"Really?"
"Hyman offered us his cabin for a few days, maybe a week."
"You'd do that?"
"Let me think about it a little more," she said. "I'll be back tonight." She kissed him again and then went to speak with the nurse on duty to review his chart. Satisfied he was doing as well as he should, she left the hospital. He could be released tomorrow, she thought.
Her patrolman escort was parked right beside her car. He's not very subtle about it all, she thought, but then again, such protection wasn't meant to be subtle. She just waved at him and then got into her own vehicle.
When she turned the key, nothing happened. Surprised, she did it again and still, the engine didn't start. It was as if there was no engine, not a sound, nothing.
"What the..."
She did it again and again and then slapped the dashboard as if the car was a disobedient child. Checking her watch, she realized she didn't have time to wait for AAA. Now, she was happy she had a police escort.
She got out of her car and opened the passengers' door of his vehicle.
"My car won't start. You have to get me back to the office," she said. "I have patients lined up to the street."
She slipped in and he put his transmission into reverse and backed out without saying a word. She thought he took off rather quickly, too.
"It's all right. We have a little time," she said.
"Oh, I know," he replied. He turned and looked at her. "We have lots of time now."
Her heart seemed to fold up inside her chest the moment she saw the cleft chin.
He practically tore the man's bathroom apart, throwing things behind him -- pill bottles, cough syrup, deodorants -- until he found what he thought he could use. He hated being a scavenger, but he hated being on the run even more. He would need everything and anything to keep himself strong, protected. Searching the closets he found some sweaters he could wear. On the floor of one closet, he discovered a coffee can stuffed with twenties and fifties, too. Every time he passed through the living room, he paused to thank the corpse.
"Very thoughtful of you to keep cash on hand," he told it. Pictures of what must have been the owner's family were in an album on a shelf of a side table in the living room. Curious, he flipped through it.
"Your parents weren't much better looking," he told the corpse. "Looks like you were an only child, huh? Lucky for the world. It limited the ugly." He laughed at his own cleverness and then, for a moment or two, he considered how much in common he had with this dead man. They were both loners. He actually felt sorry for him, for the motel owner had none of the power he had. He was trapped in this life. What sort of a legacy was this for his parents to have left him?
"Inconsiderate bastards!"
He hated them and began tearing their pictures out of the album and scattering the pieces over the living room floor. The rage took him over for a while and then, suddenly, the sound of a bell froze him. He listened and the bell sounded once more.
"What is that?" he asked the corpse.
Then he rose and peered through the door at the motel office lobby. He saw a tall, dark-haired woman with a far shorter, elderly lady standing there. The woman had short hair and a comely face, with just a light shade of lipstick to give it any brightness. She wore what he thought was a much too heavy dark brown coat. The old lady looked a bit distressed.
He gazed at the corpse as if he expected it would be resurrected at the sound of that bell and go and do its duty. Then, he moved out to the motel lobby slowly.
"Oh, hi," the woman said. She smiled. Her teeth were the best part of her face, he thought, very white, very straight.
"Hi."
"We need a room. We started out a little too early this morning and I'm afraid we got a bit lost. My mother is tired. We need to just have a good day's rest before continuing."
"Where are you going?" he asked. He was really curious about it.
"Oh, we're heading for Raleigh, North Carolina. My mother's older sister is very sick and I promised to take her to see her. I had some vacation due me and took it," she added.
The speed and ease with which she revealed personal information impressed him. First, it was nice to have personal information, and second, it was nice to see someone so trusting, so expecting of compassion and sympathy.
"Sure," he said moving with more enthusiasm now. He looked at the old lady.
"You need to rest, Mom," he said as if he had known her all his life. She didn't smile. She was one of those elderly people who resented people who became too personal too quickly. He could see that, but he ignored it. He turned the sign-in book around and the young woman opened her purse.
"How much is a room?" she asked.
"Thirty-eight fifty," he replied.
She nodded and opened a wallet to take out four tens, which she counted carefully.
"Mom hates credit cards," she whispered. "She thinks it makes people spend way above their means. Is cash all right?"
"Oh, absolutely," he said. "Just sign in and I'll give you the keys to..." He looked at the board of keys and saw the room next to his. "Unit 12. Next to the very end. It will be quiet there for you."
"Oh thank you," she said. "We need to get some rest before we go for some dinner. Are there good places nearby?"
"Oh, absolutely," he said. "When you're ready, just let me know and I'll point you in the right direction."
"Thank you very much."
He turned the book around and saw she had written Erna Walker. Her address was in Rochester, New York.
"What time did you two start out, Erna?" he asked.
"A little before four in the morning. I guess we were a bit too enthusiastic, but this is the longest trip I've taken in a car, and certainly the longest for my mother," she said.
"Well I'm sure you two will get some rest. Do you need help with your luggage?" he asked.
"Oh no. Thank you," she said taking the key.
The old lady had been looking around and he could see she wasn't pleased with the lobby. The walls were too dull and the baseboard was dirty. The floor needed a good vacuuming and washing and the windows needed washing, too. She smirked at him, showing her disapproval.
Old people can be so critical, he thought. They expect everyone to be just like they are.
He watched them return to their car and then drive down to the room. Erna took two small suitcases out of the trunk of her car and then opened the door of the unit. She entered and her mother followed very tentatively. He expected them to come charging out, the old lady complaining about cobwebs or something, but they didn't.
"That's good," he muttered. And then, suddenly, he had an epiphany, an incredibly explosive and wonderful revelation.
That woman was choice. She had a virginal aura about her. Everything in her was fresh and high quality. He could mine her, draw everything he needed, and she had come to him!
In fact, he thought, gazing around, this is what I was thinking of, the fish bowl, my feeding ground. They'll come here. I'll have something in every room. I'll never be without.
He rubbed his hands together. He no longer wanted to jog. The struggle with the motel owner had taken too much of his energy. That troubled him for a few moments. He wasn't usually this tired this fast after something physical. But he rejected all negative and troubling thoughts in light of the good luck he had somehow stumbled upon here. I'll grow very strong and then, when I'm ready, I'll go on.
And on.
And on, forever....
He returned to the living room to thank the corpse.
In a real sense, he should thank all the corpses that trailed behind him. It amused him.
I'll send thank-you cards to cemeteries, he thought, and laughing, felt more like his old self.