until I was supposed to meet Reverend Danthers, so we decided to watch TV.
“Do we have any ice left?” Mary asked me. I looked over into our little pail on my nightstand and saw it was mostly water.
“You need some right now?” I asked.
“If you don’t mind,” she said. I smiled, for I couldn’t say no to her, especially when she spoke with that sweet voice and gave me the puppy dog eyes.
“I’ll get some ice, and do you want anything from the vending machine?”
“No thanks,” Mary replied. I took the ice pail, dumped the water out, and went to fill it.
The ice machine was not more than a few minutes from our room, by the stairs to the upper floor. I stuck the bucket under the spout on a little platform, pressed the red button, and waited for it to fill. I looked across the sidewalk and saw a car in the parking lot. A woman in the passenger’s seat looked a little adamant about keeping her husband away from her. I rolled my eyes. Get a room, seriously , I thought. I mean, we are at a motel . When the bucket was filled, I turned back toward my room. The woman got out of the car and bolted. The man just fidgeted around in his seat. He looked like he didn’t even know how to work a seatbelt. I figured he was drunk, and laughed a little.
When I got to our room, the television was muted, and I heard the toilet flush. Mary came out of the bathroom, smiled, and took the bucket.
“Thanks, Steve,” she said. She got herself some ice water, and we sat down to watch the movie. Before we could even switch it on we heard a blood-curdling scream.
“What is wrong with you, Eric? No, let go! Fucking get off!” There was another scream. It sounded like it was next door. I exchanged a worried expression with Mary.
“What the hell?” I said. We heard a loud thud, a gunshot that made both of us jump, and then crying and heavy breathing. Mary and I hunkered down low and waited a minute, but all we heard was crying.
“I’m going to go check things out,” I said.
“No, just stay here, please,” Mary said.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
“Be careful, Steven.”
I cautiously stood up and went to my bag. I withdrew my handgun from the side pocket and went to the door. The sun was low in the sky, but the birds were still chirping a little as I moved to the next-door window. What I saw made my stomach turn. The woman was sitting on her bed, hunched over, holding her wrist, and she was still crying. The man, who I assumed was Eric, was lying on the floor with a hole in his head. Despite my better judgment, I knocked on the window. The woman looked up, came over to the door, and opened it for me.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“Look at my wrist,” she said. “My husband bit me. He just freaked out and took a fucking chunk out of my arm!”
“Wha—are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding you?” she said. I realized how stupid a question that was. “Does it fucking look like I slit my wrist? A knife with human teeth? Really?”
“I’m sorry.” I heard something from the parking lot, and when I looked I saw a couple of people walking toward us. They looked a little disoriented, like they had just gotten off the teacup ride at Disneyland. “Who are they?” I asked, not really thinking the woman would know, but I asked anyway.
“Hell if I know,” she replied. This was followed by a sigh, and some tears. “Are you alone here?”
“No, my wife and I are visiting,” I said. “Will you let us help you out?”
“I’d appreciate that,” the woman said.
“All right, cover the wound with something as best you can, and I’ll get my wife, and we’ll go.” The woman nodded, and tore a scrap from the bedsheet to wrap around her wrist. I tucked my gun into my pants, and led the woman out.
“I’m Steven Fletcher, what’s your name?”
“Carly Westwick.” I nodded, and smiled. We went next door and I began speaking right as I came in.
“Mary, we’ve got a bit
“Do we have any ice left?” Mary asked me. I looked over into our little pail on my nightstand and saw it was mostly water.
“You need some right now?” I asked.
“If you don’t mind,” she said. I smiled, for I couldn’t say no to her, especially when she spoke with that sweet voice and gave me the puppy dog eyes.
“I’ll get some ice, and do you want anything from the vending machine?”
“No thanks,” Mary replied. I took the ice pail, dumped the water out, and went to fill it.
The ice machine was not more than a few minutes from our room, by the stairs to the upper floor. I stuck the bucket under the spout on a little platform, pressed the red button, and waited for it to fill. I looked across the sidewalk and saw a car in the parking lot. A woman in the passenger’s seat looked a little adamant about keeping her husband away from her. I rolled my eyes. Get a room, seriously , I thought. I mean, we are at a motel . When the bucket was filled, I turned back toward my room. The woman got out of the car and bolted. The man just fidgeted around in his seat. He looked like he didn’t even know how to work a seatbelt. I figured he was drunk, and laughed a little.
When I got to our room, the television was muted, and I heard the toilet flush. Mary came out of the bathroom, smiled, and took the bucket.
“Thanks, Steve,” she said. She got herself some ice water, and we sat down to watch the movie. Before we could even switch it on we heard a blood-curdling scream.
“What is wrong with you, Eric? No, let go! Fucking get off!” There was another scream. It sounded like it was next door. I exchanged a worried expression with Mary.
“What the hell?” I said. We heard a loud thud, a gunshot that made both of us jump, and then crying and heavy breathing. Mary and I hunkered down low and waited a minute, but all we heard was crying.
“I’m going to go check things out,” I said.
“No, just stay here, please,” Mary said.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
“Be careful, Steven.”
I cautiously stood up and went to my bag. I withdrew my handgun from the side pocket and went to the door. The sun was low in the sky, but the birds were still chirping a little as I moved to the next-door window. What I saw made my stomach turn. The woman was sitting on her bed, hunched over, holding her wrist, and she was still crying. The man, who I assumed was Eric, was lying on the floor with a hole in his head. Despite my better judgment, I knocked on the window. The woman looked up, came over to the door, and opened it for me.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“Look at my wrist,” she said. “My husband bit me. He just freaked out and took a fucking chunk out of my arm!”
“Wha—are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding you?” she said. I realized how stupid a question that was. “Does it fucking look like I slit my wrist? A knife with human teeth? Really?”
“I’m sorry.” I heard something from the parking lot, and when I looked I saw a couple of people walking toward us. They looked a little disoriented, like they had just gotten off the teacup ride at Disneyland. “Who are they?” I asked, not really thinking the woman would know, but I asked anyway.
“Hell if I know,” she replied. This was followed by a sigh, and some tears. “Are you alone here?”
“No, my wife and I are visiting,” I said. “Will you let us help you out?”
“I’d appreciate that,” the woman said.
“All right, cover the wound with something as best you can, and I’ll get my wife, and we’ll go.” The woman nodded, and tore a scrap from the bedsheet to wrap around her wrist. I tucked my gun into my pants, and led the woman out.
“I’m Steven Fletcher, what’s your name?”
“Carly Westwick.” I nodded, and smiled. We went next door and I began speaking right as I came in.
“Mary, we’ve got a bit
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