1 | The Motel
Pierce's Point of View
I never anticipated that the fragment of me, who I am, was going to be shattered into a million pieces; tainted by bullets and blood before I had the chance to become whole.
Stepping away from the curb, I watch the bus continue its journey along the road. Why couldn't I stay on the bus? Why does this have to be the last stop?
I'm startled by a young boy dressed in a black hoodie sprinting down the pathway. His bright white sneakers hit the pathway in an uneven pattern as he struggles to hold a small television screen within the confines of his arms.
"Stop that hooligan," shouts a man. "He's stolen my television!" The old man's footsteps are in sync with the erratic beat of my heart. After a minute, he stops in the middle of the road, the boy is no match for him.
I watch him like a hawk, my focus tied to the unfolding scene. The man reaches for a bulging object inside his leather jacket and it strikes a chord of fear in my heart.
Tugging my hooded jacket closer to my body, I bow my head and walk in the opposite direction. My luggage creates a pattern of noise in the background which only urges my feet to move quicker. I can't stay on the streets.
I follow the nicer looking pathway to get away from it. The white painted strip down the middle of the road doesn't only separate the road into sections, but perhaps the town.
With luck, I stumble upon a red bricked building with a large neon sign with 'motel' written in orange lighting. I push the door open and sigh with relief. I'm not completely safe, but the alternative feels better.
An echo of a bang radiates through the door which makes me jump to attention. My fingernails gitterishly tap against the worn out mahogany desk as I wait for the petite woman to address me. I notice her curly red hair cascading over her shoulder. The woman continues to scrawl across a page until her mushy pea green eyes flicker to me.
"How can I help you?" she inquires.
"Could I please get a room for one?"
"Ahh . . . yes." The young lady collects the stack papers from the desk and passes them to the side. She grabs the cordless mouse and shakes it back and forth. The noisy fans in the computer hum to life as the faded yellow computer turns on.
I nervously glance over my shoulder and wait. It's not until the receptionist coughs, that my eyes leave the door.
"How long will you be staying?" .
"Oh, um." I stare at my hands. "I'm not sure," I admit. I hadn't thought about things that far in advance.
"How about a weekly payment plan?"
"Yes, thank you." I nod.
"I'll need a name and a deposit on the room."
"Pierce Davenport." I glance at the door as I grab my wallet from my pocket, and then I slip a few notes across the counter.
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.
Scarlett pushes the door open and wanders through. Instead of sitting at a booth, she takes a seat on the ruby red stool. I sit beside her and glance over the large menus pasted on the back wall.
"It smells good in here," I comment.
"Bruce is one of the best cooks around here," she explains.
An older waitress rushes out from the back but frowns when she sees me. The woman stops to stand in front of Scarlett but her doe brown eyes stay glued to me.
"Can we get two-morning specials, Gloria?"
"Sure." She nods.
"You know it's almost dinner time?" I ask.
"So?" She laughs.
Gloria swiftly returns with two large plates, one in each hand. She places it on the bench and then wanders off to serve another customer.
"That's Gloria, she's one of the good ones and knows everything about anyone. The diner is popular like that," Scarlett explains.
"How often do you work at the motel?"
"Too much." She laughs.
"Do you like it here?"
"It's a little rough on the outside." She shrugs her shoulders. "But it is home."
"I like that," I reply.
"So!" Scarlett munches on a piece of bacon as she swivels on her stool. "The diner is the center point of this small area. Anything from the hill to the left side is fine, but anything to the right is where you wanna stay clear."
"Right!" I mumble. I didn't need to be told to stay away from danger.
"There's two gangs that share the territory. They are always doing something stupid." It's only now that I notice the black and white tags scattered across the buildings.
Their lack of colour only excels the idea that happiness doesn't live here. It really is the last stop.
"I won't go there." I laugh. "Anything else around here?"
"There's an old movie theater a couple of streets away. Nothing interesting ever plays there, except if you're interested in foreign films."
"I think I could rock those films." I nervously chuckle.
Scarlett and I finish our food and then insists on paying for the meal. I let it slide with the intention of paying next time. We leave the diner and walk back to the motel in silence until I reach the bottom of the stairs.
"Thank you, for the food and information," I say.
Her freckled cheeks flush the lightest shade of pink. A strand of red hair brushes across her face as Scarlett looks down.
"It's nice to see a new face around." She shrugs her shoulders.
A door behind the office desk slides open and an older man steps out. He must be in his late twenties, but the short buzz cut adds to his age.
"Scarlett?" He frowns.
"Peirce, this is Ricky, the owner."
"It's nice to meet you. I hope you're finding the motel satisfying." While his voice is light and casual, his beady eyes are gloomy and piercing.
"Exceptional." I nod.
With a light smile, Ricky turns to talk with Scarlett. I shoot her one last smile before leaping up the stairs. I slip into my room and quickly shut the door behind me.
My back rests against the door as I stop and think about everything that has happened. Maybe there's no such thing as new beginnings? At least I could rest on the idea that I've survived the day and that's what counts.
The chapter is dedicated to Tash because you are an amazing human being.
Feedback is appreciated! Just lay it on me like whipped cream.