Chereads / Us who were forgotten / Chapter 7 - ...Aren’t all children their parents’ curse?

Chapter 7 - ...Aren’t all children their parents’ curse?

The bar next to the hotel was called the Fountain of Youth. Earlier it was bustling inside, but now it was nearly empty—after all, the bar was closing at 3 AM. A quick glance at the clock showed it was 2:45.

The light at the hotel front desk seemed broken, casting a dim glow—or maybe it was meant to be that way. Behind the counter sat a young man, staring at the computer screen, the cold blue light illuminating his face.

Ethan walked in with his backpack. The bell on the door chimed, and Hex followed behind him. The boy, holding a phone, approached the front desk.

The young man looked exhausted, probably newly assigned to the night shift and still struggling to adjust, which made his mood a bit irritable. He glanced at the boy's phone.

"Name?"

"Ethan Mugridge."

Hex reached into a glass jar nearby and pulled out a mint, tossing it into her mouth. The young man hesitated as he looked at the small girl, then glanced back at Ethan.

...Honestly, that reaction was understandable, but Ethan hadn't expected it. Just when he thought the young man was about to call the police, he shook his head, deciding it wasn't his business.

"Single room?"

"Uh... yes."

He frowned, pulling out a pink plastic package from somewhere and tossing it on the counter along with the key, waving them away impatiently.

They went upstairs, and Ethan tossed the pink plastic bag into the trash, unlocked the door, pushed it open, and turned on the lights. The hotel lighting was dim, the sheets were rough and uncomfortable, the carpet had a strange smell, and a corner of the ceiling was covered in cobwebs. Ethan threw his hiking backpack onto the floor, turned to check the hallway, making sure no one had followed them.

Hex flopped onto the bed...well, there was only one bed, but it couldn't be helped, considering how late they had booked. However, Ethan had absolutely no interest in the skinny little thing in front of him. He checked the room, ensuring there were no bugs or anything of the sort.

"Are you always this cautious?"

She turned over, laughing as she watched him dismantle a table lamp. Ethan froze, still holding a lightbulb. The girl was right, he was being a bit paranoid. If those people really knew they were here, they would have come for them already, and he hadn't found anything suspicious downstairs.

"I've never had to hide from people who would shoot me before."

Ethan replied, putting the bulb back in place, sitting in the chair by the bedside, and pulling out a handgun. Hex threw Ethan's old running shoes, hitting the wall before they fell to the floor. She sat up, crossing her legs behind her and waving her hand.

"Welcome to my world."

"What makes you an expert? Weren't you just like me six months ago?"

Ethan asked, thinking it over, moving the chair to the side of the door under the wall light. He took a pillow from the bed. Who knows if it would actually muffle the sound of the gun, since he'd never tried it—truth be told, he hoped he never would.

"But it's been a more interesting six months than you'd think."

"Really?"

Ethan said, turning off all the lights and closing the curtains, making it look as if no one was inside. It would only fool someone glancing from the street; if they were suspicious, they'd only need to ask the front desk to know if someone was here.

"By the way, didn't we agree to exchange information? It's your turn."

"What do you want to know?"

"Don't play dumb. You know what I want to know."

"My employer?"

"The people you're going to hand me over to tomorrow."

"Alright, a man and a woman. That's all I know, I swear."

"Hmph! You're lying. Come on detective paranoia you couldn't possibly not have investigated them."

The girl sounded upset that Ethan hadn't stuck to their agreement. He was silent for a moment, then spoke.

"The man's name is Yuri Khovansky, the woman's name is Sarah Evans. They're both journalists, supposedly."

The girl didn't respond, only snorted in disdain.

"Evans is based in London. She has a separated husband, no children. Khovansky was born in the former Soviet Union and once worked for TASS; he also currently lives in London. Both are freelancers."

"...That's not important. Are they dangerous?"

"From what I found, you shouldn't be in any danger, but you know better what those people are capable of."

Hex knew he wasn't lying this time... but what he'd said wasn't what she wanted to hear. No matter—she'd just run away tomorrow. He wouldn't be able to stop her. But for tonight, she'd stay. A bed! Soft cushion! She buried her face in the pillow.

"Rest up. We have work tomorrow. I'll stand watch."

Ethan said. The girl didn't reply, but soon, there was a rustling sound from the darkness—she must have undressed and slipped under the covers. The boy sat in the chair, his fingers brushing over the revolver's matte handle. Even fully loaded, the gun weighed just 1,000 grams, but right now, it felt impossibly heavy.

"Hey..."

Hex called out.

"What is it?"

"What's your name?"

"Call me Ethan."

The boy replied, and silence settled between them. A long time passed, and he thought the girl had fallen asleep.

"...Ethan? Why did you save me?"

"Because I could."

"You could, so you did?"

"Why not?"

"...Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Tomorrow, I'm handing you over to another bunch of crazies."

Ethan reminded her, and in the darkness, she revealed her canine, letting out a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing... haha."

"... Wait... did I forget to get you underwear?"

The laughter stopped. No, it shifted to Ethan's face.

"What are you wearing now?"

"I... I'm not... wearing anything."

Her voice grew smaller and smaller until it almost resembles a buzzing mosquito. This time, it was Ethan's turn to laugh, a merciless, mocking laugh.

"Shut up..."

The boy couldn't see it, but her pale face had flushed like a peach. He wiped away the tears of laughter, catching his breath, and asked the question that had always puzzled him.

"Why is your name Hex?"

"...Aren't all children their parents' curse?"

"But they gave you that name."

"They made their feelings about my birth very clear."

"Oh, but you and your parents don't seem to have any major conflicts, right?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"I asked. You never fought, never argued."

"Is that something you can ask, and find out?"

"Of course. How else?"

"Family conflict doesn't have to be about arguments or fights. It's more about the little things, the omnipresent things they can hardly notice."

"Looks like you don't want to go back home."

"I don't have to go home, so I won't. Just like you saved me."

"Oh..."

"Some things you just can't investigate, detective."