching back out before throwing my tired frame across it. The metal frame clonks against the wall which makes me wince.

"And this is why I can't have nice things." I chuckle.

There's a sudden knock on the door which startles me. I leap off the bed and rush towards the door with curiosity. I wonder if something is wrong. Perhaps the guy on the street has shot the thief and he's coming for me?

"Hang on," I yell.

I look around the room and sigh with discontent. I couldn't protect myself even if I wanted to. What was I going to use, the broken television?

The door squeezes on its rusty hinges but reveals the pretty redhead from downstairs. My hand clutches onto the doorknob as I force myself to take a deep breath. Maybe there is something wrong?

"I'm about to grab food. Do you want a tour? Uh, it's just, you seem new here," she mutters.

The patter of my beating heart slows down at the prospect of a seemingly friendly face to talk with, and food. It's been days since I've had a decent meal.

"Thank you, that would be appreciated."

"I'm, well, I'm Scarlett, by the way." She weakly smiles.

"It's nice to meet you, Scarlett," I reply with a soft grin.

Stepping out of the room, I lock the door and pocket the key. We walk down the hallway and out of the motel. Our feet hit the cement pathway as we travel down the sidewalk and then across to the diner.