He was able to remember a time when anticipation was a sweet thing. It was almost as if a bell went off inside him then and a clock began ticking. As vague as time was, he realized that it wasn't very long ago when it was always that way. There was a signal to go hunting, but without the intensified urgency he now experienced. Or should he say, suffered, because he didn't enjoy it, not at all. He felt like an addict in withdrawal, writhing in agony, ready to claw up the walls in fact.
Something within him was clawing up his walls now. In his imagination, he saw an ugly, rodent with sharp talons stripping away his flesh, leaping from side to side and crying with a piercing shrill metallic sound that reverberated through his bones and into his head. He actually put his hands over his ears and pressed as hard as he could to stop it. That didn't work. Only one thing would work. Every living thing enjoyed some pleasure when it fed as long as it wasn't in the midst of starvation where gorging of food and nutrition took place. Once, he had participated in a sweet sexual fine dining. Now, he was like a ravaging beast who would eat away its own body.
He blamed it all on the amount of energy he had expended killing the ugly motel owner. The intensity of that struggle drained him of more than he had imagined. That realization added anger to lust and he returned to the corpse to deliver a revengeful kick at the dead man's jaw. It looked as if it cracked. Of course, that wasn't enough to satisfy him. He had to go elsewhere for what he really needed.
He went back out front and gazed at the motel units. The plain-looking woman and her mother had not emerged from their room yet. They were still resting before dinner. Well that was a pleasure he couldn't have. He couldn't rest before his dinner. He envied them for their calmness, their toleration. To be able to sleep and put off feeding was a wonderful thing. His envy quickly turned into resentment. Why should they have this power, for that was what it really was: a power?
The most skillful and effective hunters were the ones that had the strength to restrain themselves, to take their time, to study and wait and pounce when it was most advantageous to do so. Look how tigers and lions, even household cats, quietly stalked their prey, every part of them poised and strung, their bodies loaded and ready to fire, but their power to restrain keeping them from pulling their own triggers.
It frightened him to realize he was losing that. For the first time since he had escaped, he was afraid, and not of something out there, something hunting him. No, he was afraid of himself, of betraying himself, of making serious mistakes. He wanted to take time to think and plan and do this with intelligence, but that damn beast inside him wouldn't give him a moment of quiet.
He nearly ripped the motel office door off its hinges when he opened it and stepped out. Fall evenings fell faster. They were into daylight saving time. Stars had already appeared to put periods on every sentence of daylight left. Nocturnal creatures were stirring. Birds stopped their aerial gymnastics and went wherever birds went when the sun dipped below the horizon. The lights of the motel, on a sensor, began to flicker and go on. He could feel all living things turning, some on their backs, some on their stomachs. The prey of night predators scurried for cover. Little hearts pounded. Fear, like some thick syrup, began to flow in alongside the shadows that crept over the highway, under trees, and around the motel structure itself.
As Shakespeare had written, Graveyards yawned.
He was ready.
Whether he liked it or not, he was ready.
Full of resolve, he started toward the unit, the little beast within him at least pausing with that damnable anticipation.
Erna Walker awoke from her nap and was up. She went to the bathroom and debated taking a quick, hot shower. The unit was adequate, but far from the quality of bedding and furniture she and her mother were accustomed to enjoying. In fact, it took a great deal of consoling and extra effort to get her mother to calm down and take a nap once she was confronted with this room. Erna had to take off the faded pillow case on her mother's bed and wrap one of her clean white blouses around it. Her mother refused to undress.
"I don't want these dirty sheets and this dirty blanket touching my skin," she said. "Look at the grime around the baseboards and on the windowsills. Was this room ever cleaned? And that bathroom, Erna.... I'm sorry I have to pee. Uggh," she said shaking herself as if merely talking about it all gave her a terrific chill.
The room reeked of cigarette smoke, too. It was embedded in the walls and the faded, worn carpet. She chided herself for not continuing on until they had come upon a more well-known motel chain, but she had taken a wrong turn here and a wrong road there, and she was very lost. She should never have listened to that gas station attendant who had assured her the detours and shortcut would save them hours and hours. Not wanting to let her mother know just how lost they were, she had thought it better to pull into a place for the night, rest, and have a good dinner. In the morning the world would look brighter and they would both have renewed energy.
Her mother carried on so much about the poor quality and the lack of cleanliness of this unit that Erna did some of the same things: wrap a blouse around her pillow and sleep in her bra, panties, and nightgown. She had managed to get some good rest, however, and now concluded that a quick, hot shower would probably restore her spirits even more. Mom was still fast asleep. Why not do it?
The unit didn't have a separate shower stall. She had to manipulate the faucet on the tub to get the water to come out of the shower head. The pipes groaned and then the water began to trickle out faster and faster. It took a while to get it warm enough, however.
After it was, she undressed and stepped gingerly into the yellow stained tub, shivering, but finally enjoying the warm water over her shoulders, down her back, and then over her breasts and stomach. She used her own soap. Mother wouldn't travel without her own soaps and shampoos, and for once, Erna thought she had been right about that sort of detail.
She wasn't under the shower long, but it was enough to satisfy her. Stepping out carefully, she reached for the bath towel. It smelled as if it had been hanging on the rack for months, but she was soaked and had no choice. After she dried herself, she thought she would need another shower as soon as possible but in a cleaner motel or hotel.
Just as she reached for her panties, the bathroom door opened. Expecting her mother, of course, she turned slowly and confronted the motel manager, naked, his penis erect, pointing up at her like a purple finger of accusation. The sight was so startling and shocking, she couldn't manage a sound. Her throat closed, and then a sort of croaking finally emerged.
He put his right forefinger up.
"Don't scream or I'll go out there and smother your mother to death," he threatened.
She was frozen. Neither of her arms would move.
"Down," he said pointing at the floor. "Down," he repeated. He seemed to rise above her, to expand and grow wider every moment. She whimpered like a terrified puppy and did as he ordered, folding her legs and sitting on the cold, cracked white tile. Then he walked around behind her and knelt. She had the towel pressed against her breasts, her hands clenched so tightly, she could feel her fingernails cutting into her palms, even through the towel.
He brought his arms around her and took hold of her wrists, pulling her arms down. She started to resist and he said, "I will. I'll smother her." She relaxed her forearms and her arms were straightened. Immediately, he cupped her breasts and pulled her back against him. She heard him breathe deeply, suck in air through her hair, his mouth on her head now. In small increments, he lowered her farther and farther until she was on her back between his legs and looking up at that pulsating penis. She closed her eyes. He seemed to whimper himself, but more like something that had been overwhelmed with its good fortune. She felt him move over her, turn, and then lift her legs. She didn't want to open her eyes. She wanted to keep them shut the whole time and will this not to be happening. She thought if she looked at him, if she captured an image, it would haunt her forever. Perhaps if she kept still, kept herself apart from all this, it wouldn't become a redundant nightmare and it wouldn't destroy her.