Chapter 16
The rest of dinner is uneventful. Every time Mara mentions going home or reminds us that we're only staying one more night, Phoebe silently agrees, her eyes betraying her impatience.
This is turning out to be a huge waste of time. Even as we eavesdropped on the conversations around us, nothing groundbreaking emerged. Just the usual complaints about the lack of healthcare in the area and how they really need to build an urgent care facility.
I kept hoping someone would drop a hint, something like, "Yeah, given what happened here a year ago… you'd think they'd have a healthcare facility by now." Maybe then we'd get some juicy details, something no one else knew about. But no. Nothing.
At least the pizza was hot and fresh, and it felt good to eat something substantial, even if we came up empty-handed… again.
The three of us leave The Hidden Slice and brave the biting wind and snow as we safely run back to our room. As we creep toward our cabin, the very oxygen around us hums with unease.
Something is wrong.
The air grows cold, the wind picking up and swirling dust through the narrow gap of our barely ajar door.
"Did someone break in?" I can barely register my own voice, regardless of how silent the night is.
We stand there, hearts pounding, staring at the sliver of darkness that could hide so many possibilities.
"I'll go get Chet," Mara says decisively.
She runs toward Cabin One, while Phoebe and I step back from the door, unsure whether it's empty or hiding an intruder.
A moment later, we see Chet answer his door, clothed in nothing but a thin t-shirt and jeans—far too little for the temperature drop. Mara's words from afar hit him hard, and we see it in his eyes, that flash of fear. He disappears from sight, and for a moment, everything is still.
Then he reappears, clothes hastily thrown on, jacket barely zipped up. Don't these hillbillies own guns? Why is Chet running toward us with a baseball bat? Why hasn't he grabbed a rifle or at least a shotgun? He moves toward us with urgency, but the bat in his hand seems almost laughable.
My mind races, thoughts spiraling into the worst possible scenarios. I tell myself it's just the wind—it's been relentless—and maybe we didn't secure the door well enough. Maybe whoever was supposed to lock it behind us simply didn't latch it fully, and the gusts pushed it open.
But then, as I peer into the thick, suffocating darkness behind the door, I wonder: What if I see a face staring back at me?
"Stay behind me," Chet orders, raising the bat slightly, getting into position.
"Is the electricity working?" Phoebe murmurs.
"Shh!" Chet silences us with a sharp wave of his hand as he kicks the door fully open and fumbles for a light switch.
We all breathe a collective sigh of relief when the room illuminates in a warm yellow glow. At least he won't have to search in pitch-black darkness.
The three of us step back, letting him scour the room, silently praying we don't hear a scream or a sudden scuffle.
Before I can even conjure up more nightmares—like Albert passed out, naked on our bed, or a message written in blood on the walls—Chet yells, "All clear."
We step into the room, and it's anything but "all clear."
"My stuff!" I shout, rushing toward my luggage, where my belongings are thrown haphazardly around the room.
It's obvious now—no one left the door unlocked. Someone definitely broke in.
"My earrings are gone!" I run my trembling hands through my hair, cursing under my breath.
"My laptop's gone." Phoebe crouches by the bed, searching underneath it, clearly hoping it somehow slipped out of sight.
"We've been robbed!" I squeak out, realizing all the jewelry I brought with me has disappeared.
"What else is missing?" Chet asks, trying to help by picking up the mess.
Clothes are scattered everywhere. I can't even tell which items belong to whom. Our three pieces of luggage have been emptied and tossed around the room as if someone was searching for something specific.
"My fucking laptop is gone!" Phoebe repeats, voice rising in frustration.
"All my jewelry is gone," I add, not trying to compare losses, but… "Those diamond earrings were six thousand dollars. And my mom's sapphire studs are gone too. I'm sure you backed up everything to the cloud, but I'll never get those heirlooms back."
"Can everyone just calm down?" Chet requests.
"Don't ever tell a woman to calm down!" I snap, pointing my finger near his face. "What are you going to do about this?"
"It was probably Albert," Phoebe suggests. "There's no sign of forced entry. They had to have had a key."
"Why would Albert do something like this?" Chet asks before muttering under his breath, "You women are nuts."
"Because Albert is your dad." Phoebe's accusation strikes me like a bolt of lightning.
"Everyone in town knows who he is. And you—someone who's lived here your whole life, someone who even admitted to taking over this motel for your parents—you don't know who the wandering man suffering from dementia is? "
Chet looks guilty, and I pick up on her realization.
"It makes sense! He probably knows where all the master keys are. But what is he looking for?"
"Nothing! My dad wouldn't do something like this." Chet's face crumples, and he looks like he's about to cry. "He's confused, yes, I'll admit that. But he wouldn't break in."
"Well, let's check if the other rooms are disrupted or if we were the only ones targeted," Mara suggests.
It's then that I notice something, and I'm rather proud of the discovery. "You know what I realized? For the entire time we've been here, no one has come or gone from any of the other cabins."
"Holy shit, Sabrina, you're right." Mara covers her mouth with her hand. "Why haven't we seen any other guests? Kids running around, causing chaos?"
"There aren't even footprints leading anywhere but our room," I shout from outside. "What the fuck is going on, Chet?"