Endurance

“His pear tree days are over.”

Mal discarded the remnants of their snack, then closed the lid. He faced Deb and saw she wasn’t amused.

Too bad. Deb was an attractive woman, but when she smiled, she was dazzling. So far, Mal hadn’t been able to make her smile more than a few times, even though he was trying his damnedest. Deb was too guarded which was a shame. If she relaxed a bit, Mal knew he could really fall for her. But he doubted Deb would let him get close enough for that to happen.

For the time being, he tried to reign in his feelings and keep things professional. Even guarded, Deb was an interesting person, and he liked being around her. He was already trying to think up some good excuse to call her after the interview ended.

“So what’s your impression of our hostess?” Mal said, taking his seat. “I’m thinking about calling The Addams Family, seeing if one of them is missing.”

Deb’s mouth curled in the faintest smirk, and the lines on her forehead smoothed out.

“You might want to call the White House instead. These decorations are mind-blowing.”

“They’re unpresidented.”

This time Deb actually did smile, full wattage, and it lit up the room.

“Thanks for splitting a partridge sandwich with me, Mal. I think I’m going to turn in. Long day.”

Mal wracked his brain to come up with some reason to keep talking. Another interview question? Something more personal? A joke?

Then he saw Deb stifle a yawn with the back of her hand, and realized the proper thing to do was let her get some sleep. She was, after all, competing in a triathlon.

“I’ll walk you up.”

They took the stairs slowly, silently, but the silence wasn’t awkward. When they arrived at Deb’s room, Mal felt a tinge of uncertainty, like he’d just been on a date and was unsure if he should try for the kiss.

Deb unlocked her door, then turned and looked up at him. For the briefest of moments, Mal saw in her eyes the same desire he felt.

Should I try it?

Then Deb stuck out her hand.

The goodnight handshake. Ugh. That’s even worse than the goodnight peck on the cheek.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Deiter.”

He folded her hand into his. “The pleasure has been all mine, Ms. Novachek. See you in the morning.”

Mal let the touch linger. So did Deb. Her eyes were big and her chin was titled up and all the signals were there, so Mal went for it. He leaned down, parting his lips, and got a faceful of hair when she abruptly turned around.

Deb slipped into her room and closed the door behind her, leaving Mal standing there like a dork. He recalled what Deb told him earlier.

“How old are we, twelve?”

He sure felt like it.

Mal let himself into his room. Several dozen Harry S. Trumans stared at him, and they all seemed to be thinking what Mal was thinking.

Smooth move, Casanova.

Mal padded into the bathroom, stripped off his shirt and pants, and took a leak. Then he turned his attention to the shower. Unlike the rest of the room, which was decorated in late 60s Norman Bates, the shower stood apart by appearing modern. It was a walk-in, with a floor-to-ceiling glass door, and the shower head was big and chrome and new.

Mal turned the knob to scald and stepped inside. The water was rust-colored, and smelled medicinal, but the stream was strong and felt good on his body. He opened the little box of soap in the soap dish and worked up a lather. Also in the soap dish was a mini bottle of shampoo. Mal unscrewed the top, dumped the brown contents into his hand, and raised it to his head.

That’s when the smell hit him.

A foul, rotten smell, like meat gone bad. He brought his hand to his face, sniffed the shampoo, and almost puked.

It’s not shampoo. It’s blood. Old, decaying blood.

Revolted, he pawed at his head, trying to get the gunk off. He could feel little pieces—clots—become tangled in his hair. Mal felt his stomach twist again, the partridge sandwich struggling to get out like it still had fluttering wings. Doubling over, Mal took deep breaths, watching gunky, brown blood swirl down the drain. He put a hand on the glass door to steady himself, wiping off a streak of steam—

—and saw someone standing in the bathroom.

Startled, Mal backed into the corner of the shower, watching the figure approach. Once he got over the initial shock, his mind tried to make sense of what was happening.

Deb? Coming back for that good night kiss?

Another guest, who walked into the wrong room?

Eleanor Roosevelt’s son, the one with the truck who was supposed to take them back into town?

Someone trying to do me harm?

Mal hollered above the water spray, “Who’s there?”

The person didn’t answer. He came up to the door and stood there.

Christ, he’s huge.

“Who the hell are you?”

The giant didn’t reply.

Mal’s heart went into overdrive. This whole situation felt like it was happening to someone else, and it was so far removed from reality that he wasn’t sure how to react. That he was naked made the vulnerability even more intense.

“What do you want?”

The man stayed silent, continuing to stare.

“Get the fuck out of here, asshole!”

More silence. More staring.

Mal felt like his legs couldn’t support him anymore. He’d been in confrontations before. Shoving matches in bars with men who’d had a few too many. Once, a fist fight in high school, that resulted in a black eye.

But this was something different. Something very bad.

This isn’t someone in the wrong room. This is someone who wants to hurt me.

Mal reached up, wiping his palm across the glass so he could see the man’s face.

Holy shit! What’s wrong with his—

The door jerked open, the giant’s hand reaching for Mal’s neck. Mal danced under the grab, making a fist, letting it fly.

His fist hit the man in the face—

—and sunk in to the gaping hole between his upper lip and his nose.

Mal’s knuckles were engulfed in something warm and wet; snot, saliva, or both. He recoiled, pulling his hand out of the giant’s harelip, and got shoved back against the shower wall.

Then a wet towel was pushed over Mal’s face. When he tried to breathe, his lungs filled with an acrid stench that Mal knew all too well. From his cop days, busting huffers—kids who inhaled chemicals to get high.

Ether. He’s trying to knock me...

That was Mal’s last thought before he spun into unconsciousness.

# # #

I should have kissed him.