Nick paused his reading as his stomach began to rumble and he realized he had not eaten in over 14 hours. After the funeral, he had been struggling to build up an appetite. Food tasted false in his mouth, his tastebuds shriveling and sending repulsion to his brain. For the first time since then, he found genuine hunger.
His clothes were still wet and he put his hand up against the heater along the wall; barely warm. Groaning, he began to put on the wet jeans and jacket, stumbling when a scene flashed through his head:
He was walking down the steps of the motel, almost slipping on the last step as he landed on the ground. He was coming around the building, the lights in the lobby gone, eyes watching him in the dark. He saw a long sharp blade driving into his gut and his wallet dropped to the ground. He could see the gloved hands snatch the billfold and kick rainwater in his face.
When the vision faded from Nick's mind he fell to the floor, wet jeans halfway up his legs. He looked around the room, his pulse thumping in his ears and sweat suddenly forming on his skin as he felt an immense wave of heat wash through his muscles. When he regained control of his body he slowly walked to the window, pulling the curtains back and trying to peer over to where the staircase was, unable to tell if the lobby lights were still on.
Nick shook his head and told himself it was a flareup of his imagination. He still did not know what to make of the journal, but he was insistent on believing it was a script of madness or fantasy. It had to be because he desperately wanted that vision to be nothing more than a fleeting thought. His stomach rumbled again.
There was a Wendy's across the street from The Sleeping Lamb Motel, sign on and light glowing through the windows. Street lamps showed cars racing across the street at uneven intervals. One of the street lamps in the motel parking lot was out, but the distance between the lot and the street wasn't too far…
Nick finished putting on his wet attire and looked at the bills, which were still wet. There was likely nothing left on his card since the room charge went through. He opened the back zipper of the wallet and dumped out all the change: 8 quarters, 3 dimes, 4 nickels, 8 pennies. He shoved the coins into his pocket and grabbed his room key.
Once outside, Nick walked as quickly as he could but kept his mind focused on every step. He kept his hand on the guardrail as he descended the stairs, rain dumping on his damp shoulders. His heart was thumping hard enough to ache and his breath came in shallow bursts as he made it to the ground. On the last step, the vision flashed before him and he stopped. Hand gripping the rail, he steadied his feet and landed safely on the ground. On the ground, he could see the lights of the office glowing through the windows.
Massive pools of rainwater were gathering in the lot and Nick did his best to skip across the puddles, his sneakers continuing to grow soggy, but with no lights in or near the lot, he struggled to avoid wet spots. He was skipping over a thin river of water when he looked up and saw a figure by one of the street lamps. He couldn't see a face, only a dark hoodie, and shadow, a glimmer of something metal as the figure turned away from the light and walked off down the street.
When Nick reached the street he did not look down the street, pulse in his ears, and looked forward to the Wendy's and did not stop until he reached the front door.
'Rundown' would have been a positive way of describing the Wendy's across from The Sleeping Lamb. There were leaks in the ceiling, flickering lights, and a single stoned employee at the register. Nick gripped his wet jacket over his chest, the place somehow colder than the rain. After ordering a Jr hamburger and a cup of water, Nick took a few bites of the burger before he shoved it into his coat jacket. He preferred to face the rain and was suddenly craving the safety feeling he had experienced in his motel room. He jumped into the street as a car was passing by, the vehicle absent of its front lights blaring its horn at him. Nick stumbled on his feet and fell onto his side, rainwater flooding into his jacket. He got back on his feet and sprinted back to the motel.
Fear molded his thoughts as he approached The Sleeping Lamb, the dark staircase waiting in silence, and Nick shuddered at what he might see as he climbed the steps. His body tensed in anticipation while his feet sped up the wet stairs. He ran down the balcony, jammed his key into the door, and ran inside, dropping against the wall as his legs began to shake. He pulled the lock shut and looked out the window. Nothing but dark rain.
Nick unzipped his soaked jacket and groaned again at his unfortunate luck that had been playing on repeat this whole evening. The Wendy's Jr hamburger was squashed against his body, the bun drenched and soggy. He threw the remains of the burger at the wall and shouted a roar of frustration at the top of his lungs. When he was done he forced himself to take deep breaths and focused on his heart rate. It gradually began to lower and he got to his feet and checked the cell phone he had left on the table, glowing with one new notification reading a missed call from Sara. He played the voicemail:
"Hi Nick, it's me. Figured you wouldn't pick up, but I know you're there. I checked your flight and saw it was canceled. Why didn't you call me? I would be happy to let you stay here for the night. I know we left on some ugly ground, but I was going through some of the paperwork for Dad's will and he left some stuff to you. Details I'd rather discuss with you in person, or at least over the phone. Call me when you feel up to it."
Nick wanted to throw the phone at the wall but tried to pull his anger back. He couldn't talk to her yet. He set a reminder alarm on his phone before he put it down on the table and stripped again, this time removing his boxer shorts and putting on the matted robe in the bathroom. He used one of the small towels to dry his hair.
Nick stepped out of the bathroom when his head began to hurt and his vision blurred. Images began to reel behind his eyes:
He was short and had small hands. He could feel the twigs between his fingers as he snapped them and tossed them into a crackling fire. He laughed at the sound and grabbed some pine needles from a nearby tree. He grinned as the fire laughed, popping and sparking like magic. The wind made the sparks drift into the sky, where stars shimmered like a reflection in water.
Dropping to his knees, Nick gripped his skull, about to pull out his hair from the tension he felt in his body. Dizziness drowned him and he tried to keep from planting his face on the floor. He forced oxygen into his lungs and got to his feet. He pushed through thoughts of food and got back into the bed. The heat was still weak, but it was better than the Wendy's, and the old robe on his body was beginning to grow comfortable on his skin. He looked at the journal that sat on the bed, glaring at it for a moment as though an antagonistic object. Then he laughed to himself, rationality trying to tell him it was this strange situation that was starting to make him unwind. But before he could stop himself he grabbed the journal.....