Be Mine

Chapter Nine

Frankie

The motel room reeks of stale cigarettes and a shoddy attempt to mask it with lemon scented cleaner. The bedspread looks like it’s one thread pull away from disintegrating, and I’m not one hundred percent, but that may be a blood stain on the carpet.

I had to walk past throngs of construction workers, all hanging out in the hall, getting drunk at 4:00 p.m. With my bag held tightly against my body, I tried my best to ignore every catcall and whistle sent my way, despite the way it made my skin crawl.

Locking the door then the deadbolt, I drag the chair sitting at the desk over, securing it under the handle. I give it a few quick pulls to ensure it’ll do the trick before tossing my bag on the dresser and letting out an exasperated sigh. Aren’t these crazy disturbances supposed to happen when it’s a full moon or a planetary retrograde? Like seriously? What deity did I piss off to deserve this kind of penance?

I’m exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. I feel like I’ve gone through the spin cycle one too many times.

After all the customers left the building and Luke was rushed to the hospital, each employee was questioned to see if they had seen anything. Apparently, the security camera near the baler had glitched right around the time Luke fell in. Strange coincidence? Or premeditated?

An icy feeling takes over my body. I am certain that was no accident. My mind returns to Noah, to his apathetic reaction. Yes, he’s always seemed detached, but even when faced with an obvious catastrophe, he never dropped his stony exterior. Something deep in my bones tells me he had something to do with Luke’s accident, though I can’t figure out what his motive would be. Luke isn’t my favorite person, but I still wouldn’t wish something like this on him.

I drag a hand down my face, then pull my phone out of my purse so I can call Martha and check on Cosmos. It rings twice before she picks up and despite everything, I can’t help but smile. Martha is likely one of the few people left on the planet who not only has a landline, but uses it, spiral cord and all.

“Hello,” she speaks through the phone. Because she doesn’t have caller ID, every call is a surprise.

“Hi, Martha, it’s Frankie. I was calling to check up.” I lean against the desk, not sure how sanitary the bed may be.

“Oh! Hi, dear, how are you making out?”

“I’m ok, how’s things there?”

“Oh my, the police have been through the entire building, asking all kinds of strange questions.”

“Really? Like what?” I straighten, curious to hear what they’ve told my neighbors.

“If any of us seen anyone peculiar through the night or early this morning. If I had seen anyone delivering anything to your apartment. You didn’t tell me you had an unusual delivery, dear. But you know, I told them I have been saying to the landlord for years we need better locks at the front entrance. It would be so easy for someone to break in. People pick up all kinds of tricks with these crime shows nowadays. But they reassured me that they would be keeping an eye on the building, which makes me feel better. It’s got us all a little spooked, knowing some strange person was sneaking around the building while we were all asleep.” She sounds a little rattled and I can’t help but feel guilty, like I brought this all upon them.

“I know, I’m sorry.” My voice is barely above a whisper. Hot tears that I’ve held in all day breach my lower lids, cascading down my cheeks before I can stop them. I bury my face into the crook of my elbow to suppress the sob that’s trying to break free so Martha can’t hear me crying. This is such a clusterfuck. I’m happy the police are being thorough, but I hate it’s at the cost of my neighbors feeling uneasy in their own homes. And I can’t help but look around this run-down motel room and wonder, why me?

“Don’t cry, dear, you’ve done nothing wrong. If that Jeremy would get off his ass to do his job once in a while, we wouldn’t have to worry about some creep breaking in.”

She means our landlord. Who does the bare minimum around the building. It’s a common topic of conversation amongst the tenants.

“How is Cosmos?” I sniffle, changing the subject, eager to hear how my poor cat is adjusting.

“Oh, he’s fine. Him and I sat in the recliner watching Family Feud while sharing a turkey sandwich this afternoon. Now he’s up on the ledge bird watching.” She talks about him like he’s a child and not an overweight ball of fur.

“Thank you again for this. I really owe you one.” And I do. She’s my savior.

“Don’t be silly, take care of yourself. We will be fine here. Besides the whole mishap gave me some eye candy to look at. Did you see how buff that one officer was? Barde, I think his name was.”

“Martha,” I mockingly scold her for her brashness, but truthfully, I think it’s part of her appeal. At her age, she can say whatever the hell she wants.

“What? These joints may be old and creaky, but lube ‘em up and they work just fine.”

I don’t know if she’s speaking about her limbs or other parts of her body. Either way, she’s managed to make me giggle through a cloud of tears.

“I’ll let you go, dear; you don’t worry about us.”

“Thanks, Martha, I appreciate it. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

Two hours later, and the group of construction workers are as rowdy as hell. Music is blaring, vibrating the pictures that hang on the wall. They’re hollering at each other, banging doors, and I know if I popped my head out, there would be a thick haze from all the weed they’re smoking.

I draped every towel I could find over the bed before sitting on it. Still in my cake covered uniform, I’m aimlessly scrolling my phone. My feed is filled with pictures of Valentine’s Day posts, and it’s then that I remember I had forgotten to bring the bouquet of roses home with me. Not that I necessarily wanted to. The seemingly romantic gesture didn’t make my heart stop or my stomach flutter. It filled me with a sense of doom, like a warning I needed to heed.

My gut tells me everything is intricately tied together. The heart. The flowers. Maybe even Luke.

Pulling Officer Barde's card from my purse, I sweep my finger over the embossed emblem, contemplating calling him and telling him about it. Holding my phone in the opposite hand, my thumb hovers over the keypad when an incoming text makes me jolt.

Taylor: Bitch, you coming tonight? You can crash at my place if you want.

Pressing my hand over my rapidly thumping heart, I will it to return to normal. I had completely forgotten she had asked me to go to Threshold.

It’s a horrible idea. I know I should lay low, play it safe, but honestly, as I listen to the pandemonium down the hall? I’m probably safer at a nightclub full of bouncers than at a motel packed full of drunk men and a dodgy lock. And maybe a few drinks, a little distraction is exactly what I need. I text her before I back out.

Me: Be there soon

Grabbing my bag and the room key off the desk, my hand hovers over the handle when the motel phone by the bed rings. Who would be calling me? I hesitantly walk over to it, each shrill ring making my pulse quicken. I reach out and pick up the receiver, bringing it to my ear.

“Hello?” My voice is low, timid.

“Hi, this is Linda at check-in. You have a package at the front desk,” the chipper woman yaps into the phone.

No.

“Did…did they say who it’s from?”

“A courier service dropped it off.”

The only people who know I’m staying at a motel are the police, and I never specified which one. I never told Martha where I was staying and no one at work knows what’s going on.

“Are you sure it’s for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. Frankie Clarke. Room 116.”

Fuck.

How is it possible that they found me at some run down, shit motel? I tell her I’ll be down soon to retrieve it before hanging up.

I take the long way around to the lobby to avoid the impromptu party happening the other way. Each step feels like it’s bringing me closer to my ruin. The panic returns violently, my sanity threatening to take me under. I can’t. I can’t deal with one more thing today.

Grabbing the item from front desk, it bears all the same similarities to the heart and the flowers I received today. Black box embellished with a red bow. It’s small, like a jewelry box, that fits in the palm of my hand. The clerk has hearts in her eyes as she hands it over, swooning over the romantic gesture.

If she only fucking knew.

Without opening it, I chuck the gift into the nearest garbage can. I’m done playing this game. Whoever the fuck you are, you aren’t screwing with me anymore.