6. Jael
La La La - Unloved
F ifty-five bucks a night.
It’s the price advertised on the flickering neon sign outside the Mariner’s Motel. I heave a sigh and then follow the cement path leading the way to the motel’s front office. The parking lot’s empty except a couple semi-trucks situated at the back and a rusted station wagon parked one spot over from the handicap space.
A tiny bronze bell clangs as I push the office door open and I’m greeted by vomit-green carpet and peacock wallpapering. The lighting in the room is warm and subdued, probably meant to be cozy and welcoming, but the quiver my stomach gives says differently.
There’s a man in a short-sleeved, pinstriped button-down shirt behind the counter. He has hair along the side of his head but nothing up top, like he started balding a long time ago, but refuses to let go of what little hair he does have left. He licks his thumb as he flips a page in a book propped open at the front desk.
It takes several seconds for him to even acknowledge my presence. I have to clear my throat.
His eyes flick up at me, his reading glasses low on his nose. “Yes?”
“I’d like… do you have any rooms available?”
The way he appraises me, his gaze openly traveling from my thick afro to the wrinkled t-shirt I’m wearing to the chipped polish on my fingernails, only makes me more uncertain. I shift my weight from one leg to the other as he makes a sound with his throat.
“I’ll check.”
As if this entire motel doesn’t look abandoned. As if almost every parking space outside weren’t available and the halls empty.
I roll my eyes and stand by as he turns toward a desktop computer out of 1995 and slowly starts scrolling with the mouse.
Resorting to a motel was my last choice, but it’s something I’ve had to do.
The apartment I’ve been staying in was no longer an option for more than one reason. He knew I was there. The police like Detective Laurent knew I was there.
And the family who the apartment really belonged to had returned.
I’m in the middle of packing my things after fleeing Dr. Wolford’s office, stuffing what I can into my duffle bag and backpack. Sweat slicks my skin from all the running I’ve done, but I can’t slow down now.
Earlier I stopped by my sister’s apartment and returned her laptop. Just so they couldn’t say I had stolen it. Just so I could wipe my hands of all the bad things I had done.
It’s only a matter of time before they come for me.
Dr. Wolford’s going to send them. He’s working with the shadow man.
Just like Nurse Big Bird. Just like Detective Laurent.
Everybody’s against me. Everybody wants to make me suffer when all I want is to be with my sister. Why hasn’t she called me? How could she ever leave me behind? Doesn’t she know I’m looking for her?
She’s not dead. She must be hiding somewhere.
Waiting for me to find her…
Emotion pours out of me by way of tears as I sob and fight the zipper on my duffle. An ache starts up in my chest at the realization I can’t take everything. Not if I’m going to be on the run from the people Dr. Wolford sends after me. Not if the shadow man is going to be following along.
I frown and stroke Thorny, my cactus plant, affectionately. “I’m sorry… but you have to stay. Maybe someone will love you like I have.”
The lock in the front door clicks and voices trail from the hall outside.
I freeze, looking up in shock.
Oh no…
The door opens and the Klum family strolls in with their suitcases, in the middle of conversation. They stop a couple footsteps inside once they scan their living room and notice a few differences… and the stranger that’s clutching her things on her way out.
The father, a doughy man in a plaid shirt, explodes at once. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m calling the police!” the woman shrieks.
The two children simply gape at me like I’m an alien.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I was just staying here a while.”
“Are those our family photos?” the man asks, pointing at the photo frames I’ve stuffed inside a drawer. They were too big to fit all the way inside, one of the larger frames sticking out. “What the hell did you think you were doing? How did you even get in here?”
“I have to go! Thank you for the hospitality.”
They were still in so much shock that I scurried past them and made myself disappear. It was never anything malicious. I needed a place to stay and theirs was empty, the windows not even locked. I tried to clean up after myself and I left them a beautiful cactus plant they should be grateful for…
“Room seven,” says the motel manager, jerking me back to the present. He slides a brass key attached to a fob across the counter. “You’ll be on the first floor next to the vending and ice machines. The laundry room is free to use any time of day. We offer a complimentary breakfast from six to ten a.m. No smoking anywhere on the premises. If you have any questions, you can pick up the phone in your room and dial 0. It’ll take you straight to my phone here. I’ll be here all night.”
I snatch the key off the counter, muttering thanks, and turn to go.
Outside, the wind has picked up. It blows through sight unseen but cold on the skin. I shudder and press on, carrying my things down the exterior hallway. The light above flickers as if threatening to go out. I focus on the numbers.
Room one, two, three…
Four’s number tacked to the door is crooked.
All the windows are dark. The curtains still.
I pause and glance behind me, then look out at the near empty parking lot.
No sign of life anywhere.
It feels like I’m the last one alive on earth. But that’s not true at all—the motel manager is in the front office licking his thumb and turning the pages in his book.
And the light in room six is on. I can tell because the curtains are backlit by a golden glow. Is that who the station wagon belongs to? Or is it one of the truckers?
My stomach pits as I move toward door seven and realize we’re neighbors.
“Strength in numbers,” I mutter under my breath, sticking the brass key into the lock.
Unless this neighbor is the last one I’d want to be stuck around…
I shove the door open and step into the room, the stale air smacking into me like a wall. It reeks of mildew and lingering cigarette smoke, the kind that clings to your clothes and skin.
So much for no smoking anywhere on the premises.
The carpet is the same kind of mottled vomit green as the front office. I’d guess it hasn’t been cleaned in at least a decade. I slide my backpack off my arm, setting it down with my duffle bag on the faded floral bedspread.
The room is anything but comfortable. Cracked walls. Mold in the bathroom. A TV that’s permanently fuzzy and distorted.
But it’s the best I can manage for now. All I can afford.
I check the locks on the doors. Once. Twice. More than three times.
I’m so paranoid about it that once I twist the lock to make sure it’s in place, I stand and admire it for several seconds to come.
Making sure it’s staying put. It’s not going to undo itself the moment I turn around.
Safe for now.
No one will find me here. I’ve been discreet. I just have to figure out what to do next. Will I continue looking for my sister? Is this what she’s felt like running away and letting everyone believe she was dead?
Is she hiding from someone?
These thoughts fill up my head. They should be enough to distract me, but they’re not enough to keep my mind off the second presence in the room. The other person that’s here just out of sight.
My breath catches. My hand trembles as I slide the door chain into place yet again and tell myself he’s not here. It’s my imagination like Dr. Wolford said.
“It’s crucial you recognize it’s your mind playing tricks on you. These are symptoms of your condition, not reality. The shadow man, as you’ve called him, isn’t real.”
“He isn’t real,” I mutter to myself, scanning the room. Yet my pulse pounds in my ears. The closet door stands slightly ajar, a dark wedge of emptiness. I cross the room in quick, jerky steps and yank it all the way open.
Nothing. There’s nothing inside.
Just a foldable luggage rack and some wooden hangers that clatter against each other from how swiftly I’ve wrenched open the door.
A laugh shakes out of me. “Maybe it’s true. Maybe I am imagining things.”
But I keep inspecting the room anyway, just to be sure. Just to sate the hungry paranoia clawing away at me from the inside.
The bed is next. I drop to my knees and lift the edge of the bedspread. Nothing’s underneath but a forgotten sock and a discarded candy wrapper. No one’s hiding under my bed like he did the last time I was in the hospital.
Last up is the bathroom. The shower curtain hangs limply from a rusty rod. It bulges slightly, as though concealing something behind it. I take in a quivering breath to ready myself, then on a sudden burst of courage, I grab the curtain and shove it aside.
Still nothing. Just grime and mold and a chipped porcelain tub.
The occasional drop of water leaking from the faucet.
I step back, my knees weak. The relief is so strong that it makes the room feel like it’s spinning. The dark panic that was edging my vision recedes. There’s no way anyone else is in this room with me. There’s no way he’s here.
I plop down on the bed and focus my attention on the TV.
A rerun of Wheel of Fortune plays. For a while the dazzling sparkles on Vanna White’s dress and the excited contestants clapping along to the spin of the wheel are enough to distract me.
“Big money, big money, big money,” the woman whose turn it is chants.
But for the first time in hours—almost a whole day—I’m sitting still enough to realize how exhausted and hungry I am. Not just hungry but starving .
I haven’t eaten anything since last night.
The vending machines are one room away from mine. I probably have enough coins to grab a soda and some chips. Enough to keep me from feeling like my stomach is eating itself.
Digging out a couple quarters and dimes from one of the pouches of my backpack, I make sure I have my room key and iPhone on me. The moment I step outside my room, I’m drawing shut the door and beelining toward the vending machines.
They stand wide and tall, lit up brightly compared to everything else at the motel. Their hum almost feels therapeutic given the deep unease I’m feeling.
I push the quarters through the slot and press the selection for Diet Coke. The machine makes a mechanical noise before it cranks out the soda bottle at the dispenser. I move onto the machine next to it, showing off the decent selection of candy, cookies, and chips.
Counting my coins up, I see I have enough for two more items. I select a bag of chips first, and once that’s dropped to the dispenser shoot, I push in the last of my coins to go for some peanut butter cups.
The machine makes the same mechanical noise, the droning loud. It quakes on the spot, the metal rings pushing the candy out like it’s supposed to.
And then it stops. The candy gets stuck in the metal ring.
“No,” I growl, banging at the glass. “Give me my coins back then.”
My hands stretch out to grip the sides of the machine and give it a shake. A lame attempt to rattle it enough so that the candy tumbles down into the dispenser.
Frustration’s boiling up inside me and flushing onto my skin when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. I look up to find I’m no longer alone.
There’s a man on the other end of the hall. A large, hulking man well over six feet and so massive he fills up the entire space he stands in. His head almost scrapes the ceiling, his face obscured by darkness.
My breath freezes inside my lungs. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. The soda bottle and bag of chips slip out of my hands and crash to the floor.
I spin around to run. Get the hell out of here and go… anywhere else.
As far away from him as possible.
Instead, I collide with the man who happens to be standing behind me.
The motel manager, who’s knocked half a step back and then reaches out to steady me by the shoulders.
“He’s here!” I gasp. “He’s followed me here. He was just watching me?—”
“What are you talking about?” the motel manager snaps. “Who’s here? Who’s watching you? You ran right into me.”
“There. Over there!” I turn back around to point him out only to find the space is empty.
The massive hulking shadow man is gone. He’s nowhere in sight as if he was never there.
“I saw him,” I mumble. “I just saw him.”
The manager’s mouth presses into a tight line. “There’s no one there. Watch where you’re going next time. You could’ve knocked me over.”
He steps past me, allowing his shoulder to bump into mine. I stay where I am, stunned into silence, blinking in confusion.
How could I be so sure what I saw when no one else ever sees it?
I scoop up my soda and chips and then rush toward my room. Slamming the door shut and sliding the latch into place, I back away heaving deep breaths.
“I’m not crazy,” I mutter. “I’m not crazy. Why won’t anyone believe me?”
My knees give out and I crumple onto the bed, covering my face with my hands and refusing to look anywhere. If I do, I risk the chance I’ll see him. I’ll imagine the lock’s come undone or there’s a lump behind the shower curtain.
But it does nothing to change the fact that I still feel him. His presence. His energy. He’s here with me, invading my life, and escape is impossible.
The sunrise spills through the narrow part in the curtains, a pale wash of pink and orange that creeps across the motel room walls. I sit in the chair by the window, knees tucked to my chest, arms wrapped around myself like a shield. My eyes ache from staying open too long, the lids heavy, but I don’t dare close them.
The caffeine won’t allow it anyway.
The soda was the beginning. I drained the bottle and left it empty on the nightstand alongside a couple paper cups I drank coffee out of. I used the little coffeepot in the bathroom to brew it, making some of the muddiest coffee imaginable.
But it did the trick for the time being.
He’s still out there. He’s still after me along with everyone else.
Every time I peer out the window, I half expect to see him in the parking lot, his towering silhouette outlined against the dawn light.
He’s waiting for the right moment. He won’t give up. I can’t either.
My chest tightens, panic clawing its way up my throat.
I think about my sister and why she’s vanished. It’s as if she’s poofed into thin air, never to be seen from again. But I know she’s not dead like they say she is. I would feel it if she were.
It’s something else. Something that drove her away. Something she was desperate to escape. It’s then that I know, that I realize what’s going on.
How didn’t I see it before?
My sister saw him too.
It makes sense now. The shadow man must’ve been after her, haunting her like he’s been haunting me, and she was desperate to find a way out.
What if the shadow man is the Cleaver? What if they’re working together? What if they’re all after us and we’re the only two who we can rely on?
It wouldn’t be any different from our childhood. We were all we had then too.
A shiver racks down my spine. My sister could be anywhere, but I’ll find her one way or another. I’ll make sure this stops.
The realization blooms to life gradually, sinking into my bones. My whole life has been an endless cycle of fear and flight, of being misbelieved and dismissed. No one’s ever taken me seriously and it’s made me unravel thread by thread.
Maybe I am crazy.
But if I am, so are they.
They’re the ones trying to hurt us by any means possible. They’re the ones letting the shadow man hunt us down for sport.
I’ve had enough.
Images of him form in my mind. His massive frame. His featureless face. The dark energy that sucks the air from my lungs.
My hands clench into fists, nails biting at my palms.
He wants me to be afraid. He thrives on it. But what if I take that power away? What if I turn the tables?
A plan starts to take shape, swirling among the chaos that’s my mind. It’s rough and jagged, barely more than an abstract idea, but it’s something. Some sort of foundation I can build off.
Hiding won’t do the trick. Confrontation will.
I have to face him. Find him. Hunt him down like he’s hunted me.
My gaze swings to the cracked mirror above the dresser. My reflection stares back, wild-eyed and clammy, my thick afro like a bird’s nest. I look insane, like I’ve been through hell and back. But there’s a spark. A flicker of defiance. A glint of madness that just might work in my favor if I used it the right way.
For my sister. For myself.
I push off the chair by the window and stand on trembling legs. The sun pours into the room now, flooding it with light. The shadow man is out there, lurking somewhere in the dark. But I won’t let him win.
I’m going to find him.
This time, I’m going to beat him at his own game.