Levittown

41. The truth is out there

There's a faint ting when we enter the air-conditioned space. A pudgy man stands behind the front desk, tall and looming as he flicks through some magazine. An elbow rests on top of the desk, while his chin rests in his pudgy hand. When he hears us come in, he only gives a brief glance before he returns to his rather meaningless task. Business must be slow today.

Christopher touches the brass bell that's sitting on the edge of the desk, the constant ting ting ting echoing around us. Joe, as his nametag says, sighs and looks up at us with absolute boredom. He closes the magazine and stands straight.

"'Come to Ruby Motel. Name's Joe," he says gruffly, signaling to his name tag with a pudgy finger. "What room are ya lookin' fo' today? We gots all types he'."

"Room number eight," Christopher says, frowning at the man.

I hide behind him and look over his shoulder, afraid that someone we know might come in and see us renting a room. How will we explain it? The immediate thought is sex. The thought warms my cheeks and ignites a fire that's always been reserved for Christopher.

"Room numba eigh', eh?" Joe says, looking at us more closely. "Haven' seen ya folks 'round he' befo'."

"Do you need to?" Christopher says, irritated now.

"I ain't mean to get ya so defensive, boy," he mutters, holding his hands up in a mocking way. "It's jus'... ya new he' and 'redy talkin' 'bout room numba eigh'. I gots lots of otha rooms he' in this fine motel."

I snort a laugh, earning a glare from the man and a raised eyebrow from Christopher. Excuse me if I don't think this is a fine motel.

"Well, we specifically want room number eight. I don't care for the rest." Christopher takes out his wallet and grabs a few twenties. "You should mind your own business."

"Fine. Fine," Joe grumbles, rolling his eyes. "That'll be ninety bucks."

"Ninety dollars for a crappy motel room!" Christopher shouts, hitting the desk with his large, open hand.

Joe shrugs. "Room numba eigh' is a fine room, little boy. I said we have otha rooms, didn't I?" He looks at me now, making me flinch. "Right, little girl?"

"Fuck. Fuck," Christopher mutters, taking a few more tens and twenties out. "Room number eight better have a golden toilet or something. It better have fucking God somewhere inside."

Joe smirks. It's a greasy kind of smirk, the one a predator knows how to make. "What do ya need God for in the'? Seems to me you's gonna have a nice time, eh?"

Christopher is trembling with rage now, but he still laughs a sarcastic laugh. He throws the money at the clerk, pieces of green paper floating in the air, falling to the desk and the floor. Joe doesn't look so happy about that, but I'm guessing he can't say shit because he doesn't own the motel.

"Look at her again and I swear I'll fucking end you, you fat piece of shit," Christopher mutters lowly, snatching the room key from Joe's grasp and walking away from the desk.

Something flutters violently in my stomach, sending different vibrations throughout my body. For some reason, I don't move away from the desk. Christopher shakes the golden key and beckons me with his head, a warm smile on his handsome face.

He always chose room number eight, so much that the motel's clerk knew what key to give him every time we came by...

"Wait," I whisper, searching through my bag for my phone.

"What is it, Alexa?" Christopher walks over to me and rests his chin on my naked shoulder.

I don't answer but instead go to my picture gallery, flicking through pictures until I find the one I took of Melody before her disappearance --- the same one the police used for her missing person's flyer.