I was washing my hands when something caught my attention on the floor, under the sink. A child’s fat red marker. I stared at it for a moment.
I had to pick it up.
I had to remove the cap, had to press the tip against the mirror, and very slowly, had to write the letter
And then I had to finish the word.
I stared at it for a moment and felt a rush of relief. Did it again. Felt the rush again. Did it one more time. And now I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I’d started scratching the itch, but the itch was only getting worse.
So I kept scratching, kept writing…
It just went on and on, covering all four walls, the stall door, even the trashcan.
I turned to look around as I was leaving. Danger was everywhere.
Walked outside and quickly away feeling relieved of my stress and yet thoroughly disgusted and sick, like some hung-over junkie.
When I returned to the car, CJ said, “Finally! My turn.”
I froze and stared at her. “Huh?”
“I’ve gotta go, too,” she said, irritation in her voice.
I felt a flash of panic, heat rushing through my body, feet heavy as lead. The word
“Pat? What’s wrong?”
“I’m just worried about you going alone,” I heard myself say.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied, and got out of the car.
I got out too, followed her.
She turned to look at me. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I said, struggling against my thoughts and my nerves. “I just… I have bad vibes about this place. That’s all.”
She gave me a lingering stare. “All of a sudden?”
“I think we should get out of here. Quick. Let’s find a restroom up the road.”
She placed her hands on her hips, tilted her head. “I can’t wait until
She turned around and started walking toward the station, and I continued following. She went inside to get the key.
I waited there, ran my fingers through my hair, and realized I was sweating. CJ came out holding the key and gave me a quick, troubled glance, then moved on to the restroom.
I watched her go inside, knowing I was about to be caught. My dirty little secret brought out in the light. My world turned upside down. All these years I’d managed to keep it a secret. Now I was about be…
A few seconds later, the door swung open, and CJ came out, her face colorless, her eyes wide, staring right at me.
I lowered my gaze to the pavement in shame, closed my eyes tightly as she moved toward me. Slowly.
“
I said nothing. There wasn’t much to say.
“How could you?” she said, voice trembling.
Head bowed, slowly shaking it, “I’m sorry…I…”
“How could you let me go in there? And how in the hell could they have known?”
I looked up. “What?”
“How could they have known we’d stop here?”
I swallowed hard.
CJ crossed her arms, looked away, and shook her head. “Behind us, now even ahead of us…it’s like they know our next move before we do. What the hell? Did they follow us here?” She looked around. “We’ll never get away from them, will we…ever? They’ll never let us go.”
I kept silent.
“Let’s get the hell out of here. Fast.” She began moving toward the car, then stopped and turned to me. “For God’s sake, Pat. Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you go in there,” I said quietly. “I tried to stop you.”
Once inside the car, I locked all the doors, pulled out of the lot, got back onto the road. CJ was visibly shaken; so was I, but for different reasons.
I should have felt guilty for what I’d done in that restroom, for what I’d allowed CJ to think, for upsetting her. And part of me did. But the other part, the part that I couldn’t control, was bathing in the release of tension. That part of me thought it was much better for CJ to fear whoever was chasing us than to fear me.
And that part of me won.
Chapter Forty-Five
For the rest of the way, I managed to separate from my act, telling myself I was under extraordinary stress, that it wasn’t me in that bathroom.
That it was the disorder’s fault.
Telethon, Texas finally announced itself with an antiquated clapboard sign. Beyond that, it was no different than anything else we’d seen for the past seventy miles: more desert, more nothingness.
We drove past a service station with no customers, not even an employee in sight, then an old hardware store, and then—to my complete lack of surprise—a drive-through liquor store.
“Welcome to Telethon,” I said, enthusiasm absent from my voice.
“Welcome to hell,” she replied in a tone that matched.
Nowhere to hide. Not even a dumpy diner for strategizing. My stomach hit another nervous jag. Seeing the town made me realize even more what a big mistake this was.
“Just keep driving,” CJ said, jolting me from my thoughts and apparently reading them. “There’s got to be more to this place.”
“Yeah, the other side of hell.”
A few miles later, we hit the other side of Telethon and the Paradise Motel—an oxymoron if I’d ever seen one. Nothing remotely beautiful or tropical about it, just your basic motor inn: a single-story, nondescript, u-shaped affair with twenty or so homogenous rooms facing out.
“Pull in there,” CJ ordered, pointing to a vacant, gravel lot.
“Turning in,” I said. “Bates Motel, here we come.”
“Not funny,” CJ replied.
“Not trying to be.”
I pulled up in front of the office, turned the ignition key to off, then gazed at CJ—or maybe it was more of a glare. “Now what?”
“Let’s go in and meet Norman,” she said with her usual wry smile. “I don’t think his mom’s gonna be around, though. I hear she’s hanging back at the house.”
“Not funny.”
