Absolute Dark - Six

Chapter Six — Take These Back

The convoy passes, and my mind shrugs, strange, but I'm exhausted. The door to the front office opens easily with bells jingling above my head as I walk into a very red lobby.

An old woman with a beehive haircut sits behind glass, watching a small TV and a smoking cigarette. I drop my bags a bit louder than I meant to as I walk toward her and her eyes lift up my way.

She smiles and decades of smoke show on her admittedly kind & inviting grin. I muster all the energy I have left, "Hello Miss, I'm Abigail and I'm looking for a room, for about a week."

She coughs a bit and I'm instantly thankful for the glass separating us. "Well aren't you sweet Abigail, I am Martha and I have a wonderful room available for you dear."

She asks for my ID and a credit card, both of which I provide.

After looking at my ID, she isn't so much rude, as she is curt.

"There, um here you go Miss Abernathy."

The keys hit the counter and I scoop them up. Smiling as thanks and turning around, I grab my bags and head for the door.

The bells jingle above me once more, jostling my tired mind. The lot is in good shape as is the building, I start to wonder when this place was built, but the thought escapes me as my bags hit the floor in my room.

I turn on the tube TV, pour a glass of Jim Beam and head into the shower.

Spacing out, hot water softens my bones, finally relaxing my body for the first time in days.

While I'm cleaning, I start to linger on my nipples and my holes, fantasizing about hands of all genders grabbing, massaging, biting, and penetrating me.

I use the pitch black void to release my own pressure, in my mind I see and feel hands, male and female bodies touching and fucking each other, & myself, sweat and cum all over us. 

Climax brings me to my knees, and I gradually slide onto my back, sighing & breathing my way back to reality.

Everything washing away with the current. 

I turn off the shower, steam clinging to my skin, and the familiar hum of the TV fills the silence of the room.

The laugh track still grates on my ears, but my mind's far from the absurd sitcom on screen.

I'm sitting there now, glass in hand, the amber liquid swirling like a dream.

It's about this time that I really start to think about Martha at the front desk. Why was she so sweet to me, then so plain, as if a minute from fear or anger.

What changed? I start to feel drowsy, then I have a thought, "She saw my name… Coraline's last name".

This rings out into the void.

Suddenly, the screen cuts to black. No more sitcom. Just static.

And then, something is there. A name, slowly appearing in the grainy fuzz of the screen. Coraline's last name.

I read it, over and over, but it doesn't make sense. Why does it sound so familiar? Why does she feel like she's me?

Before I can make sense of it, the static grows louder. The hum becomes a roar, vibrating against my skull.

My body is heavy, weighed down, and as I try to stand, the room begins to twist—walls folding in on themselves, like the pages of an old book.

The roar drowns out everything, and I hear Martha's voice again, echoing, "Don't look too closely, dear."

I jerk awake, drenched in sweat, the TV still flickering in the corner of the room, but it's silent now—just static.

My eyes shoot open at 3am, or so the desk side clock informs me.

The ancient television illuminating my room, I brush my teeth and wash my face. That little bit of sleep gives my mind a swift kick in the ass and all the weird shit starts to really creep me out.

A black military convoy, this strange motel, & then there is Terry sending weird ass messages then dipping off of several social media platforms? I open up my bags, digging past socks and tops feeling for it with my fingers.

As a journalism student, I find these tools fascinating, as a citizen, but I get why people find it weird that I have a radio frequency detector, and you'd be surprised what you can find in the average motel room.

Where I felt annoyed with my tired self before, I'm just a bit furious now.

Forcing myself to trace the detector along the seams of the walls, the phone, furniture and everywhere else I can think of.

Looking down on the table, I examine 5 audio bugs I was able to find, sipping much needed water. I get dressed and unlock my back window.

I've decided to wear my most durable clothes for the rest of this trip, a lot of tight black denim under baggier, thick hoodie & pants. Putting the audio bugs in my pocket before leaving the room.

I want to think my drastic wardrobe change is the reason Martha was visibly shaken when her doors' bells jingle once more and I stroll back through. I ask for a map of the area and she provides it in the same curt manner as before.

When she turned I was able to see that all other room keys remain on their respective hooks.

I know I drove into town looking like a bit of a lazy bum, then came back early in the morning wearing what amounts to tactical gear in comparison, so I smile more than I normally would.

Even though I start to wonder when Martha goes home for the night.

I tell her that I won't need housekeeping for the week I've paid up, and she assures me that's okay. So I walk back out into the lot, passing by my door and stopping at the next room over.

I kneel down, pulling out my lock picking tools, determined to make short work of the simple door knob.

My heart beats infuriatingly, the road is dead, the lot and therefore the motel is deader. All I've got to worry about is Martha.

I know I'm not being watched, but this whole place just feels wrong now that I've had a few hours of sleep. In under 4 seconds the door pops open and I'm in.

This room looks exactly like the one I'm staying in, so it's short work checking the four corners of the room and the bathroom.

I get a little angrier after seeing the bathroom, like the rest of this room, is bug free.

I plop the ones from my room into their corresponding spots in this room with a smile on my face.

I lock this rooms front door and open it's back window, hop out, shove it shut again, listening for the auto locking click, then hop into my room.

I can't imagine I needed to do it this way, but the idea of even one car going by while I exit this room drove me to it.

I've heard one too many a horror story from a colleague about being caught spying for a story, just hearing that story was enough for me to almost always err on the side of caution.

I land on my ass with a light thud, then I hop up & close the window, clicking it locked.

I scarf down a protein bar that tastes like cardboard. I ripped off the sheets from the bed and tied them above the front window, obscuring the few spots spying eyes could utilize.

I let out a "Fuck Abi…" as I pour another drink, down it and pour another.

Rummaging through my bags I find my sheets, throw them onto the bed then lay out my tech equipment. After making the bed I open the map Martha gave me on the table, pop on my reading glasses and get to work marking down places of interest.

The police station, Coraline's apartment, Terry's, a local diner and the numerous hiking trails that run through and around the town.

This isn't quite a real map, but it's not the cartoon map you might find in addition to actual maps in most motels.

I couldn't care less as long as it's accurate, I just find it strange that there is no year markings or information about the towns founding.

I set up my computer and mini-printer on the motel room table, print out the pictures Terry sent me, as well as relevant communication & updated profile pictures of the few girls from Coraline's friends list I wanted to interview, and this Violet woman.

I post all this information all up on the map, and I lay down while searching for information about Brightmane again, and again, not nearly enough of note.

According to Wikipedia, it still barely exists.

The town is well populated compared to what it should be however, and quite a bit bigger than any website says. Still, I know I must have misread that sign on the way into town.

I double check the locks on the door and window while I put my equipment on the desk and side tables, then lay down fully clothed, heart beat slowly returning to normal.

I need one more batch of hours for this, hoping dreams do not embrace me.

I force myself to sleep, thinking of being held by Jane in the warm summer sun, the sun slowly burning my skin.