Hank watched the car pulling away from his driveway with a sinking feeling. All he remembered was Nisha’s stricken face, her disappointment, disgust, anger and sorrow, each emotion that flitted across her face in those irretrievable moments.
“Hank, honey, are you OK? Come back to bed. What’s wrong, Hank, Hank, HANK?”
He finally heard Donna’s shrill voice shatter the silence in the room. He turned around from the window. He couldn’t bear to see her face anymore. He wanted her gone. He scooped up her clothes from the floor and threw them at her.
“Get dressed and leave!”
He felt as though he was thrashing his arms around in a dense fog that showed no signs of clearing. He wanted to come out of the fog, to reach out and find Nisha at the clearing. Her leaving felt as raw as a severed limb, as an “-ectomy” of some sort. He wanted her back in his life.
He walked into the bathroom and took a look at his face in the mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. He couldn’t understand his infatuation with Donna, couldn’t explain it even to himself, but one thing was certain – she needed to leave.
He walked over to the bar and poured himself a scotch on the rocks. He walked over to the balcony and saw the city lights flashing, the fast-moving traffic, the red taillights and the glaring oncoming headlights. Life elsewhere went on, its rhythm unchecked, while his own lay in pieces, broken shards that reflected back a distorted vision of himself, filling him with self-hatred.
He walked back in to see Donna dressed and poised at the doorstep.
She pointed a long manicured finger at him and said, “This isn’t over yet, Hank! You haven’t seen the last of me!” Then she left, slamming the door behind her.
He didn’t care. He leaned back in his chair, thinking, regretting his recent behavior, replaying memorable moments with Nisha, hearing her laughter, seeing her relax and unwind from the pressures of the day, on this very same reclining chair. He remembered the final look of hurt on her beautiful face. He visualized her driving, speeding away on Route 80 West, eyes clouded over with tears. Then he saw her on a desolate stretch of Route 46, staring up at a crackling neon sign that read - “B-UE-IRD M-TOR INN”. He saw her walk up to the lobby and then up an elevator walking up to Room 613. The brass numbers 613 grew larger in size, until they took over his thoughts completely, swimming in and out of focus, swirling around, making him dizzy and then he saw her sitting in a rocking chair by an open window that looked out into complete darkness. He woke up in a cold sweat, shaking.
Hank rarely spoke about it. Ever since he was a child, he saw things. He could rarely make sense of these visions. The images were disjointed, some vivid, some hazy. They always troubled him but he never could tie them together in a lucid reconstruction. Often he would see things in the news or glance upon a news headline and feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. This time the vision was real enough to make him sit up, it was clear, sinister and, most significantly, it involved Nisha.
He knew what he had to do. Getting dressed in a hurry, he ran out the door and into his car, setting out along Route 80 West.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bluebird Inn - V
“Fancy meeting you here, Clara. Still hanging around?”
He walked toward me, his loping, stumbling gait as ominous as that fateful day. I felt cornered and trapped. His bloodshot eyes looked right into mine and asked, “Why Clara? Why?”
“You were in a murderous rage, you would have killed me. I was scared Tom, so scared!”
“ It came so easy to you, the killing, the first stab…after the first stab…, Clara, why did you keep stabbing me and twisting the knife each time? What did I do to deserve that? I had never struck you, had never laid a finger on you, woman, drunk or sober, never! I never would have hurt you, never!”
“There was no way for me to know that, Tom. I couldn’t take it anymore. You had imprisoned me in a life with no escape. You had snatched away every freedom I ever knew!”
“Well, my dear, there’s something to be said for being six feet under, under a mountain of dirt, worms crawling in and out of every pore, clawing at the darkness, at my eyes, trying to dig out the dirt, trying to see, seeking the faintest ray of light and finding only pitch black, screaming, with no one there to hear me, no wind to carry my stifled voice anywhere. That changed me in ways you can’t imagine. You see Clara, you buried me alive! I still had a breath or two left.”
“B-b-but you were dead! I knew you were dead!”
“Merely unconscious. Imagine opening up your eyes - or struggling to open your eyes under the weight of dirt, clawing at them, blinding yourself, can you imagine that Clara?”
“You were dead, you were dead!”
“ I wasn’t then, but yes, those conditions didn’t support life for long, I did die….I am quite dead now. And after you, all the women who remind me of your simpering, sniveling self have been paying for your crime Clara. Paying with their unfinished lives. That boy hates you Clara but he can’t kill. He can’t take a life. He talks to me every night, describes all our female guests in exquisite detail. He is merely a facilitator, in cleansing the world of cowards like you, one restless soul at a time. Yes we’ve lost a few, due to his incompetence, his resolve crumbles, he ends up calling the ambulance or the authorities and they carry them away on gurneys. But our backyard is filling up rather nicely with women who were buried before they drew their last breaths.”
“ Noooo…..I am not really hearing this, please tell me it isn’t true! You can’t do that to her, she is with child! Show some mercy, please!”
“Mercy….where was your mercy?”
Monday, August 29, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Bluebird Inn - III
I walked up to the window where our guest sat in the rocking chair in the corner, eyes closed, lying back touching her belly in that certain way that could only mean one thing. Room 613 faced the backyard. I knew what I would see there. This was the time of the night when Kevin visited that particular spot. He was kneeling by the tree, his head down. The wind carried his voice upstairs and I heard him say, “Yes Father” every few seconds. I can’t be certain the words were actually spoken but I heard them, every night, at the same time. I kept staring out of the window, looking at Kevin and feeling weighed down by the burden of my actions, my cowardice from twenty years ago.
Our guest continued to rock herself on the antique rocking chair that had been in our family for generations. I had spent many a night on it, rocking baby Kevin to sleep. Strange how one never has an inkling where one’s life or death would take one. I added a push to the rocking chair, startling her. She looked around, wondering what had upset the rhythm of the chair. I had startled her out of her reverie. Then she got up and walked over to the bathroom. I saw her splash some water over her face as if she was trying to wash the dark circles and the puffiness away. I walked up behind her and stood close to her, if I had any breaths left she would have felt my breath rustle the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Then she looked up at the mirror after one final splash of water and saw me in the mirror. I could tell she saw me. The color drained from her face. None of these women had ever been able to see me before. I was as startled as she was. She stared at the red spot of blood on my blouse and the knife sticking out of my chest and was about to let out a scream when I decided to test the theory that this one could probably hear me as well. I spoke and asked her to pick up her stuff and run. She screamed then, a scream he must have heard.
A knock on the door confirmed it. It was Kevin. She was too shell-shocked to get to the door, several minutes passed while Kevin kept knocking, he finally let himself in. He saw her standing there, rooted to the spot and asked, “Ms Alec, are you alright?”
She was shivering now, uncontrollably. A very concerned looking Kevin walked up to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders asking if he could get her anything. He led her to the foot of the bed and sat her down, draping a blanket around her. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down, facing her. He was very patient, inviting confidences, giving her time to compose herself. He asked if he could get her anything to drink, she asked for some water. I had stepped away so she couldn’t see me while Kevin was around. He poured her a glass of water and asked her if he could get anything else. She shook her head and sat there quietly until Kevin asked if she thought it would help to talk. He asked her to unburden herself and to tell him everything. She must have been searching for just such a confidante, a perfect stranger, who would listen to her without passing judgment. I heard her tell her story to Kevin and was saddened. I wished I could sit by her side and comfort her. I watched Kevin comfort her. He was like her best friend, radiating sympathy, gaining her trust completely. She told him all about the events of the day and blamed her screams on the delusions of a troubled mind. She seemed to have relegated my presence to the realm of delusions. Ms Alec was certainly made of sterner stuff than anyone else I had met in these rooms that ended in number 13.
In the past, these women had been terrified by my actions and had run out of the room screaming. Ms Alec was different, she had screamed but she had stood her ground and what complicated matters further was that she could see me and hear me. This changed things. I was standing near the window, contemplating the next move, while trying to keep myself out of her sight when there was a loud knock on the door. Kevin left Ms Alec’s side and got up to answer the door. He opened the door and craned his neck to look in either direction. He appeared not to have noticed anything. He kept looking up and down the hall but saw no one. He couldn’t have. He had never been able to see me either.
I saw him. I saw the shirt he had been wearing that day, blood-stained, every wound I had inflicted raw and visible and a face that wore the perpetually angry expression that I had learned to loath and fear in life. After twenty long years we were sharing the same space again, our seasons in hell about to overflow into two innocent lives, one still unborn.
Kevin walked back to Ms Alec and asked if she would accompany him to the kitchen for a cup of hot cocoa. He told her it would help soothe her nerves. She agreed. They left the room and then he turned to face me.
Our guest continued to rock herself on the antique rocking chair that had been in our family for generations. I had spent many a night on it, rocking baby Kevin to sleep. Strange how one never has an inkling where one’s life or death would take one. I added a push to the rocking chair, startling her. She looked around, wondering what had upset the rhythm of the chair. I had startled her out of her reverie. Then she got up and walked over to the bathroom. I saw her splash some water over her face as if she was trying to wash the dark circles and the puffiness away. I walked up behind her and stood close to her, if I had any breaths left she would have felt my breath rustle the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Then she looked up at the mirror after one final splash of water and saw me in the mirror. I could tell she saw me. The color drained from her face. None of these women had ever been able to see me before. I was as startled as she was. She stared at the red spot of blood on my blouse and the knife sticking out of my chest and was about to let out a scream when I decided to test the theory that this one could probably hear me as well. I spoke and asked her to pick up her stuff and run. She screamed then, a scream he must have heard.
A knock on the door confirmed it. It was Kevin. She was too shell-shocked to get to the door, several minutes passed while Kevin kept knocking, he finally let himself in. He saw her standing there, rooted to the spot and asked, “Ms Alec, are you alright?”
She was shivering now, uncontrollably. A very concerned looking Kevin walked up to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders asking if he could get her anything. He led her to the foot of the bed and sat her down, draping a blanket around her. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down, facing her. He was very patient, inviting confidences, giving her time to compose herself. He asked if he could get her anything to drink, she asked for some water. I had stepped away so she couldn’t see me while Kevin was around. He poured her a glass of water and asked her if he could get anything else. She shook her head and sat there quietly until Kevin asked if she thought it would help to talk. He asked her to unburden herself and to tell him everything. She must have been searching for just such a confidante, a perfect stranger, who would listen to her without passing judgment. I heard her tell her story to Kevin and was saddened. I wished I could sit by her side and comfort her. I watched Kevin comfort her. He was like her best friend, radiating sympathy, gaining her trust completely. She told him all about the events of the day and blamed her screams on the delusions of a troubled mind. She seemed to have relegated my presence to the realm of delusions. Ms Alec was certainly made of sterner stuff than anyone else I had met in these rooms that ended in number 13.
In the past, these women had been terrified by my actions and had run out of the room screaming. Ms Alec was different, she had screamed but she had stood her ground and what complicated matters further was that she could see me and hear me. This changed things. I was standing near the window, contemplating the next move, while trying to keep myself out of her sight when there was a loud knock on the door. Kevin left Ms Alec’s side and got up to answer the door. He opened the door and craned his neck to look in either direction. He appeared not to have noticed anything. He kept looking up and down the hall but saw no one. He couldn’t have. He had never been able to see me either.
I saw him. I saw the shirt he had been wearing that day, blood-stained, every wound I had inflicted raw and visible and a face that wore the perpetually angry expression that I had learned to loath and fear in life. After twenty long years we were sharing the same space again, our seasons in hell about to overflow into two innocent lives, one still unborn.
Kevin walked back to Ms Alec and asked if she would accompany him to the kitchen for a cup of hot cocoa. He told her it would help soothe her nerves. She agreed. They left the room and then he turned to face me.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Bluebird Inn - II
The events of the day had taken a toll on Nisha and she felt drained. An unthinking reflex had carried her away from the slightly ajar bedroom door through which she had glimpsed her shattered dreams. She had dropped her keys as she watched them and they had both looked up to see the shocked expression on her face. He had called out after her but her feet had carried her out the front door and into the car, the tear-filled eyes unable to focus on anything in her path. She had started the car and had briefly glanced up at the bedroom windows, long enough to catch the twitching of the curtains, then she had stepped on the gas and had left his home forever. She had no idea where she was headed. She took the exit for Route 80 West and kept on driving and playing back the last three years of her life.
She had gone to work for the law firm of McDermott, Roberson and Chenault (M,R&C) as an associate. Hank had been a senior partner at the firm. They often ended up on the same legal defense team and she had seen Hank as a mentor. He showed her the ropes, helped hone her skills and sought her assistance in the most difficult and high profile cases. Looking back she wasn’t sure if this was by accident or design. It was just a matter of time before she was too far gone in love, with his mind, his brilliance, the power he exuded. The seduction was complete. She owed her own meteoric rise to him, or so she believed. She had loved him, couldn’t imagine life without him. He was a married man when they met and although this was an initial deterrent it was impossible to ignore the attraction. He had said there was no love lost between him and his estranged wife, that the marriage was on its last legs and it was just a matter of time before the divorce came through. She believed him completely, he sounded sincere, he hadn’t even been living with his wife. He lived alone in a brownstone in the city.
She started spending an occasional night or two there. They often brought work home, work that didn’t last too long once the bottle of wine had been opened, once she ended up on his lap, kissing him, lost in him, work that ended up in the bedroom trailed by a line of shed clothing. Soon enough it became rather pointless for her to maintain a separate residence. It was impossible to wake up at his brownstone and commute cross-town to her own place in order to get dressed for a busy day at work. She started leaving spare clothing, toiletries and bare feminine necessities at his place, before she knew it, within a matter of two exciting, whirlwind years, she had moved in with him.
She now wondered if she would have done this had she been thinking clearly, had she retained even an iota of rational thought and objectivity. But the clarity of hindsight has never proved helpful to anyone. The thrill of the chase, after all, lasts only as long as it takes to get to the finish line. Expectations change, perceptions change almost as soon as a certain milestone is reached, but not quite. The rose-tinted glasses stay on for another year or so. The attraction unabated, the mysteries intact and then things start changing very slowly but surely.
It started with the arrival of Donna, long and tall Donna with her lacquered black, waist length hair and fitted suits with the shortest possible skirts and high-heeled look. She was a recent Yale grad, the newest associate at M, R&C. Hank was impressed with her intelligence and their bedtime conversations often ended up in discussions about Donna’s latest courtroom antics. At the office she was often seen in Hank’s chambers, ostensibly going over the finer points of criminal law but Nisha’s heart skipped several beats every time she noticed them putting their heads together. Hank had also started coming home a little bit later each day. They weren’t working on the same cases anymore ever since she had been promoted to junior partner. Hank used to kiss her goodbye with instructions on whether or not she was to stay up for dinner. He told her how heavy his caseload was and how much of a godsend Donna really was. She had walked into his office once to see his hands caressing the back of Donna’s head looking as if he wanted to drown in the silkiness of those tresses. She was shaken to the core at the sight of the obvious attraction they shared. She had even confronted Hank about it but he had denied it and had said it was all work.
She had convinced herself that all was well until today. She had come home from a week long business trip to Philly where she had been doing some research for a case she was on. She was excited. She had some news to share with Hank. Their lives were going to change forever. She had been feeling slightly unwell for several days now, a persistent queasiness that followed her around. She had felt so ill at one point that she had taken herself to the emergency room at the hospital in Philly. The doctor had smiled at her and given her the news.
She had rushed home and was running, taking two steps at a time, calling out for Hank when she had heard voices from their bedroom. She had slowed down her steps and reaching the door, had turned the knob, cautiously pushing the door open. Her world froze at what she saw inside. Donna astride Hank, she couldn’t even say she had interrupted their lovemaking because it went on uninterrupted, they hadn’t noticed her. After several frozen, catatonic moments, she turned on her heels, blinded by tears, dropping her keys. They noticed her then. But it was too late.
She couldn’t tell how long she had driven. The stars were out now and she found herself in the middle of nowhere. She needed to find a place for the night. She was lost, disheveled, tears still stung her eyes and she started looking around for a place to spend the night. Soon enough, she saw a battered sign for The Bluebird Inn. She took the upcoming exit for Route 46 and nervously pulled into the parking lot of the “B-UE-IRD M-TOR INN”.
She sensed a presence here, something sinister but she put it down to her current state, a heightened awareness and vulnerability. She sat down on the rocking chair near the window of her room and leaning back, closed her eyes, hands caressing her belly in that certain way that could only mean one thing.
She had gone to work for the law firm of McDermott, Roberson and Chenault (M,R&C) as an associate. Hank had been a senior partner at the firm. They often ended up on the same legal defense team and she had seen Hank as a mentor. He showed her the ropes, helped hone her skills and sought her assistance in the most difficult and high profile cases. Looking back she wasn’t sure if this was by accident or design. It was just a matter of time before she was too far gone in love, with his mind, his brilliance, the power he exuded. The seduction was complete. She owed her own meteoric rise to him, or so she believed. She had loved him, couldn’t imagine life without him. He was a married man when they met and although this was an initial deterrent it was impossible to ignore the attraction. He had said there was no love lost between him and his estranged wife, that the marriage was on its last legs and it was just a matter of time before the divorce came through. She believed him completely, he sounded sincere, he hadn’t even been living with his wife. He lived alone in a brownstone in the city.
She started spending an occasional night or two there. They often brought work home, work that didn’t last too long once the bottle of wine had been opened, once she ended up on his lap, kissing him, lost in him, work that ended up in the bedroom trailed by a line of shed clothing. Soon enough it became rather pointless for her to maintain a separate residence. It was impossible to wake up at his brownstone and commute cross-town to her own place in order to get dressed for a busy day at work. She started leaving spare clothing, toiletries and bare feminine necessities at his place, before she knew it, within a matter of two exciting, whirlwind years, she had moved in with him.
She now wondered if she would have done this had she been thinking clearly, had she retained even an iota of rational thought and objectivity. But the clarity of hindsight has never proved helpful to anyone. The thrill of the chase, after all, lasts only as long as it takes to get to the finish line. Expectations change, perceptions change almost as soon as a certain milestone is reached, but not quite. The rose-tinted glasses stay on for another year or so. The attraction unabated, the mysteries intact and then things start changing very slowly but surely.
It started with the arrival of Donna, long and tall Donna with her lacquered black, waist length hair and fitted suits with the shortest possible skirts and high-heeled look. She was a recent Yale grad, the newest associate at M, R&C. Hank was impressed with her intelligence and their bedtime conversations often ended up in discussions about Donna’s latest courtroom antics. At the office she was often seen in Hank’s chambers, ostensibly going over the finer points of criminal law but Nisha’s heart skipped several beats every time she noticed them putting their heads together. Hank had also started coming home a little bit later each day. They weren’t working on the same cases anymore ever since she had been promoted to junior partner. Hank used to kiss her goodbye with instructions on whether or not she was to stay up for dinner. He told her how heavy his caseload was and how much of a godsend Donna really was. She had walked into his office once to see his hands caressing the back of Donna’s head looking as if he wanted to drown in the silkiness of those tresses. She was shaken to the core at the sight of the obvious attraction they shared. She had even confronted Hank about it but he had denied it and had said it was all work.
She had convinced herself that all was well until today. She had come home from a week long business trip to Philly where she had been doing some research for a case she was on. She was excited. She had some news to share with Hank. Their lives were going to change forever. She had been feeling slightly unwell for several days now, a persistent queasiness that followed her around. She had felt so ill at one point that she had taken herself to the emergency room at the hospital in Philly. The doctor had smiled at her and given her the news.
She had rushed home and was running, taking two steps at a time, calling out for Hank when she had heard voices from their bedroom. She had slowed down her steps and reaching the door, had turned the knob, cautiously pushing the door open. Her world froze at what she saw inside. Donna astride Hank, she couldn’t even say she had interrupted their lovemaking because it went on uninterrupted, they hadn’t noticed her. After several frozen, catatonic moments, she turned on her heels, blinded by tears, dropping her keys. They noticed her then. But it was too late.
She couldn’t tell how long she had driven. The stars were out now and she found herself in the middle of nowhere. She needed to find a place for the night. She was lost, disheveled, tears still stung her eyes and she started looking around for a place to spend the night. Soon enough, she saw a battered sign for The Bluebird Inn. She took the upcoming exit for Route 46 and nervously pulled into the parking lot of the “B-UE-IRD M-TOR INN”.
She sensed a presence here, something sinister but she put it down to her current state, a heightened awareness and vulnerability. She sat down on the rocking chair near the window of her room and leaning back, closed her eyes, hands caressing her belly in that certain way that could only mean one thing.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Escape
I had wondered at this proximity,
an intimacy of thoughts, like a nakedness,
unimaginable, a union supreme.
Distances were irrelevant, propinquity -
a word that applied, when our oneness
amazed, silences weren’t rude.
It’s said we seek mysteries; an escape
from the banal but in a meeting
of minds, could banalities intrude?
Perhaps they could if on barren landscapes,
mirages, mere illusions, had sated a longing
undefined. They could serve as preludes
to deconstructed lives scrambling
for slivers of reason to conclude:
the enchantment’s as real as the escape.
an intimacy of thoughts, like a nakedness,
unimaginable, a union supreme.
Distances were irrelevant, propinquity -
a word that applied, when our oneness
amazed, silences weren’t rude.
It’s said we seek mysteries; an escape
from the banal but in a meeting
of minds, could banalities intrude?
Perhaps they could if on barren landscapes,
mirages, mere illusions, had sated a longing
undefined. They could serve as preludes
to deconstructed lives scrambling
for slivers of reason to conclude:
the enchantment’s as real as the escape.
Bluebird Inn - I
It was 9:00 PM, Kevin was about to close up for the night when a car pulled up at the Bluebird Motor Inn. She seemed distraught; her eyes were puffy as if she had been crying for days. She glanced furtively at the crackling neon sign that read, “B-UE-IRD M-TOR INN”. She wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the night here and I could see the uncertainty on her face that lasted less than a second before she resolutely stepped into the lobby.
She asked Kevin if she could get a room for the night. He gave her the once over, running various scenarios in his brain about her special circumstances. He took in her rich clothes, the make of her car, the pearl necklace around her neck and her tear-stained face as he tried to understand what a woman like her was doing on a desolate section of the highway at this hour of the night. He removed the key for Room 613 from the hook on the wall and asked her to fill up her information on the guest card. He asked if she had any luggage but she shook her head, lifting up the valise she was carrying, to emphasize her point.
She made her way to the elevator, glancing behind every few seconds, as if she was expecting to be followed. I studied her face, the tears were flowing unbidden now in the privacy of the elevator. She was definitely the type. I suddenly felt nervous, accosted by a sense of déjà vu. Exactly a month ago, a similar woman, who had appeared to be a victim of reduced circumstances, had motored in and had been carried out on a gurney the next morning, dead of multiple stab wounds. She had been in Room 513. I watched our new guest’s anxious fingers turn the key and enter her room. I came back downstairs and saw Kevin locking up the cash register for the night. He was headed to the block of rooms next door where he lived. I used to live there with him, until that fateful night twenty years ago.
His Dad had come home drunk again. He was staggering around the kitchen, unsatisfied with the dinner that was waiting for him. He was throwing dishes around, slamming the lids on the pots and was about to overturn the kitchen dinette in his rage. I had had enough. I begged him to stop but he came after me, cursing me for the rotten food, his sorry life, my perpetual tears. He started shoving me toward the kitchen counter, cornering me, when I grabbed the kitchen knife and stabbed him. He died instantaneously. I was appalled at what I had done; I stood there in shock and then slowly turned around to see Kevin. Ten-year old Kevin had been cowering in the doorway. He had seen everything. He ran from the room when he realized I had seen him.
I had a son to raise and I certainly didn’t want to be put away for life. I dragged the body outside and buried him in the backyard. I said my prayers, made my peace with God and decided to move on with my life. Everyone believed he had left home in a drunken rage and only Kevin and I knew the truth.
Kevin didn’t talk to me anymore, his dark eyes shone with angry tears and intense hatred every time he looked at me. He wouldn’t come home for days and when he did, he used to pick up his things and leave to spend time at his friend’s place.
Then one morning I found myself gazing at the lifeless body of a woman lying on my bed. She looked like me but there was a knife wound in her chest, bloodstains on her clothes. The police called it an unsolved mystery.
But he didn’t feel avenged. The Bluebird Motor Inn was only frequented by stray travelers now, who knew nothing of its sordid history. I tried to warn them if they happened to be emotionally distraught women. I had tried to write messages on the misted bathroom mirrors asking them to leave, warning them of dire consequences but I only succeeded in frightening them into scurrying out of their rooms, right into his arms. They never trusted what they were seeing. They imagined themselves delusional in their weakened states. This was always the perfect opportunity for him. He got them to open up, to tell him why they had run away from home, from a brutal and insensitive husband or boyfriend. He wiped the tears that he had come to detest as much as his father before him, and pretended to be their best friend. He offered them hot cocoa, which always included a rather strong sleep-inducer.
The bodies were always buried in the grounds that had first been converted into a cemetery by me, our backyard. Their cars were then driven to abandoned lots or junkyards, never to be found.
I had to put a stop to this and I was stronger now. I wasn’t about to leave our guest’s side this evening.
She asked Kevin if she could get a room for the night. He gave her the once over, running various scenarios in his brain about her special circumstances. He took in her rich clothes, the make of her car, the pearl necklace around her neck and her tear-stained face as he tried to understand what a woman like her was doing on a desolate section of the highway at this hour of the night. He removed the key for Room 613 from the hook on the wall and asked her to fill up her information on the guest card. He asked if she had any luggage but she shook her head, lifting up the valise she was carrying, to emphasize her point.
She made her way to the elevator, glancing behind every few seconds, as if she was expecting to be followed. I studied her face, the tears were flowing unbidden now in the privacy of the elevator. She was definitely the type. I suddenly felt nervous, accosted by a sense of déjà vu. Exactly a month ago, a similar woman, who had appeared to be a victim of reduced circumstances, had motored in and had been carried out on a gurney the next morning, dead of multiple stab wounds. She had been in Room 513. I watched our new guest’s anxious fingers turn the key and enter her room. I came back downstairs and saw Kevin locking up the cash register for the night. He was headed to the block of rooms next door where he lived. I used to live there with him, until that fateful night twenty years ago.
His Dad had come home drunk again. He was staggering around the kitchen, unsatisfied with the dinner that was waiting for him. He was throwing dishes around, slamming the lids on the pots and was about to overturn the kitchen dinette in his rage. I had had enough. I begged him to stop but he came after me, cursing me for the rotten food, his sorry life, my perpetual tears. He started shoving me toward the kitchen counter, cornering me, when I grabbed the kitchen knife and stabbed him. He died instantaneously. I was appalled at what I had done; I stood there in shock and then slowly turned around to see Kevin. Ten-year old Kevin had been cowering in the doorway. He had seen everything. He ran from the room when he realized I had seen him.
I had a son to raise and I certainly didn’t want to be put away for life. I dragged the body outside and buried him in the backyard. I said my prayers, made my peace with God and decided to move on with my life. Everyone believed he had left home in a drunken rage and only Kevin and I knew the truth.
Kevin didn’t talk to me anymore, his dark eyes shone with angry tears and intense hatred every time he looked at me. He wouldn’t come home for days and when he did, he used to pick up his things and leave to spend time at his friend’s place.
Then one morning I found myself gazing at the lifeless body of a woman lying on my bed. She looked like me but there was a knife wound in her chest, bloodstains on her clothes. The police called it an unsolved mystery.
But he didn’t feel avenged. The Bluebird Motor Inn was only frequented by stray travelers now, who knew nothing of its sordid history. I tried to warn them if they happened to be emotionally distraught women. I had tried to write messages on the misted bathroom mirrors asking them to leave, warning them of dire consequences but I only succeeded in frightening them into scurrying out of their rooms, right into his arms. They never trusted what they were seeing. They imagined themselves delusional in their weakened states. This was always the perfect opportunity for him. He got them to open up, to tell him why they had run away from home, from a brutal and insensitive husband or boyfriend. He wiped the tears that he had come to detest as much as his father before him, and pretended to be their best friend. He offered them hot cocoa, which always included a rather strong sleep-inducer.
The bodies were always buried in the grounds that had first been converted into a cemetery by me, our backyard. Their cars were then driven to abandoned lots or junkyards, never to be found.
I had to put a stop to this and I was stronger now. I wasn’t about to leave our guest’s side this evening.