left.
For
a few minutes I sat on the bed and tried to warm up. The protective plastic
crackled noisily every time I moved. I was afraid if I waited too long I'd end
up stuck to the plastic, stuck here all night, hungry but still too buzzed to
sleep.
Plus,
I needed a drink. I peeled off my jacket and held it above the heater until the
room started to smell a little bit too much like me, slung it back on and went
outside.
I
headed for my car, walking past Room I. Without warning the door flew open. I
ducked as a man stumbled onto the sidewalk. When he saw me, he backed up,
smacking his head against the door.
"Hey,
watch it," I said and edged away from him.
He
rubbed his head and glared at me. "Goddamit, that hurts. What, are you
lost?"
"No.
I was leaving my room. I didn't know anyone else was here."
"Yeah,
well you're sure acting like no one else is here."
He
stared at me—a tall, lanky guy about fifteen years younger than me, with
shoulder-length dark brown hair, a wide mouth, aquiline nose, wire-rimmed
glasses. He wore corduroy jeans and a suede jacket over a white shirt, none of
them very clean. After a moment he shoved his glasses against his nose and gave
me a wry smile. It made him look younger but also oddly familiar. I had a spike
of amphetamine panic. Could this guy know me?
Unexpectedly
he laughed. There was nothing overtly sinister about that, but I felt such a
powerful rush of fear—not just fear but genuine terror—that everything went
dark: not just dark outside, but dark inside my skull, like there'd been an
abrupt disconnect between my mind and my retinas. The only thing I can compare
it to is what I felt the one time I shot heroin: a black wave that buries you
before you even know it's there.
Damage. This guy reeked of it.
I
backed away and glanced down at his hand. A scar ran from his middle finger to
his wrist, as though someone had tried writing on his flesh with a knife. When
I lifted my head, he was still staring at me.
"You
don't belong here," he said.
His
eyes were such a pale brown they were almost yellow. The left iris held a tiny
starburst just above the pupil, emerald-green, rayed with black. It made me
think of the trajectory a bullet makes through thick glass; it made me think of
that scar on his hand, and how I'd seen it, him, somewhere.
But
Id never seen this man before. I knew that. My brain is hardwired for recalling
bodies, eyes, skin; I absorb them the way emulsion paper absorbs light. I would
no more have forgotten that scar, or that iris's imploded green, than I would
have forgotten my own face in the mirror. I continued to stare at him, until he
began to lift his hand.
Without
a word I darted past him toward my car. He took a step after me, stopped. I
jumped into the Taurus and locked the doors, fired up the engine and the
headlights. The windshield was glazed with frozen mist; I waited for it to
defrost then peered out.
The
man was gone. My hands were shaking so much the steering wheel trembled. I
definitely needed to eat something and then try to sleep. My car was halfway
out the parking lot before I realized I'd left my bag in the room.
I
swore and glanced back at the motel office. The lights were on, and I could see
a figure seated in the alcove—Mackenzie—and another, taller, figure: the guy
I'd just bumped into. I sat in the car and waited until he stepped out of the
office and walked over to an older gray Volvo sedan, watched as he drove off.
Then I hopped out and ran back inside my motel room. I grabbed my bag and Deceptio
Visus —I wanted something to hide behind while I ate. No more small talk
with the natives. I headed back outside to my car then stopped.
The
door of the room next to mine was ajar—in the confusion of running into me, my
neighbor had forgotten to close it. As I watched, a gust of wind pushed it open
another inch.
I
hesitated then stepped over and placed my hand on the doorknob.
"Hello?"
The hairs on my arms rose as I thought of that
For
a few minutes I sat on the bed and tried to warm up. The protective plastic
crackled noisily every time I moved. I was afraid if I waited too long I'd end
up stuck to the plastic, stuck here all night, hungry but still too buzzed to
sleep.
Plus,
I needed a drink. I peeled off my jacket and held it above the heater until the
room started to smell a little bit too much like me, slung it back on and went
outside.
I
headed for my car, walking past Room I. Without warning the door flew open. I
ducked as a man stumbled onto the sidewalk. When he saw me, he backed up,
smacking his head against the door.
"Hey,
watch it," I said and edged away from him.
He
rubbed his head and glared at me. "Goddamit, that hurts. What, are you
lost?"
"No.
I was leaving my room. I didn't know anyone else was here."
"Yeah,
well you're sure acting like no one else is here."
He
stared at me—a tall, lanky guy about fifteen years younger than me, with
shoulder-length dark brown hair, a wide mouth, aquiline nose, wire-rimmed
glasses. He wore corduroy jeans and a suede jacket over a white shirt, none of
them very clean. After a moment he shoved his glasses against his nose and gave
me a wry smile. It made him look younger but also oddly familiar. I had a spike
of amphetamine panic. Could this guy know me?
Unexpectedly
he laughed. There was nothing overtly sinister about that, but I felt such a
powerful rush of fear—not just fear but genuine terror—that everything went
dark: not just dark outside, but dark inside my skull, like there'd been an
abrupt disconnect between my mind and my retinas. The only thing I can compare
it to is what I felt the one time I shot heroin: a black wave that buries you
before you even know it's there.
Damage. This guy reeked of it.
I
backed away and glanced down at his hand. A scar ran from his middle finger to
his wrist, as though someone had tried writing on his flesh with a knife. When
I lifted my head, he was still staring at me.
"You
don't belong here," he said.
His
eyes were such a pale brown they were almost yellow. The left iris held a tiny
starburst just above the pupil, emerald-green, rayed with black. It made me
think of the trajectory a bullet makes through thick glass; it made me think of
that scar on his hand, and how I'd seen it, him, somewhere.
But
Id never seen this man before. I knew that. My brain is hardwired for recalling
bodies, eyes, skin; I absorb them the way emulsion paper absorbs light. I would
no more have forgotten that scar, or that iris's imploded green, than I would
have forgotten my own face in the mirror. I continued to stare at him, until he
began to lift his hand.
Without
a word I darted past him toward my car. He took a step after me, stopped. I
jumped into the Taurus and locked the doors, fired up the engine and the
headlights. The windshield was glazed with frozen mist; I waited for it to
defrost then peered out.
The
man was gone. My hands were shaking so much the steering wheel trembled. I
definitely needed to eat something and then try to sleep. My car was halfway
out the parking lot before I realized I'd left my bag in the room.
I
swore and glanced back at the motel office. The lights were on, and I could see
a figure seated in the alcove—Mackenzie—and another, taller, figure: the guy
I'd just bumped into. I sat in the car and waited until he stepped out of the
office and walked over to an older gray Volvo sedan, watched as he drove off.
Then I hopped out and ran back inside my motel room. I grabbed my bag and Deceptio
Visus —I wanted something to hide behind while I ate. No more small talk
with the natives. I headed back outside to my car then stopped.
The
door of the room next to mine was ajar—in the confusion of running into me, my
neighbor had forgotten to close it. As I watched, a gust of wind pushed it open
another inch.
I
hesitated then stepped over and placed my hand on the doorknob.
"Hello?"
The hairs on my arms rose as I thought of that
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