Dancing with the Devil 𖤐 MICHAEL JACKSON

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

I slam on the brakes, parking the car down the street and open the door, stepping one leg out and popped my head out, my arm leaning on top of the car door. The red flames from my home were reflected onto eyes. Neighbors ran out of their houses and stared in awe as the firemen did their best to spray the house down the street , but the damage was already done. The two story house was now just rubble on the ground.

"It's such a shame that Jeannette and Augustine's house burned to the ground, it was the most expensive property on this block," a man cough out, hitting tiny particles of debris away from his face, "someone should call their daughter."

I try to make out their face in the dark. It was the old couple who lives in the corner six houses down, Mr. and Mrs. O'Neil.

"Yes, the daughter, what's her name? Sophia..? Sahara! Yeah that's it, I feel bad for the poor girl, she lost her parents, then their house burned down." Mrs. O'Neil says to her husband.

"How'd it even start?" Another neighbor intervened into the conversation.

"I heard one of the firemen say something about a gas leak, a pipe must have broke and it was just waiting to blow up," Mr. O'Neil replied.

I didn't want to be here anymore. I got back into the car and slammed the door shut before reversing out and back onto the Main Street. I drive to a motel on the outside of town, built perfectly next to a busy highway.

I didn't know Michael would go the extra mile and burn down my fucking house. No point of trying to get away from him now. He knows everything.

As I walk over the damaged pavement that has grass growing out of the cracks, I realize how shabby this motel is. The Coral pink paint chipping off the outside walls. One of the rooms with its entire window smashed, barricaded with wooden planks. Or the pool with slimy green water that's taped off with caution tape.

I open the door to the check in. Damn it's even worse in the inside. It just screams the 70s, with its wood paneled walls and yellow fuzzy carpet which I'm guessing used to be white. No ones here. I ring the bell on the counter and wait. I didn't realize a lady walked out from wherever she came out from because I was too interested at the moose head plaque hanging on the wall.

"I see you took a liking to ol' Gerald up there. My husband made him on our first date fifty years ago" a middle aged lady spoke, filling my gaze towards the wall, "isn't she a beaut?"

I wouldn't call a taxidermy of a dead animal's head beautiful, but to each is their own.

"Uh, um, yes it's very nice... fits well with the decor..?" Okay that came out more of a question, but she didn't notice. She reminds me of Sally with her big nice toothy smile. But that soon turns into shock once she got a better look at me.

"Oh sweetcake, what happened to you? Are you okay?" She pointed out the blood that's soaked on my clothes.

"Oh this? Don't worry, I'm fine, had an accident at work with some... watercolor paint. How much for one room?" I fake a smile, trying to change the subject.

"Regular ones are fifteen. But the cleanest one is thirty," she stated.

"I'll take the clean one," I mumble, taking out  twenty and ten dollar bills, handing them over. She put them in locked box under the cabinets and went over to the display case with keys in them.

"Here you go, sweetcake. Have a nice night." I reply with a 'you too' and walk back outside. I look at the tag on keys.

Room 111

I walk the same path down the cracked pavement, passing the different rooms to find mine. I soon found it and unlocked the door. The lady wasn't lying, it actually looked decent. I closed the door behind me and pulled my phone out my pocket. What I'm about to do is something I should have done when I first got to this town. I press the call button and with one ring he picked up.