Hell's Hotel by Lesley Choyce Page A

with him. Come on, I’ll take you someplace safe.”
    Rob had his hand on Jenn’s arm, but when he saw the fire in Tara’s eyes, he let go. He put his hands up in the air. “Okay, sorry,” he said. “Jenn, you decide. It’s up to you.”
    Tara wished just then she could reach into Jenn’s mind and give her strength; she wished so hard she could do something more. Jenn looked scared, and shaken. It was the victim’s role that Jenn was all too familiar with.
    Jenn pulled herself together. “It’s okay,” she told Tara. “It’s okay now,” and she walked off with Rob, towards the ferry terminal.
    Tara wanted to scream. She wanted to stop this from happening, but she didn’t know how to break the control that Rob had over her friend. She wanted to catch up to them and say that, if anything happened to Jenn, she would make him regret it. As they walked away, Rob’s attitude towards Jenn appeared gentle, almost fatherly. Tara knew, though, that things would be different once they were in his apartment. She stood with her fists clenched and pounded them against the stone wall. She felt like there was nothing she could do and maybe she was losing her only true friend. For good.

Losing Emma
    When her parents came home from their weekend at White Point Lodge, Tara had an instinct that something was wrong. First, they both hugged her. They hadn’t done that for a long time. They had brought her presents, too — a silver bracelet and matching necklace. What was this? Did they feel guilty for leaving her alone for the weekend? She was sixteen. She was dependable. The pizza boxes were still sitting out on the kitchen table, but Tara’s mom looked at the mess and said nothing. Tara was hoping her parents would yell at her, but they didn’t. So she thanked them for the jewellery and asked if they’d had a fun time.
    â€œI don’t exactly know if you could call it fun,” her father said.
    â€œWe have to talk,” her mother said to her. They all sat down in the living room. Her father clicked the TV on, but put it on mute. Ugly images of the result of a suicide bomber somewhere in the Middle East filled the big-screen TV.
    â€œJust listen to your mother, Tara, before you say anything.” Her father was talking in that very calm, professional way that he did when he was working at the hospital or talking on the phone to his colleagues.
    â€œI’m going to be moving out,” Tara’s mom said. “I want you to know that there’s nobody to blame. Your father and I don’t hate each other. We’re still good friends.”
    â€œAnd we both still love you very much,” he added.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” How could her mother be moving out? Her parents were separating? They never argued, they never fought; they were never together long enough to fight or argue.
    â€œI shoulder most of the responsibility,” her mother continued, trying to sound calm and rational. “I feel like I’m just beginning to grow. It’s partly the photography, but it’s other things, too. I feel like I’ve never had the chance to have my own life. And I want that now.”
    â€œI can understand that,” Tara said. “But why do you have to live somewhere else?”
    â€œIt’s hard to explain. I guess part of it is that I just need my independence.That’s why we went to the lodge, to try and figure this out. But we came to the conclusion that I have to try this, for me. I’m going to move to Vancouver. I’ve been admitted into a new photography school. The teachers are some of the best photographers from around the world. I’ve got an old girlfriend out there who says there are lots of new galleries opening up. She’ll help me get established. It’s what I always wanted. It’s my chance to do something. You can understand that, can’t you?”
    A