by Jeff Beesler
CHAPTER 4
HELENSVIEW AT NIGHT
Chase kicked off his shoes as soon as he got into the motel room. He’d gotten room 120 on the corner, facing the parking lot where that woman in the minivan had confronted him. The memory of her nail clawing him in the face still fresh in his mind, he at once locked the door, secured the deadbolt, shut the shades, and wandered over to the bed by the bathroom.
In all honesty, he almost couldn’t care less about who slept where. But knowing his brother, Dylan would probably check out Helensview’s nightlife anyhow. It made more sense for Chase to let Dylan sleep by the door, if only so that the younger Weaverson’s comings and goings didn’t intrude upon Chase’s rest.
“If you go bar-hopping tonight, be careful,” he told Dylan. The combination of fatigue and paranoia in his voice almost startled him. Something about Helensview gave him the creeps. What it was exactly, he couldn’t say.
Meanwhile, Dylan shrugged and sighed as if his plans might not have included scoping out the town after all.
“I doubt this town really has a Friday night scene anyhow. Think I should’ve asked the person at the gas station or the desk clerk about it?”
Chase flung himself onto his bed, causing a slight, squeaky strain on the springs underneath him. As he moved to grab the TV remote off the end table to his right, the shifting of his body unraveled the decent tuck job the motel staff had done on the bed earlier that day.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. You’ve always been good at sniffing out the fun on your own,” Chase said with a yawn. “Better than I ever was. What’s with that, anyway?”
Dylan smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot to me, coming from you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chase said, his eyelids already sinking faster than he could click the on button and throw some random program on. “Like I said, if you go to the bar, be smart about it. You don’t have your phone on you anymore, and I might not be able to come bail you out if you run into trouble.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered. I picked up one of those Welcome to Helensview flyers that were sitting around at the front desk,” he said, holding up a dark red sheet of paper. “It’s got directions to the most popular locations in town. There’s a bar three streets over from here. I think I’ll hit that one up.”
“Do as you wish,” Chase said, another yawn forcing itself out of him. “Just don’t get your hopes up too much, especially if the bartender is some hot blonde babe you’ve just got to have.”
Dylan scrunched his face as if tasting poison.
“Dude, you know blondes are out of season for me. Right now I’m all about the brunettes.”
Chase thumbed the buttons on the TV remote, missing most of Dylan’s ramblings about the perfect “flavor” worth seeking out tonight. A second later, the clinking of a lock coming undone carried across the room, straight to Chase’s ears.
“So you’re really going out, then?” As if he’d needed to ask.
“Of course, I am,” Dylan said, frowning. “Seriously, dude. Come have fun with me. For old time’s sake. We used to go to bars all the time back in the day.”
“Sorry. I’m way too tired from the trip.” Chase pressed the button a few more times, decided to just leave the TV on whatever channel it wound up on, and tossed the remote back onto the end table. “Don’t be gone too long. I want to leave at the crack of dawn.”
“I know you went through that rough patch a while ago, but you’ve got to put it behind you. You can’t let the past make you into a stick in the mud. Come on,” said Dylan.
Chase rolled onto his side and faced the bathroom, but not before he caught a quick glimpse of the dejection in Dylan’s eyes. Although Dylan could be annoying at times, Chase’s party animal instincts, mostly dormant for seven years, still ached for a true Weaverson-style shindig. Some impulses never truly went away.
“No, Dylan. It’s not worth the trouble. You know what happened. You know where I’ve been and the reason behind it. I’m not making the same mistakes again. Thanks for the offer, but I have to pass.”
“Whatever,” Dylan growled.
Fuming, he flung his back toward Chase and promptly slammed the door behind him on the way out. Bits of plaster fell from the resulting tremble, sprinkling Chase as the older Weaverson lay on the bed.
The pain in his head flaring up again from the discourse between the two of them, Chase answered Dylan’s sudden departure with a one-finger salute. Thankfully, Ma and Pa weren’t there to witness the disrespect he gave his brother. Grunting, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.