Saved by the King

Forty Three*

//Celine//

Amaad opened the back door for me. His silence made me tense; I was wondering how he would react. When he's angry with me, he either just blows up and yells for a bit and gets it out of his system, or he gives me a silent, brooding attitude that could last hours or days. I definitely prefer the former; I could handle a short burst of anger, but prolonged moodiness was torture.

I got inside the car and he got in next to me, closing the door behind him with just a bit more force than necessary. It made the car shake. Astrid got in the passenger seat and Logan resumed his place in the driver's seat. The car hummed to life and continued down the dirt road. I glanced behind me; the old man had gone back inside.

I could've cut the tension with a knife. No one was speaking, and Amaad was leaning against the window, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Is your seatbelt on?" he asked. I nodded, looking at him curiously. He didn't speak to me for the rest of the drive. Astrid peeked back at me from the passenger seat, her eyebrows raised. I shrugged, equally as clueless. I felt bad for her; it was awkward for me, and I had known these two for a while. I couldn't imagine what this would be like if they were strangers. They could be intimidating to people who didn't know them, but I thankfully knew them well enough to know that they were basically living, breathing teddy bears.

The headlights were the only source of light in the dark forest. The road was bumpy and the dirt path seemed never-ending. Finally, after at least 30 minutes, the small town began to materialize. Small cottages, little stores, until eventually we were driving down a narrow dirt road that probably served as their main street. Right in the middle, surrounded by small shops, was a building just slightly larger than the rest. Its only remarkable feature was the creaky, wooden sign that said "Tabby's Inn" in chipping paint. It looked like it was pulled right out of an old-fashioned movie, but I couldn't have cared less. I was exhausted and stiff; if Tabby could give me a warm bed for the night, she was my new best friend.

Logan saw it, too, but continued to drive for a minute until he found a square gravel lot with two or three cars that probably served as a parking lot. He turned off the ignition and sighed. "Amaad, Celine, try to put this off until tomorrow. I haven't slept in four days and if someone starts arguing I just might go crazy."

"You haven't slept in four days and you've been driving?" Astrid's voice was incredulous. Logan shot her a look, and she pursed her lips in irritation.

We all got out of the car. It was freezing; I was immediately chilled to the bone. Astrid and I were both shivering within seconds of exiting the warm sanctuary of the car, but I only had to tolerate it for a few minutes. I had high hopes that the inn would be warm and comfortable.

There was no one on the streets, not that I expected there to be. The clock in the SUV said it was 1 in the morning, which made sense since it was a long car ride and we left in the early evening. I yawned and shivered at the same time.

Amaad looked over at me. "You're cold?"

I shook my head.

Logan was walking ahead, leading the small party. Amaad and I fell towards the back, though we weren't speaking. Astrid fell in the middle, knowing that Logan wasn't her biggest fan and that Amaad and I were having a stand-off of sorts. I sighed, noting that my breath was visible in the frigid air. Amaad glanced over at me again, noticing my arms crossed across my chest in an effort to conserve body heat and the goosebumps all over my skin. I was only wearing a thin t-shirt and cotton shorts, which offered no protection from the chill. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to say something about the cold, but I cut him off. "I'm fine."

We luckily hadn't parked far from the inn, so we arrived quickly. The inside was as warm and cozy as I imagined. A bell rang on the door when we entered, and within a few minutes a corpulent, kindly-looking woman emerged from a backroom. She didn't detect the tension or at least pretended not to. I was right; this inn was straight out of a sixties movie: the rooms were accessed through brass keys hanging on the wall, not cards. The woman bustled behind the cracked wooden desk and smiled warmly.