The Last Motel

by Brett McBean

  I couldn’t have drunk all that. I don’t even feel tipsy.

  But when she stood, a swirl of light passed before her eyes and her head felt like it had been pumped full of helium. Her legs became wobbly and she immediately sat down and dropped her head.

  Eventually the feeling faded, but the knocking continued.

  She stood again, slowly, and took a deep breath.

  The thudding seemed to be coming from the front of the house.

  Of course. The front door.

  That seemed fitting, because she desperately wanted some fresh air. So she shuffled down the hallway and to the door, where the knocking bore into her head like a clamorous power drill.

  She flung open the door, felt the instant rush of cool night air, but soon after smelled something else – the pungent fumes of alcohol.

  Her eyes were still adjusting to the dimness, and before she had a chance to ask who it was, a body pushed past her. “Who the hell...?”

  “I love you, Madge,” came the drunken slur. “You know that? I love...”

  “Get the fuck outta my house,” Madge managed to yell in spite of her queasy disposition.

  “Not until you tell me that you love me and want to keep seeing me.”

  Yes, Jason MacDonald sounded quite sloshed.

  She heard the door slam shut and a sudden chill snaked its way up her spine. “Jason. I don’t have anything to say to you.” She turned and saw him guarding the entrance. “Get out of my house,” she told him.

  “Not until you take back what you said on the phone.”

  “Jesus Christ! My husband has just died! Leave me the fuck alone! What kind of sick man are you!”

  She felt bile rise up in her throat, then she opened her mouth and vomited on the hallway carpet. It was hot and watery and seemed to last forever.

  She had barely finished spitting out the last of the sour vomit when Jason grabbed her arm and pulled her into the lounge.

  Without much regard for gentleness, he threw her onto the couch. She was crying rivers. “Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed. “Why?”

  “I want you, Madge,” Jason said. “And I know that you want me.”

  Her sanity seemed to leak out of her mind, then, as she lay frightened and confused on the couch. It was all too much for her – Jack’s death, dealing with Jason. Now him coming over like this. It was too much for anyone to have to endure. She was a strong woman, but not that strong. There was only one thing that her mind seemed able to process: that she wanted Jack. Here, now and for always.

  “Jack,” she cried helplessly. “Help me, Jack. I need you!”

  “Jack’s dead!” Jason yelled, then began to cry. “He was like a father to me! Some sick fuckingmotherfucker stabs him...” He kicked the base of the couch, hard. Madge felt the vibrations all through her quaking body.

  “I loved him!” Jason continued. “And I love you. I want you, darling. I need you.”

  The next thing she recalled was having her pants being pulled off, then her panties. She was too much out of herself to fight. She heard Jason’s zipper, and remembered saying something like, “No, please no. I don’t feel well and I want Jack.”

  Everything that happened next was a blur. His weight on her, his penis pushing its way inside, the foul stench of alcohol blowing into her face, the thrusting in and out, the wet slobber that dribbled onto her forehead and cheeks; they all melded into one awful haze of violation.

  She let it all drift away with thoughts of her and Jack together.

  * * *

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Jason in front of her, zipping up his pants. She felt groggy and awfully sick. She could also smell a fetid mixture of semen, saliva and vomit. It made her gag, although she was either too weak or too empty to throw up.

  She lazily looked up at Jason. He was sobbing, wiping his eyes and nose constantly, shaking his head.

  Finished doing up his pants, he looked down at her, his eyes red and glazed, and muttered, “I’m so sorry, Madge. Please...forgive me.”

  She couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to.

  Her body felt dirty and pains tore at her vagina. She began to cry. She wanted to put her pants on, but they were down on the floor and she didn’t want to move. So she remained quivering, crying and hurting.

  She moved her eyes to the grandfather clock – it was just after one-thirty.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” Jason whined. “I was...drunk. And upset. I...won’t ever bother you again.”

  She heard him hurry towards the front door, then the door slammed shut.

  He was gone.

  And so was she. She felt like her soul had been torn apart and thrown away, lost forever. Her pride, her confidence, her trust had been taken away from her. She felt used and ashamed.

  “Oh Jack,” she whimpered.

  But she knew Jack was not there to help her. Nobody was. She was alone, now. And she decided then, that nobody would find out about tonight. She didn’t want anyone to know her shame. She wanted to just forget it ever happened. Jason said he would leave her alone, so that was enough.

  As she gingerly sat up, she knew that she had to leave this town. Go away and leave it all behind. After the funeral.

  She noticed a thick glob of semen on the inside of her left leg. With her underpants, she wiped it off.

  She threw the panties to the floor, and as she bent down to pick up her pants, noticed the photo of Jack lying on the floor. Jason must’ve knocked it off.

  She picked it up and saw that the glass was cracked.

  She fell back to the couch, the picture clutched to her chest and stared at nothing.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  April 8th, 1960

  Harry came into the lounge, set the large cardboard box down then brushed his hands together. “That’s the last one.”

  “Thanks,” Madge said. She finished wrapping the cracked photo of Jack in newspaper then wandered over and set it on top of the other items. “I think that just about does it.”

  She sealed the top of the box with thick tape.

  Harry nodded. Madge noticed that his usually boyish looks were now hardened slightly. Perhaps it was just tiredness and sadness, but there was a definite change in him. He also had faint smudges where dust and grime had settled on his face, from packing and moving boxes all morning.

  She leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you so much for everything. You’ve been a great friend. Jack would have been proud.”

  He smiled nervously. “That’s okay.” He flicked glances at Madge. She could tell that something was on his mind.

  “What’s the matter, Harry?”

  He shook his head. “What? Nothing.”

  “Come on,” Madge said.

  He shrugged. “This is probably none of my business. But is something up between you and Sergeant MacDonald? I mean, I know you and him go a long way back together. And I noticed that you didn’t speak to him at the funeral yesterday. And he isn’t here, helping out.”

  Madge felt her stomach churn. Her mouth became dry. She swallowed and put on a smiling face. “Oh, he was more Jack’s friend than mine. I dunno, we were always...friends, just not good ones.” She chuckled awkwardly. “Didn’t I speak to him at the funeral? Jeez, I didn’t mean to ignore him. I must apologise to him before I leave.”

  That last sentence was the hardest to speak.

  “I’m sorry for prying,” Harry said. “It’s just...all this detective training. I guess I’m trying to make something out of nothing.”

  Madge smiled briefly. “I understand. Well, let’s get moving shall we?”

  Harry nodded and picked up the box.

  She followed him out to her blue Ford station wagon, where he placed the cardboard box into the back with the other boxes, suitcases and carry bags.

  Harry slammed the back door shut. He joined Madge around the driver’s side. “I know you’ve told me that you’re not sure, but what are you gonna do, Madge? Where are you gonna
go? I mean you must’ve thought about it.”

  “If you’re worried about my financial situation, don’t be. With the money Jack and I had saved, plus Jack’s compensation, I’ve got enough to survive. I have thought about one idea...nah, I’ve never told anyone, except Jack.”

  “What is it, Madge? You can tell me.”

  “It’s a silly idea. Don’t know why I want to do it, really. I’ve always wanted to build and run a motel. Not one of those big fancy complexes, but a small, out of the way motel. Does that sound silly?”

  “Not at all,” Harry said. “You just let me know where it is and the phone number whenever you get up and running. I want to keep in touch.”

  “Of course.” She took a shaky breath. “Well, good bye, Harry.” She leaned in and they hugged. Long and tight. When they broke away, both were crying.

  “Oh shit. I almost forgot.”

  Frowning, Madge watched Harry dart over to his car. He opened the passenger door, leaned in, then hopped out and jogged back.

  He held a small bag. Harry opened it. “We want you to have this, Madge. As a gift from all of us at the station.”

  He handed her a gun. It was locked in a holster, and looked large and powerful.

  “It was Jack’s. But I suppose you already know that.”

  Madge nodded. “I had forgotten about it. But am I allowed...?”

  “Sure,” Harry said with a nod. “Just don’t rob any banks with it, okay?”

  Madge smiled as she took the gun. “Thanks. Boy, it sure is heavy.”

  “It’s a .41 Magnum. Quite powerful. Good for security, you know?”

  “I’ll take good care of it,” Madge said. She hopped into the driver’s seat and placed the gun in the glove box. She wound down the window then started up the car.

  “Take care, Madge.”

  “You too. Be careful, okay? Don’t let anything happen to you.”

  Harry wiped tears from his tired looking eyes. “Keep in touch.”

  “Of course. Bye, Harry.”

  She took off down the street, waving to him out the window.

  As she passed numerous parked cars, one in particular caught her eye. It was parked to her left, about three houses down from hers – a white 1957 Ford sedan. And as she drove past it, she glanced over, and saw a person sitting inside.

  She couldn’t make out any details, but she knew. He had come to see her off.

  You sad bastard, she thought.

  But she smiled. She would never have to see him again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  3:21 a.m.

  Judy handed a cup of water to Morrie as he came out of the bathroom.

  “Thanks.” He took the cup and wandered over to the sink. There he sipped a mouthful, washed it around in his mouth, then spat it out.

  He turned around and walked back over to Judy, taking small drinks of the water.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Judy took his hand. “Don’t be silly. You’ve been through a lot tonight, and it’s not over.”

  Morrie sat on the bed, gently pulling Judy down with him. “So have you. But I don’t see you running to the bathroom and puking.”

  He was clearly embarrassed. Throwing up from too much drinking was okay; vomiting because of nerves and stress wasn’t.

  He took another sip and shook his head. “I’m supposed to be the strong one. The one who protects you. It was my decision to shoot that boy. It may have been wrong, but at the time I thought I was protecting us. I was just doing what I thought was right. And there’s nothing wrong with that!” He was breathing hard. He told himself to calm down and he looked at Judy. “Is there?”

  Judy smiled and shook her head.

  “Now this boy over there. Damn, Judy, I don’t want to kill him, but what choice do we have? It’s either his life or ours, and I know which one I’m gonna choose.”

  He finished the water and placed the cup on the floor.

  “Can you get me a soft drink? I need to get this acidic taste out of my mouth.”

  “I don’t think a bubbly soft drink is the best thing for you...”

  “Fuck, I’ll get it myself,” Morrie spat.

  Judy let go of his hand. Her eyes looked teary. “No, I’ll get it. You stay there and rest.”

  She stood up and went over to the fridge. “Lemonade okay?” she called.

  “Fine,” Morrie said.

  He waited on the bed, rubbing his stomach, while Judy fixed him the drink. He still had the sour taste of bile, though he knew the worst was behind him.

  Judy shuffled back and handed him the soft drink.

  “I’ve taken away most of the fizz,” she said. “Better for you that way.”

  Morrie looked up at her. “Thanks, Judy. I’m sorry for barking at ya.”

  “I understand.” She sat back down.

  “Ahh,” he sighed. “That tastes fantastic. It’s horrible that aftertaste of vomit.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Morrie shrugged his broad shoulders. “Better, I guess. I think the vomiting was just a once off. It’s not a virus or anything.” He took another sip.

  “I can shoot the boy if you want,” Judy said quietly.

  Morrie turned and glared at her. “No way. I’m not having a death on your conscience. Forget about it.”

  “I was just trying to help, Morrie.”

  “It takes a lot to kill a person,” Morrie continued. “And it feels ugly. You feel all dirty. No, you ditch that idea. I can do it, Jesus.” He huffed. “I’m not a fucking wimp. I can take care of business that needs doing.”

  “I know that, Morrie. I just thought that maybe you’re not up to it.”

  “I’m up to it,” he said. He looked at Judy and took her by the hand. “I don’t want you to have to go through all the guilt, okay?”

  Judy nodded and wiped the falling tears from her cheeks.

  “Besides, who said anything about shooting him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’d be too noisy. Even with all this thunder and lightning, a gunshot is a pretty distinct noise. They would all be up and looking out the windows, Madge probably would have called the police, by the time we could get out of this place.”

  “Of course. I never thought about it. I just assumed that we would use the gun.”

  Morrie drank more of the lemonade. “I know, so did I initially. But while I was puking my guts out – I tell ya, it’s funny what goes through your mind when you’re throwing up – the noise started me thinking about how loud and noticeable a gunshot would be.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Well, he’s already tied up and looks pretty beat up. I say just go over there and either suffocate or strangle him.”

  Judy nodded. “Okay. How are you going to get in there?”

  “I guess the only way is to break in. I think I have a crowbar in the car.”

  Morrie finished the lemonade and stood up. He wandered over to the sink and placed the glass into the basin. He went over to the back window, and parting the curtains, gazed outside at the teaming rain. “I’m worried about the father, or whoever he is. Where is he?”

  Judy remained on the bed. “Maybe he drove over to that town, Hutto, to pick up some food or supplies?”

  Peering out at the darkness, Morrie shook his head. “His car was still there, remember?”

  “Oh yeah,” Judy said. “I remember now. Guess I was too nervous before about seeing the boy to take much notice of it.”

  Maybe he’s having sex with Madge, Morrie thought.

  That made his stomach turn with anger. To think that Madge was giving herself to some psycho, a complete stranger, made his throat constrict.

  I was a stranger, he told himself. But we connected. We talked and got to know one another first.

  He figured that it was none of his business, anyhow. He had other things on his mind that were more important. So she was fucking another guy? I
t was not like he was going to marry her.

  Still, he felt betrayed. Felt anger towards her.

  Forget about her.

  “It’s strange all right,” Morrie said, turning away from the window. “But all we have to worry about is that he doesn’t come back before I’ve had a chance to...get to the boy,” he finished.

  He walked back over to Judy. “I guess I’d better go and do it.”

  “Take time if you need it,” Judy said. “Have a rest. We can spare a little time.”

  Morrie shook his head. “Guy might come back soon. Better to get it over with.”

  Judy stood up. “Are you sure? How’s your stomach?”

  “A bit queasy, but I’ve felt worse.”

  Judy took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “You stay in here,” Morrie told her.

  He went over to the table and grabbed his jacket. He slipped it on then faced Judy.

  “I have to go to the car and get the crowbar first. I don’t know how long it will all take. Don’t worry if I’m not back in a while, okay?”

  Judy nodded then wiped away more tears.

  “We can leave as soon as I get back,” he said, slipping the hood over his head.

  “I love you,” Judy choked out.

  “So do I,” Morrie answered.

  It felt wrong saying that after what he had done with Madge. He wasn’t sure what he was more ashamed of; killing the Asian boy, or cheating on his wife.

  He knew which one made him feel the worst. Yet at the same time it had been one of the most amazing experiences of his life.

  He headed for the door without looking back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Morrie hurried over to his car. He went around to the rear and dug the keys out of his pocket.

  But instead of opening the back doors, Morrie glanced over his shoulder.

  He had to know if the man was in there.

  He shoved the keys back, then jogged over to the office. He ducked around the side and past the office, to where her residence was.

  The area around here was much darker than the front, so Morrie had to wait until his eyes adjusted.