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I decided to find a motel and crash there, at least for the night.
After packing a light bag along with my baseball bat, I carefully slid out of my back door and sprinted to my car. Inside, I slammed the locks shut and backed out of my driveway in haste. As I pulled out of my street and got into traffic, I realized how tired I still was; even a surge of adrenaline could at best hold my focus for a few minutes, and at worst just guide me into an infinite amount of possible traffic accidents. I had to focus, keep my movements stable.
The sun beat down through the windshield, beckoning me to relax and take a break - open up a cold one and sit under the shade of a tree. In its simplicity, that was my favorite summertime activity. My mind devoured and guzzled any piquant thought that gave relief to the distress overstaying its welcome, and the fantasy of cold beer and soothing shade refused to unstick itself from my mind for the rest of the drive.
I found a motel near one of the main roads and pulled in, my eyelids begging for release. A few times during the drive, exhaustion forced me to drift off and I swerved slightly into oncoming traffic, a few cars giving me aggressive honks and stern looks. The close calls barely registered as anything more than a pinprick that reminded me to stay awake. If I wanted to drive further, I needed to recharge.
After I parked my car, I put the bat inside the bag, so only one end jutted out. Inconspicuous enough for a motel, I thought. I scanned the parking lot, realizing that I didn’t even know what I was looking for, and headed for the main office.
I tried my best to seem normal to the clerk behind the counter. My efforts were positively in vain, as the elderly woman barely looked up, instead flicking her phone with her right index finger while holding the brick in the opposite hand, completely mesmerized by whatever comment section she was scrolling through. I asked for a single room with a bed. By the looks of it, the motel didn’t have many visitors, so she just blindly picked up one of the many keycards and handed it to me. As I handed her a wad of bills, I told her to keep the change, and I’m not sure she would’ve offered any either way. I exited the office and headed to the far end of the building, towards my unit.
The click of the lock brought on a delicious appetite for sleep. I laid the wooden bat next to myself on the double bed, and near instantly we fell asleep, clutching each other like a fresh couple during an early sleepover.
I dreamed of Jacob. He was alive, but his face was still disintegrated, blood clots hanging from his chin, his tongue sticking out between drooping pieces of flesh. He laughed, which came out as a gurgle, followed by moist splatting as the air moved the flaps of flesh and blood near where his mouth used to be. Jacob took out his phone and started to take selfies, posing half-ironically, trying to make faces with whatever face he had left. He chortled and twisted his body in fresh poses as the flash of his phone went off ever more rapidly. He beckoned me to join him.
I woke up to knocking on my door - the dream instantly wiped and another dose of adrenaline packing my blood vessels tight, folding my focus back into the real world. My muscles ached, and thirst and hunger immediately reminded me of their existence.
“Who’s there?” I croaked through dry lips, right as it occurred to me that keeping quiet would’ve been the smart thing to do.
A steady voice rifled with a fluctuating southern accent replied “It’s Matthew Irving. I mean no harm. I’m here to help, if you were to believe it.”
I swallowed to clear my throat, and replied with a tinge more confidence in my voice “Are you with them? Are you with the cops?”
“No sir, neither.“ the man responded, “But I got the emails as well. The instructions, y’know. I used the website and all, and if you’d like my help, I’d consider letting me in.”
Obviously he wasn’t with the cops, so either he was here to kill me, or to help me.
“You got a gun on you or anything?” I asked him.
“No sir.” he sighed, seemingly annoyed at my pestering.
I pre-dialed 911 on my phone and slid it into my back pocket, unlocked. I approached the door with the baseball bat carving tiny splinters into the palm of my hand.
I let the man in, and immediately after he closed the door I instructed him to stand with his arms to his sides so I could search him. He wore bright blue jeans so tight it’d be hard to conceal a weapon inside them, but I went through the motions just in case. His torso held a bedazzled country shirt tucked neatly into his pants, separated by a brown leather belt with a huge, faded metal buckle boasting bulls and lasso ropes. On his feet he had riding boots that seemed to chip at the floor every time he took a step. If he’d smelled like cow-shit or had a stetson on his sweaty head, the man would’ve seemed like a caricature of the freedom-laced Texan cowboy.
I rifled through his getup with one hand, as I clutched my bat in the other. The cowboy was calm throughout the procedure and stood still. After I was satisfied that he didn’t have any weapons on him, I ordered him to sit in one of the chairs, and told him that I have 911 pre-dialed on my phone, and I’m not afraid to pummel his face in either if it came to that. As he nodded and reassured me of his goodwill, Jacob’s face flashed back into my mind.
His parent’s are going to need to identify his body. They need to look into the pit that used to be their son’s face and say “Yes. That is my son. That horrible, twisted, mangled piece of flesh and blood is - was - my very own Jacob.” Maybe they had done this already. Maybe now they’re preparing for his funeral.
I stumbled back into conscious reality and saw the cowboy staring at me, waiting.
“How do you know about the emails and the website?” I asked him.
Seemingly eager to give his piece, he replied “Well, I got the link to the website as well. What’s so weird about a dead body, that one. I got the when and where to my friend Rob’s house five years ago. When I went there, his guts were spilled on the floor. Part of his ribcage showed through long stretches of intestinal carnage. It looked like Pollock took a stab at being a butcher.”
After a few seconds, the cowboy laughed heartily through a big smile and continued “So who was it for you? A friend, a brother, perhaps an old lover? How did you find them?”
Not sharing the trusting honesty he seemed to have for me, but wanting to seem compliant, I replied as simply as I could. “Jacob. He was a friend. His face had caved in. That’s how I found him. But I didn’t do it, ask the cops.”
“You sure it wasn’t you?” the man asked, grinning, pointing at my bat, “And if it wasn’t you, then why the hell’re you sleeping with a baseball bat at a motel?”
“How the fuck did you even find me? Did you follow me from my house?” I replied in attempted intimidation, as I realized that I’d told no one that I’m here.
“Listen,” the man said, leaning forward with his elbows to his knees, the balls of his feet balancing the thinking man’s stretch. “I get it. I went through it too, and there are others as well. We actually have a support group, believe it or not. Yeah, the Morbid Angels - dumb name, I know. But you know how it is, being a fan of the macabre brings its share of theatricality. We meet at the rec center on Fridays, so if you’d like, you can come by tomorrow. We can talk more then. We’d love to have you.”
The man got up slowly, holding his hands up halfway in a casual gesture of surrender “As for how I found you, well one of the guys in M.A is a cop. He caught wind of your case and put two and two together. It wasn’t that hard to track your whereabouts from there.”
Leisurely, the cowboy walked out the door, closing it behind him. As he started to walk away, he shouted “See you tomorrow night!”
Flustered and confused, I sat back down on the bed. I let go of the bat, the knuckles of my hand white and my palm scattered with tiny specks of wood. Pain joined hunger and thirst in their incessant reminder of their actuality.
If he wanted me dead, why would he come and do this song and dance? I pondered the situation for a while, finding no answer completely fitting. The rec center isn’t far off, and it’s a public space, so going there doesn’t pose a huge risk - and unfortunately, that’s the only lead I have right now. Before all that I’ll need to reply to my body and get some food and water, though, and try to get some more sleep in. I’ll reassess tomorrow.