Page 34 of Lucky Shot
“I better go,” I say.
“What about your hockey expert?”
“I’ll find someone,” I say with as much determination as I can muster. “But thank you. If it comes to that, I’ll see if my awesome brother-in-law can pull in a favor.”
“Of course.” She smiles at me in a way that reminds me she’d do anything for me. And by extension, so would Flynn.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
“Okay. Text me when you get back.”
“I will.”
As soon as I hang up the phone, I ease off the table. My stare is locked on the floor, searching for any more giant bugs, while Iwalk over to my suitcase. I pull out a pair of pajamas as well as a few more articles of clothing. But instead of changing, I lay them down on top of the table to make a sort of pallet, then roll up the pajama bottoms to use as a pillow. At least it isn’t cold in here, though it is somehow muggy.
My neighbors next door are moving around. There’s a lot of thumping and other weird sounds I can’t make out, but no talking. There isn’t even a TV in the room to drown out the noise. I guess I could put in my air pods but then how would I hear the murderer when they arrive?
One night. I’ll be out of here as soon as the sun comes up.
By some miracle, I manage to fall asleep. Or at least doze off. I wake up to more banging around next door. I shift, then wince as the hard table digs into my hip bone. I have no idea what time it is, but I feel like…well, I feel like I slept in the fetal position on top of a piece of wood.
The banging comes again, this time louder and…I freeze, panic washing over me. The noise is at my door. I know because the cheap metal rattles on the hinges.
I stand and step in front of the door and grab the first thing within reach—a lamp. It’s gold-plated with a dingy, what was once maybe white, shade. I’m clutching it in one hand as I stand poised a foot away from the door.
Do I open it? Am I more or less likely to get killed if I ignore whoever it is on the other side?
I’m still thinking when the person on the other side yells, “Red, open up.”
Slowly the voice and the nickname needle their way through the adrenaline and fear haze. I fling open the door and there he is. Nick Galaxy is standing outside my cheap motel room looking like he spent the night sleeping on a tiny wooden table too.
His hair is disheveled, and his beard is longer. He’s in gray athletic pants and a black T-shirt—both slightly rumpled.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
He takes me in, stare dropping to the lamp I’m holding like a weapon, then walks past me into the room, glancing around and shaking his head.
“Hello? I didn’t invite you in.” I set the lamp back on the table.
Turning to face me again, Nick places both hands on his hips. My face heats, though I’m not sure why I’m embarrassed.
“How did you find me?” Surely, he didn’t knock on every single door until “Red” answered. Actually, that sounds exactly like something he would do.
“I asked the guy at the front desk which room you were in.”
“So much for privacy,” I mutter.
Nick grabs my suitcase and rolls it toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“What?” I shake my head. “Go where?”
He gives me a droll look. “Chalet Galaxy.”
I keep staring at him. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on today, but I can’t seem to make sense of his words.
“You can’t stay here. This place is…”
Awful. Disgusting. Straight out of a horror movie.
