No matter, she thought, taking a deep breath and turning the volume on the radio up again. She refused to let it spoil her good mood. She turned the volume up higher and started singing again. It was an old country and western song about lost love that had always been one of her mother’s favourites. At the thought of her mother she felt guilt consume her once more.
Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Mom will be okay. It’s only for a few days, and she had survived the years when she had been away working on her cadetship just fine. She had a strong support network. The whole world wasn’t going to come crashing down just because she had decided to have a mini break. She needed to get a grip.
And maybe, just maybe, she would find some answers to the questions that had consumed her since the night she had seen her father rocking on that kitchen chair. Lost to them forever.
***
The night was eerily dark by the time she pulled into the car lot at the motel and turned off the ignition. Keeley took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It had been a hair-raising drive after she had left that strange gas station.
The roads themselves hadn’t been too bad, she thought. They weren’t potholed or twisting. No, it had been the animals that had seemed to pop out of nowhere as soon as the sun had set. Twice she had to swerve to avoid hitting some, her heart in her mouth. The first had been small, some kind of jack rabbit that had darted furiously across the road. The second had been larger. A grey fox standing in the middle of the road as she came over a hill. She had to sound her horn furiously, but it had stayed blinking in the headlights. She had only narrowly avoided hitting it.
She got out of the car slowly, staring around. The Hacienda. The motel where her father had stayed all those years ago.
It was small, and it was rundown. An old neon sign advertising its name blinked in the darkness, red and white. Some of the globes were broken in it, giving it a disjointed look. Her eyes swept beyond the sign. The motel itself was adobe brick, seemingly rendered, in the old Mexican way. She could discern a few Spanish-style arches leading into a central area. It was badly lit, but she was sure that the colour in the bright light of day would be an earthen orange.
She grabbed her bag out of the back of the car and walked towards it, trying to figure out where the reception was. As she approached she could see that it was even more rundown than she had first thought. Gutters drooped, and the garden around looked neglected, overgrown with spindly weeds.
The Hacienda wasn’t a motel that she would have chosen to stay at in a million years. Why on earth had her father stayed here? Staring at it bolstered her belief that it hadn’t been just a holiday. No, if anyone stayed here, it was because it was close to something that they wanted to see or investigate.
And she was positive now that somewhere around here was where he had acquired that book. Or perhaps the book had led him here? She took a deep breath, determined to find out. But all in good time. For now, she had to find where the reception was and check in.
Eventually she found it, tucked away in the central part of the building. A buzzer sounded as she opened the door and waited for someone to come and serve her.
Her eyes swept around the small space. Again, an air of neglect seemed to hover over it like a cloud. Beyond the counter she could see an old-fashioned typewriter next to a landline phone that would have sold for a fortune in a vintage shop in Covenester. She frowned. In another place she might have assumed that the old pieces of office equipment had been purchased deliberately as part of an old-world aesthetic the owners wanted to cultivate, but somehow, she knew that wasn’t the case here. They had simply never been replaced by newer models.
The Hacienda looked like it was stuck in a time warp. A time warp from the 1960s.
She tapped her fingers impatiently on the counter. Where was everybody? She stared around, eventually locating a bell. She picked it up and rang it, hearing its tinkle echo through the small room.
A man walked into the room from the back, staring at her. Keeley felt her eyes widen as she stared back. He was older, at least sixty, with a pointed grey goatee and an almost bald head. He was wearing a garish, almost neon-coloured Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to the waist, so that she could see his spindly chest hairs, with a slew of gold chains hanging from around his neck.
He didn’t smile. He just kept staring at her with his coal black eyes, as if he was examining an insect under a microscope.
Keeley took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto her face. “Hi. I’m checking in for the night. I have a booking.”
The man nodded, slowly. He walked to his desk and painstakingly rifled through some old index cards in a plastic box. They obviously hadn’t computerised their booking files, thought Keeley, staring at him.
“Name?” he barked.
“Keeley Walters,” she said, frowning slightly. He wasn’t exactly a model of great customer service. In fact, he was almost rude.
Eventually he found what he was looking for, pulling out a card. He thrust it at her with a pen. “Fill this in.”
Keeley did as she was told, glancing at the man surreptitiously. After she had completed it she handed it back and he picked up an old key attached to a tag and gave it to her.
“Number Five,” he said slowly. “If you walk back the way you came, it’s just near the parking lot.”
Keeley’s hand closed over the key. The man turned to leave. It seemed he had nothing more to say.
“What about breakfast?” She smiled. “Do you supply it here?”
He sighed heavily, as if she had just asked him a complicated question that would take hours of thought to answer.
“We can,” he said abruptly. “But the cook left only last month, and it wouldn’t be anything fancy. The most we could do is toast or frozen waffles.”
Keeley wrinkled her nose slightly. “I might pass,” she said. “Is there anywhere in town that serves it? I read that there’s a bar that serves meals.”
He nodded. “It doesn’t open until ten in the morning, though,” he said.
“What about supper?”
He sighed again, staring at an old clock on the wall. “You’d have to be quick,” he drawled. “They stop serving in half an hour. We don’t exactly have a lot of people looking for food in Farrow Valley on a Tuesday night.”
She nodded. “I’ll get a move on, then.” She paused. “Has business been good?”
He shrugged, not smiling. “We don’t get a lot of people passing through anymore,” he said. “Not since they built the interstate. I only have one other person staying now who checked in last night. Usually its people who want to explore the old gold mines in the desert.”
She smiled. “Yes, I saw that there is a few of them around here on the internet.” She paused. “Is there anything else around here to do or see?”
He blinked rapidly. “Not really.”
Keeley nodded. He wasn’t exactly selling the town or the area to her. Usually clerks in motels were eager to supply you with information about what to do and see in the area. Perhaps he had been here so long it no longer inspired him. Or maybe he was just not very good at his job. His customer service skills left a lot to be desired.
She put her hand on the door. Talking to him was like extracting teeth, but she had to try to engage him if she was going to find out any information about this place, and why her father might have been here. It was too soon to ask those questions, though, with a man as taciturn as this one.
“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling wider. “I didn’t catch your name.”
He blinked again. “Jim,” he said slowly. “Jim Scott.”
She nodded. “Have you worked here a long time, Jim?”
He scratched his goatee, considering. “It would have to be over twenty years now,” he replied. “Seems like fifty sometimes though.” He laughed, but it was a discordant sound, slightly jarring. “Have you ever heard of the Eagles song ‘Hotel California’?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes softening. “
It was one of my father’s favourites.”
“Yeah,” he drawled, his eyes fixed on a spot beyond her head. “Sometimes I think my life here is like that line in it.” He paused. “You can check out, but you can never leave.”
Keeley’s smile wavered slightly. He was suddenly so intense it scared her just a little. Obviously, Jim Scott didn’t enjoy his life in Farrow Valley. What was his story?
But she had pushed him enough for this evening, and besides, she really did need to eat something soon. Her stomach was growling. She knew at least that he was working here when her father stayed. Maybe he might remember him. She would try to question him about it tomorrow.
“Well, thanks,” she said, opening the door. “It sure was nice to meet you, Jim. Maybe I could talk to you tomorrow about other things to do while I am in town.”
He nodded slightly but didn’t reply. She pushed open the doors and left, clutching the key. Number Five. She would put her bag in her room then head out to find the bar. Maybe if she was lucky she could get talking to some locals who could supply her with a bit more information on why on earth her father would have come to this desert town. She was almost certain it wasn’t to explore old gold mines.
***
The night had turned chilly by the time she left the bar, heading back towards the motel. She should have remembered her jacket. Shivering slightly, she walked down the main street, glancing in the few shop windows. They were all dark and foreboding.
The bar had been a strange place, too. As soon as she had entered, everyone within had turned and stared at her, and didn’t stop. Not that there had been many people. Just an old bartender who took her order, and three locals who were sitting on stools along the bar, nursing their beers.
There were only three tables in the place, and she had sat at one, waiting for her food. There hadn’t been a huge selection on the chalkboard above the bar to choose from. She had settled on a burger and fries, not liking the sound of the deer stew or a huge rump steak. When it had come, it had been average at best, but at least it had satisfied her hunger.
She had tried talking to the bartender and locals afterwards, but they had all looked at her oddly when she had asked if there was anything other than gold mines to explore in Farrow Valley. Just like Jim Scott, they hadn’t volunteered anything.
She sighed now as she approached the motel. She would try again tomorrow morning at breakfast. Or brunch, as it would be by the time it opened. Maybe there would be different staff and people in there who were more forthcoming and friendlier. She could only hope.
She got a feeling that they didn’t like strangers in Farrow Valley. The words of the man at the gas station drifted through her head once again. He had claimed the town wasn’t good. But what exactly had he meant by that? Was he just referring to the lack of friendliness in the locals?
She sighed again. He had been a little crazy, anyway.
Suddenly, as she approached the parking lot, she stopped. Her little red hatchback was parked exactly where she had left it. But another car was there, now. Parked further up from her. It had been completely empty when she had arrived.
Her heart started to beat a little faster. Jim Scott had told her that he had one other guest staying at the moment. She stared harder at the other vehicle, not knowing what on earth to think.
It was a familiar old Chevy truck. The other guest staying at the Hacienda this evening was none other than Thad Morgan.
Chapter Nine
Keeley’s hand trembled so much as she put the key into the motel door that she almost dropped it. Finally, she pushed the door open and walked into the room, slamming the door behind her.
The bed sagged a little as she sat on it, trying to think what to do. He had followed her here. Somehow, he had found out that she was on her way here and decided to pursue her. Her heart started pounding wildly. He was crazy. She already knew that. And now it looked like he wasn’t just completely lost in his head. He might actually be dangerous. A stalker.
Anger flooded through her so strongly she could barely think. How dare he? How dare he attach himself to her desire to find out what happened to her father and make it a part of his own twisted delusions?
She took a deep breath, staring around the spartan room. She frowned. But it made no sense that he had followed her here. Jim Scott had told her that the only other guest had been here since last night. She had only just checked in today.
Slowly, the truth dawned on her. He had decided to come here separately from her. Once he had found out that her father had been in Farrow Valley he had decided to come here. There was no other explanation. He hadn’t realised that she was here at all. But why?
She rolled over onto her stomach on the bed, punching the pillow. Suddenly, she was distracted for a second by the painting hanging lopsided above the bed. It was a painting of the desert, but there was something else in it. A strange geometric-shaped building. She squinted her eyes as she stared at it.
There were creatures slithering in the sand toward it. Creatures that were grey with black eyes and clawed hands.
She felt the skin prickle on the back of her neck. It was a very strange painting to hang in a motel room. Usually paintings in motel rooms were pretty generic: passive landscapes or vases of flowers. Not designed to cause offence or to be looked at as anything but part of the beige design of the room. But this was different. Very different. Why had Jim Scott, or whoever had decorated this room, decided to hang a terrifying-looking painting of weird, twisted creatures crawling through the desert?
It looked like a vision of hell. Or the Apocalypse.
She shivered, tearing her eyes away from it. What did it matter what the painting hanging above her bed was? It was just a picture. She didn’t have to glance at it, and besides, she needed to have her wits about her. Thad Morgan was sitting in a room only four doors away from her, and she had to figure out what the hell to do about it.
She sighed, punching the pillow again in frustration. She could just ignore him, of course. Pretend that she hadn’t noticed the truck. Avoid him. He mightn’t be staying long, after all, and he wasn’t expecting her. She doubted very much he would even recognise her car—the model and make were fairly common, and it didn’t have any distinguishing features to it. She hadn’t personalised it with bumper stickers or anything else.
Suddenly, she sat up, her heart pounding. To hell with that. She was angry, and she needed to tell him how angry she was. Tell him to stay away from her and leave.
She jumped up, running out of the room towards the one that she assumed was his. She could see a light shining in it, anyway, and his truck was parked right out the front. And there were no other guests staying here.
She took a deep breath, pounding on the door. Her heart was racing wildly. Yes, she could hear footsteps coming towards the door. She braced herself for the moment when he would open it and see her.
She gasped in shock as he opened the door, staring at her as if she were a ghost that had suddenly materialised from the ether.
***
Thad’s heart started pounding violently. Keeley was standing at his motel door, her face clouded with anger. What on earth was she doing here? Had she followed him?
His mind flickered to the car in the motel parking lot. Yes, of course. He hadn’t recognised it as there were a lot of cars around like hers. And he had barely glanced at it as he had pulled up to his own room. Well, he had been distracted. He had just spent a fruitless day searching, and he was tired and despondent.
“Why are you here?” she hissed, her eyes glittering.
Thad took a deep breath. He was just as shocked as she was, but he needed to contain this. He didn’t want that Jim Scott coming out to ask what the noise was all about. He was a strange fellow, and Thad didn’t trust him in the slightest. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself in any way. It was imperative to fly beneath the radar as much as possible while he searched.
“Come inside,” he whispered
, pulling her into the room and closing the door. “We don’t want people coming out to ask what’s going on.”
“Take your hand off me,” she hissed, reefing her arm away as if his touch had burnt her.
Thad sighed. This was not going to be fun. She was spitting chips, and obviously thought he had followed her here. As well as believing he was crazy.
She put both hands on her hips like a disapproving teacher. “Well?”
He sighed again. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t even know you were coming here.”
She took a deep breath, trying to control her anger. “You need to leave. I don’t know what game you are playing at, but I am not interested.” She took another deep breath. “I’m not feeding your delusions that the book was written by demons.”
Thad shook his head. “Keeley, I’m not here to investigate what happened to your father. You have to believe that.” He paused. “You made it very clear that you think I’m crazy. But I translated that damn book, and it has led me to find out what is happening out here and to try to put a stop to it.”
She blinked rapidly. “You aren’t here to shadow me?”
He grinned. “I didn’t even know you were coming here, did I? I checked in last night. I left the cabin not long after you tore down my driveway.”
She was silent, digesting what he said. Her eyes flickered towards him, not quite meeting his eye. This was hard for her, he knew that. She didn’t want to believe what he had told her, and he didn’t blame her in the slightest. Most people had a hard time believing it if they ever found out.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you tell me why you are here. I probably won’t believe it, of course, but try me.”
He sighed. “Why don’t we sit down. It might take a while.”
She looked around his room, spotting a chair in the corner. She walked over to it and sat down, gazing at him expectantly. Thad walked to the bed, perching on the corner. He tried to ignore the way it sagged, almost causing him to sink into the middle of the mattress. The Hacienda wasn’t exactly five-star accommodation, he thought ruefully. His sleep on the bed the night before had been rough, to say the least.
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