FATE'S PAST Page 4

  After the second try, Cameron heard rustling from the area behind the wall near the desk. He could hear someone coming, to both his delight and terror. And, a few seconds later, a man appeared.

  The old man smiled at Carrie. He was short, bald, and looked to be in his seventies or eighties. He had a disarming, yet calming, demeanor as he meandered over with a slight hunch. When he settled at the reception desk, he looked up at Carrie, and his eyes were light, pure blue, full of wonder and innocence. His eyes belonged to someone much younger, one who hadn’t witnessed so much of the world’s corruption.

  “May I help you, ma’am?” the man asked softly, as if the words dripped off his lips. His voice, like the eyes, seemed out of place for an older man—the voice was vibrant and full, the voice of one unschooled in life’s eventualities. And for the first time since Cameron’s scream woke her, Carrie felt at ease.

  The old man frowned at Cameron. His voice was deep, gravely, and aggressive. His gait purposeful and unkind. His build and hunch resembled an attacking weasel. Utter resolve underscored his every movement, and Cameron especially didn’t like the way he gawked at Carrie. But worst of all were his eyes. The man’s eyes were dark green, too large, and their black pupils too substantial. His eyes shined with a primitive desire that lacked compassion or forethought. The man’s eyes were inhuman and unapologetic, and they scared the hell out of Cameron as they glared from Carrie to Cameron and back.

  “Yes, sir, we are looking for a room,” Carrie said sweetly.

  “I can certainly help you with that,” the man said slowly. “One king bed?”

  “That works,” she said.

  “What names should I put down?”

  “Carrie Fields and Cameron Harrison.”

  The man nodded, turned, and walked over to a hidden area outside the view of the reception desk. A few moments later he returned, a key dangling from his right hand. He handed it to Carrie and said, “Room…um. Room…eh.” He looked at the key and said, “I can’t seem to remember the room number. I’m sorry, my dear. But it’s on the second floor. Turn left after you get off the elevator, and it’s the last door on the right.”

  “Thank you so much,” she said as she took the key from the man’s withered hand. “How much do we owe you?”

  “Oh, I don’t have my ledger in front of me. Just come see me in the morning when you check out. I promise I won’t charge you too much, okay? Pretty empty tonight it seems, so no need to overcharge.”

  “Sounds good,” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking, how close are we to Lake Charles?”

  “Lake Charles, eh?” the man repeated, seemingly to buy time so he could contemplate her question. “Close enough I’d say.” Carrie giggled at the man’s grandfatherly absent-mindedness.

  Cameron disliked this man more and more. He did not appreciate the man’s evasive attitude and he didn’t like that the man was not asking for any money. How does he not know how much a room costs? Cameron thought. Why would he need to look at his “ledger?” And why doesn’t he know exactly how far Lake Charles is from the hotel? All of these questions should be answerable, but the old man obviously had no answers for them. He concluded that the man wouldn’t be forthcoming if Carrie continued to dance around the issue.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Cameron interjected, “but what does ‘close enough’ mean?”

  The man shot a look at Cameron that sent shivers down his spine. The lighting in the room was sufficient but the man’s pupils seemed overly dilated and bellicose. Leaning towards Cameron, his brow furrowed and his skinny fingers clenched. The wrinkles that littered his face grew deeper. A red and purple vein that crossed the upper-right portion of his exposed skull deepened in color, and his jaw clenched with anger. The man reeled back his lips to expose his excessively white teeth, each of which seemed a little too sharp to be in a human’s mouth. The man’s tongue darted out and wetted his teeth as he stared at Cameron. For a moment, Cameron thought he heard the sound that had followed him in the forest.

  “It means, it’s close enough,” the man scolded, each word so elongated it bled into the next.

  Cameron’s rude tone shocked Carrie. The man looked flustered and a little hurt by Cameron’s affront. To Carrie, the old man seemed tired and didn’t have a firm grip on a few of his mental functions. Besides, why did it matter exactly how far they were from Lake Charles now that they had a place to sleep? They would get up early the next morning, hit the road, and all would be back to normal. No, Carrie thought, there is no reason to put this elderly gentleman on the witness stand.

  “That’s fine, sir,” Carrie said while elbowing Cameron in the ribs. “We’ll just hit the sack and see you again in the morning!”

  “Okay, dear.”

  “Is there any place around here to grab breakfast?” Carrie wasn’t hungry, but she figured that they would be ravenous in the morning once the stress of the evening’s events wore off.

  “Actually, yes,” the old man said cheerfully. “There is a small restaurant across the street that makes great eggs. Cheap, too.”

  The man’s answer surprised her. “Really? I must have missed that.”

  “Well, it is dark out there, sweetie, and it is closed for the night.”

  The man’s explanation sounded reasonable enough to her, but she imagined that Cameron’s headlights would have at least highlighted the outline of the restaurant. Then again, she was tired, so maybe she had missed the restaurant in her excitement about discovering the hotel.

  “Okay then,” she said. “See you tomorrow, sir!”

  “Yes, you will,” the man replied before slowly turning and heading back to the office from which he came.

  “Oh, quick question, sir,” she said.

  “Anything, my dear.”

  “This may be a silly question, but do you have a workout room?”

  “We do! It’s on your floor, the second. The other side of the hallway on your left.”

  “Thank you, sir! Have a great night.”

  The old man nodded with a smile. “You as well.” He then turned around and meandered back into the back office.

  After a few moments, she put the key in her pocket, grabbed Cameron’s hand, and headed towards the hallway. Cameron’s reluctance to leave impeded her progress. “What’s wrong, babe?” she asked as Cameron stared at the area behind the reception desk.

  “I’m not sure I trust that guy,” he admitted.

  She looked struck by Cameron’s words and put a finger to her lips. “Quiet, Cameron, he isn’t that far way. Now, what the heck are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “There’s just something about him I don’t like. And his eyes…”

  She shook her head. “He’s just a frail old man, Cameron.”

  “Wait, he didn’t look…like…strange to you?” he asked.

  “Strange? He looked like a kind old man. He couldn’t hurt us if he tried. Heck, he’d probably break his hip trying.”

  He smiled at her imagery. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s just head to bed. I just want to put this goddamn night behind us.”

  “Couldn’t agree more, babe.”

  They walked down the barren hallway and passed nondescript door after nondescript door. “Hey,” Cameron said. “What room did that guy say was ours?”

  “He couldn’t remember,” she replied.

  “But look.” He motioned towards the doors. “None of them have room numbers.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked as she squinted her eyes. A few moments later, she said, “Weird. You’re right. No numbers.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya, babe. I’m not sure how much more of this crap I can take.”

  She pushed him and said, “It’s one night, Cam. Stop being a pansy.”

  “No promises,” he replied.

  They arrived at the sole elevator. Cameron pressed the “UP” button and they waited a significant amount of time while the elevator r
ambled its way down the shaft, audibly frustrated by its beckoning. When it landed, its doors slid open, and they stepped in. Carrie pressed the “2” button, and the doors closed. The elevator took ten seconds to get to the second floor, and it protested the entire trip. When it reached the second floor, its doors opened, and Carrie and Cameron exited. In front of them was a sign: “ … - … .”

  “Oh great,” he sighed. “I’m just saying. At my wits end here.”

  “Drop it. The old man said the room was down the hall this way.” She grabbed his hand and pulled as she said, “Now shut it and let’s get to bed.”

  They made their way over to their room and, before they entered, Cameron noticed the room’s number: 0000. He looked at Carrie, who was unlocking the door, unfazed by the number. Cameron concluded that she likely had not seen the assigned room number and decided not to say anything to avoid further upsetting her. Instead, he hugged her waist as she opened the door, and they entered.

  The room wasn’t too awful, though it was barren and utilitarian. On the left was a single, king-sized bed, adorned with a rough looking, dark-green comforter, spotted with images of discolored flora. Two brown chairs guarded a solitary lamp. Next to the bed there was a wood nightstand, and across from the bed was a small, tube television that rested on a basic brown cabinet. A curtain matching the bed’s comforter shielded the window. The carpet was a tacky grayish blue that clashed with every other color present in the room. There was an overwhelming staleness to the room as if no one had occupied it in quite some time. Carrie looked into the bathroom and noticed that it was small, painted beige, with off-beige tiles. She looked at Cameron, who looked back at her and said, “Well, home sweet home for the night.”

  “Yup, at least it’s clean,” she said, her positivity obviously feigned.

  “Like I said before, we’ve done worse.”

  “That we have.”

  They laid their bags on the floor and Carrie undressed for bed. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, giving Cameron the freedom he had been craving.

  Cameron took off his pants and gently laid them over a chair. He slipped his right hand into the jean’s left front pocket, peered behind him to ensure that Carrie was still in the bathroom, and pulled out a ring.

  A one-carat, cushion cut diamond rested in the center of the ring, encircled by smaller diamonds, each gleaming with its own personality. Beautifully crafted, the ring exuded an air of sophistication and timelessness, and in spite of its newness, it shone with the antiqued nature of an old soul. It shimmered, even in the room’s dimness. Considering all that had happened, he couldn’t wait to move on with his life with Carrie. He saved every penny from his second year legal summer clerkship with a prestigious and soul-crushing firm, working four days a week during his last year of law school. He bothered everyone he knew in Austin for recommendations. It was the best ring he could afford, although Carrie deserved much more.

  Without Carrie, Cameron would have continued to float down his river of instability and loneliness. Carrie was his everything, and so he put everything he could into choosing the perfect ring within his available means. It could have been bigger, and she deserved a band with a greater number of diamonds, but for their place and time, the ring was a perfect symbol of their journey together.

  As the ring blinked at him in the palm of his hands, Cameron felt a great degree of impatience. For a moment, he considered proposing the moment Carrie returned from the restroom. He thought, Well, that would definitely be spontaneous, which is what she said she wanted. But he dismissed the thought as fast as it had arrived—that would be a terrible story for Carrie to tell her friends. He could just imagine how she would have to retell it: “Yeah, Cameron proposed to me in a shitty hotel room after the most fucked up night of our lives.” But as his thoughts were fixating on his upcoming “spontaneous” proposal, he heard Carrie opening the door. Cameron hurriedly put the ring back into his jeans and put his hands to his waist in an effort to remain casual.

  When Carrie exited the restroom, she noticed Cameron’s odd posturing. She looked him up and down and asked, “You okay, Cam?”

  “Oh yeah, perfect!” Cameron regretted his forced hammy tone.

  “Hmm, okay,” she replied, unconvinced that Cameron was anywhere near “perfect.”

  To deflect, he asked, “Hey, you thirsty?”

  “No, I’m actually not. But I should probably drink something because I haven’t had much water today.”

  “Yeah, I’m in the same boat. I’m going to go look for a vending machine, okay?”

  “Sounds good,” she said. “I’ll be here.”

  Cameron put on his jeans and left. Carrie finished undressing before she put on her nightgown.

  She climbed into bed, the worn sheets and comforter scratching against her skin. Reaching over to set the alarm for the next morning, she realized that the clock read “00:00.” She played with the button and knobs, but it continued to flash “00:00.” She unplugged and re-plugged the alarm, but the time continued to display “00:00.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Carrie whispered. Though she was in bed and off the road, there was still a feeling she could not shake similar to when one realizes she is sleeping but cannot wake. She was drifting and chained, her soul both at rest and restless. Yet there was nothing left for her to do but sleep and hope for a brighter morning. And so she got out of bed, twisted the lamp’s knob to turn it off, and reentered the bed.

  Soon after she turned off the light, she heard a noise. It was brief, but there. Quiet, but real. The noise lasted less than a second, but it brought out memories of years past.

  Carrie shot up in bed, flicked on the light, and scanned the room for the source of the noise. The room was unchanged. The table, chairs, and curtains were in the same places they were in when Carrie turned off the light. She quieted her breathing to better detect if the noise remained. Silence filled the room.

  Ugh, I really hope I’m not losing it, Carrie thought as she massaged her temples. She looked over the room another time, sighed, and turned off the lamp again. When she laid her head on the lumpy pillow, she tried to mute her mind. It’s all in your head, Carrie repeated. It’s all in your head.

  As her thoughts were fading, she heard the noise again. Twice this time. Each instance was brief. She jumped out of bed, flicked on the lamp, and pulled back the covers; there was nothing underneath. She ran over to the desk and opened its drawer; nothing inside. She sprinted over to the curtain and pulled it back; only the window was behind. Carrie looked under the bed and the chairs but found nothing.

  The noise echoed three times, and she heard each clearly. She knew the noise. It was a beep—the same sound an electrocardiogram machine makes. She heard this beep many times in her youth—the noise haunted her past and invaded her sleep. It once represented all she loved and hated in life.

  Four beeps filled the room, and Carrie turned to face the alarm clock. As she walked towards it, the beeping sped up. By the time she was within an arm’s length of the alarm, the beeps levied a relentless onslaught. She fought past the audible torture, grabbed the alarm, ripped it from the wall, and threw it across the hotel room.

  The alarm continued to beep as it flew. The beeping was so loud that Carrie could not hear the impact of the alarm hitting the wall. It fell to the floor, but the volume of the beep amplified as if infuriated by her efforts to quell it.

  Carrie put her hands to her ears, but it did little good. Through the racket, she devised a plan. She grabbed the alarm and sprinted towards the window. Once there, she pushed aside the curtains and fidgeted with the window’s locking mechanism. The unyielding beep made it impossible for her to concentrate on her mission.

  After a few moments, Carrie unlocked the window. She shoved the window open and threw out the alarm. As it soared, the volume of the noise dissipated until Carrie heard a distant thump. Only beautiful silence remained.

  She fe
ll to her knees and memories flooded her mind. The sounds of her mother’s words filled her thoughts, and they were both a comfort and ache.

  Keep living, Carrie. Keep living.

  Carrie stood and rubbed her forehead. She tried to collect herself and decided a shower would help calm her frayed nerves.

  She walked into the bathroom, rotated the shower handle to “HOT,” and opened the tiny bar of hotel soap. Then she turned from the shower, disrobed, and walked over to the sink. While waiting for the shower to heat, she turned the sink faucet and splashed cold water against her face. The moisture slid across her worry creases and the chill steadied her mind for a bit.

  But something wasn’t right. The water wasn’t calming her like it should. Her stomach tumbled. Her heart fluttered.

  There were eyes on her; she knew it.

  Slowly, she looked up, and screamed at the mirror’s reflection.

  A girl stood in the shower behind Carrie. The girl looked taller than Carrie, and curly blonde hair covered the girl’s face. She hunched like she was hanging as her arms hung listlessly. From her arms poured dark red blood; the blood combined with the shower’s streams, tinting the water red.

  At first, the girl just stood motionless and silent. After a few moments, the girl lifted her head, and Carrie covered her face in fear.

  “Help!” Carrie screamed, but her arms muffled her voice. “Cameron! Anyone! Help!”

  For a while, there was dead silence. Carrie trembled in her arms and her tears pooled with the water she splashed on her face. It’s all in your head, she repeated. It’s all in your head.

  Still trembling, she lifted her head and looked again at the mirror. This time, the only person reflected back was Carrie. She turned, and all she saw was water pouring from the showerhead. No sign of the girl or the blood.

  Carrie walked over to the shower and turned off the water.

  It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head.

  She slipped on her nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed.

  It’s all in your head.