Chapter 8 Dove
DOVE
My legs ached from being seated so long, and the tension in the car had grown so thick I was dying to escape it, too.
Ellis had barely said a word since we left the Gemini Giant, and Liv, miraculously, wasn’t offering her usual running commentary either.
She sat silent in the back seat, eyes closed as if she were sleeping.
Maybe she was. I didn’t know enough about the afterlife to say she wasn’t, but the fact that her chest didn’t rise or fall kind of freaked me out.
I eyed the tote bag strapped into the backseat beside her, Margaret’s ashes snug and safe.
Ellis pulled the car into a parking spot out front of the main building, her jaw set and hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing holding her to Earth.
The second the engine cut off, she got out, muttering, “I’ll check us in,” before heading toward the reception door faster than I could blink.
“She’s a real treat,” Liv said from behind me.
“I think she’s just a little tired,” I murmured, then opened my door, groaning softly as I stretched my legs and cracked my back.
Liv floated out of the car and made her way toward reception, and I hurried to follow. I doubted Ellis would appreciate any more Liv-inspired interruptions right now.
The door dragged hard across the old carpet, making a horrible screech as the scent of cigarette smoke and dust filled my nostrils. The aluminum blinds on the door clattered, and I grimaced, my eyes drifting toward the front desk where Ellis stood, watching me with incredulous eyes.
Behind the counter stood a woman who looked like she’d lived through several wars and lost all of them. Short gray hair, a no-nonsense, weathered face, and lips that probably hadn’t smiled since Reagan was president.
“… as I was saying,” Ellis continued, turning back to the woman, “I need two rooms, please.”
The woman clicked around her screen slowly, typing with two long, pointed fingers. The machine looked older than I was. It reminded me of the computer Margaret had when I was a toddler. I only knew it existed because of the photos of me, her, and the boxy monitor in the background.
“Only got the one room, sweetheart,” the woman croaked, her voice rough from years of smoking. “Two twin beds, though. Other than that, we’re booked.”
“Okay,” Ellis said coolly.
She took the keys without another word and turned on her heel, brushing past me and ignoring Liv, who was currently inspecting a plastic plant coated in dust. Ellis yanked the door open and disappeared back into the afternoon.
A grim smile tugged at my lips as I nodded to the woman, then hurried after Ellis, slipping through the open door before it could shut, avoiding the ordeal of dragging it open again.
Ellis was already at the Mustang, unloading her two bags.
I grabbed my duffel from the footwell on the passenger side, along with the binder, and wordlessly watched as she locked the car and headed toward the rooms. She inspected the key as she walked, her shuffling steps growing more confident until she strode forward with purpose.
“Did you guys prebook anything?” I asked tentatively as she halted outside a white wooden door and jammed the key into the lock.
Ellis shot me a sideways look. “No. We have to make sure we can actually afford it. I see a few nights of sleeping in the car in our future.”
“I’m supposed to be the psychic here,” I said, unable to help myself.
She didn’t even crack a smile, just rolled her eyes and walked inside without a word.
“Maybe she’s hungry,” Liv whispered in my ear, making me jump. She chuckled and glided past me, floating into the room.
The room looked exactly how you’d expect a budget motel room to look.
Faded yellow wallpaper lined the walls. Two twin beds were topped with white quilts patterned with wilted-looking flowers, something straight out of a retirement home.
A quick glance into the bathroom revealed a space that could only generously be described as retro.
The carpet squished slightly beneath my foot when I stepped inside, why, I didn’t want to know. The ceiling light flickered once before holding steady.
Ellis had claimed the bed by the window. Her two bags were already tossed on top, one of them rattling with whatever was inside, while she stood at the foot of the bed, her expression unreadable as she rubbed her temples.
Liv hovered between both beds, hands on her hips, eyes scanning the room.
“Wow,” she deadpanned, her voice slicing through the glacial silence. “I died, and this still isn’t rock bottom.”
I snorted as I dropped my bag onto the remaining bed. Ellis didn’t react. She just kept massaging her temples, and I wondered if she was dissociating.
“I call the bathroom first,” I announced, backing toward it.
“Go for your life,” Ellis muttered, abruptly dropping her hands and unzipping one of her bags. “I’m not fighting you for it.”
I ignored the tightness in her voice and stepped inside the bathroom, flicking on the light. The tiles were dated, the fixtures old, but whatever. It would do. We only had to sleep here and attempt to bathe.
I turned toward the mirror and screamed.
A blood-curdling shriek tore from my throat as a black spider scuttled across the glass, startled by the sound. I froze, face-to-face with one of my biggest phobias.
Within seconds, Ellis came rushing in, panic in her eyes as she looked at me.
“What?” she shouted, her cheeks red.
I pointed as I continued shrieking. She followed my finger and let out a screech of her own when she saw what I was pointing at. She bolted into the hallway, doing an awkward twist-and-jig as she recoiled. Liv popped up behind her.
“Get it, Liv!” Ellis yelled. “You can kill it!”
“Nuh-uh!” Liv shouted, a look of pure disgust on her face. “I’m dead. I can’t go around killing things. The irony isn’t lost on me!”
“You could slam cabinets and play music in my uncle’s house!” I shouted, outrage rising. “You can touch things—move things—so kill the spider!”
“No!” Liv snapped, folding her arms. “I’m not killing anything.”
“Okay!” Ellis yelled suddenly. “Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it!”
I stared in amazement as she yanked off her shoe, grimacing as her sock-clad foot met the questionable motel carpet, and then, in what felt like slow motion, I realized what was about to happen. But it was already too late.
Ellis flung herself into the bathroom, brandishing her shoe like a sledgehammer. She spun, brought her arm around, and slammed the shoe down hard on the spider.
Which was still on the mirror.
The glass shattered instantly.
Ellis screamed louder than either of us had before, stumbling backward and crashing into me. We tumbled into the tiny, tiled shower cubicle in a tangled mess of limbs and frantic breathing.
Silence fell as the last of the glass shards clattered to the floor.
Ellis was practically in my lap, one hand braced against the shower wall. We both stared wide-eyed at the broken mirror, our chests heaving as we tried to catch our breath and process the last thirty seconds of chaos.
Liv clicked her tongue, looked down at Ellis, and said, “Well, that’s seven years of bad luck for you, missy.”
There had been zero arguments when I suggested we leave the broken mirror for now and get ourselves some food, and a moment to decompress, before approaching the receptionist to let her know what we’d done and how much she was likely going to bill us for it.
Ellis was now driving us in silence again toward a diner she’d found nearby that had enough stars to satisfy her need for “efficient health and safety.” Her words, not mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a way to filter reviews by cleanliness rating.
At this point, I was amazed she hadn’t vetoed the Motel 6.
Betty’s Rockin’ Spoon sat on the corner of the main street, a memorial of pastel pink and turquoise paint slightly faded, but in a way that felt charming and nostalgic rather than eerie or decrepit. The windows glowed under the soft afternoon sun, and a buzzing OPEN sign flickered behind the glass.
“Finally, the vibes I’m after,” Liv said as she floated out of the car once Ellis had parked. She pointed up at the massive sign on the roof, a cartoon woman in 1950s diner attire holding a tray of pancakes as big as her head. Liv let out a low whistle. “Boy, do I miss pancakes.”
The moment we stepped inside, a blast of warm air hit us, followed by the smell of maple syrup, bacon grease… and the subtle rustle of Ellis whipping out her hand sanitizer. She scanned the room for a clean booth and gestured toward one by the window.
We slid onto the vinyl cushions across from each other, and I looked around the room, a low yawn escaping as my eyes started to burn. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t even over yet.
A red-lipped waitress with a towering bouffant and sparkly cat-eye glasses dropped off two laminated menus and a pair of waters, telling us to holler when we were ready. Then she sashayed off toward the counter, where another girl dressed in a similar retro style leaned in to talk with her.
“This place is cute,” I murmured, glancing down at the menu.
Ellis didn’t respond right away. She just flipped open the menu and began scanning it, her expression tight with irritation and exhaustion. Everything about her seemed so carefully managed and wound up to the edge. Was the temple rubbing just one of her tools to keep herself steady?
Hell, maybe she’d enjoyed smashing that mirror.
“So…” I began carefully, “now that we’ve survived the drive from Chicago, riled up ghost hunters, and endured a Motel 6 spider-induced meltdown… maybe we should talk about how we’re funding this chaos?”
Ellis looked up instantly, blinking at me. Her green eyes were so startling I lost my train of thought for a second.
“Funding?” she echoed.
“Yes,” I said, tucking a loose strand of hair back into one of my floppy space buns. “You know, how we’re paying for gas, food, motels… your emergency therapy bill after today.”