by Jackson Kane
Whose room was I in?
Chapter Three
…
Star
Tears streaked down my face as I ran down the halls and out an emergency exit. I staggered through the parking lot in a daze, hoping the driving rain would wash Top’s filthy fingerprints off my body.
Hoping it would wash me away entirely…
The Crowne Rock Hotel’s bright and welcoming entrance, with its green down-lit, shale-based columned awning and bubbling, front water fountain was a stark contrast to The Burning Pig’s harsh floodlights, flickering red neon sign, and oil-stained bikers lot. It gave the already the dark night a surreal quality that was even more unnerving.
Stumbling along the front parking lot toward the one-lane road that presumably attached this miserable place to the rest of the world, I weighed what few options I had left.
I was shocked at how easily I’d made it outside into the driving rain. I could walk away right now. This was a hotel I reminded myself, not a prison.
Both directions were inky black with occasional lightning strikes sparking up distant patches of nothingness miles away. The Burning Pig was the lone island in a sea of limitless flatland.
Of course, no one was going to stop me.
But there was nowhere to go.
Had I died? Was this Hell? If so, then Remy was a demon sent to torment me.
An overwhelming wave of crushing hopelessness brought me to my knees as coarse pavement bit hard into my rain-soaked skin. I didn’t flinch at the pain and at some point I’d stopped crying.
I had no tears left.
With no real hope of escaping on foot, thoughts of everything but Remy drained away with the rain. Remy’s haunted eyes and ruggedly stern face burned in my memory. I hadn’t been able to shake what he told me.
“No,” his deep voice echoed in my heart with each crash of distant thunder. “You can’t trust me.”
How could a man say and do such different things?
When he saved me from Top, I let myself hope for the first time since all this started. The concern for me when he helped me out of that booth was real. I knew it was. No one ever had to save me before.
But did he save me, though?
It was his fault I was even here!
No. It was really all Todd’s fault for killing Remy’s brother. I suddenly felt glad Todd was dead. Truly. I’d watch him die again if I could.
Oh my god, was that really me? What was I becoming? I started to hyperventilate.
“No! I’m a good person!” My voice was nearly drowned out completely by the storm. “My name is Star Keller! I’m from a small house on Golfview Drive in Manchester, New Hampshire! I grew up near the Merrimack River! I like to read indie graphic novels and watch the CW!”
I needed to say it out loud, but hearing them, the words felt empty. Less and less real, like I was grasping at smoke. A definite, frightening hardness had crept into me since I’d arrived here.
Or maybe it was always inside me, waiting to be let out.
“I’m me! I’m the same me that I’ve always been…” I fought to hold onto what I’d always known about myself, but again, he invaded my thoughts and derailed my affirmations. I exhaled impotent frustration. “Why can’t I hate you, Remy?”
He was kind of guy who could save me from being raped then fuck a prostitute right in front of me? He didn’t make any sense, and it was driving me crazy! I screamed as loud and long as I could on that cold, desolate highway. In a civilized world, someone would’ve ran out to ask me if I was hurt.
No one came.
Stupid girl. This wasn’t the normal world. No one gave a damn here about a lost girl. I wasn’t a person anymore. I was a liability that had to be dealt with. I put my head down and found more tears.
When I finally had the courage to walk back inside, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t think straight. I found an open door, a broom closet apparently, and collapsed. Blessed sleep ambushed me, but thoughts of Remy chased me into my dreams. There was no escape from him…
My fitful dreams were mostly just flashes and scenes rather than anything substantial. I was back on his bike. Remy’s hands tightened on the handlebars, forcing his muscles to slide like pistons beneath his scarred, sun-worn skin. Blazing light from the burning gas station cast dark shadows in the rigid lines along his torso and arms.
His strong hands pulled me back onto his motorcycle when I fell. I could almost feel those same hands squeezing my hips. I was burning up. Remy’s animalistic nature making me lose control.
The dream dissolved this time leaving me standing in his hotel room. I braced myself, knowing if I fell, I’d shatter across the floor like painted glass. I couldn’t look away. He fucked her but looked only at me.
The morning came far too quickly with it a flood of groggy questions that overflowed from my restless sleep.
Why did Remy give me his room key last night? Had he wanted me to watch him with another woman out of cruelty? Was that his way of punishing me? He saved me and raised me up just to watch me fall. Was he trying to see how much he could break me down?
Despite all of that and every rational thought in my head, why did I yearn to trust him so badly? Was he truly just the lesser of all evils, or was it something more?
Stockholm Syndrome.
That explained it. I listened for the rain, but it sounded like the storm was long since over. I wasn’t crazy for falling in love with a sadistic psychopath. I could get therapy for that, provided I survived long enough to do it.
My skin was bruised, my bones ached, and I was still exhausted. I felt terrible. At least the room was dry and warm, unlike my still-damp clothes. I should’ve taken them off last night before falling asleep, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.
That didn’t matter now.
I crept out of the small closet and saw through a window that the sun was still low in the sky. It was still early. I needed to leave before the bikers woke up. Maybe I could steal a car. It couldn’t be that hard, right?
The coast was clear, so at a brisk pace, I made my way toward a fire exit. Praying that it wasn’t one of the alarmed doors, I pushed it open.
Nothing. Thank God!
I had no idea how to actually break into cars, so I pulled at door handles until I found one of them that was unlocked. Okay, there had to be a set of keys on the floor or in the visor or glove compartment somewhere.
There was nothing. No keys. Dammit!
“Well, now. You don’t look like the elderly black man that actually owns this vehicle.” A sultry voice froze me in place. The voice belonged to the woman who owned the hotel and bar. I was pretty sure she went by the name of Muse.
I was also pretty sure I was fucked.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I lied, backing my way out of the car.
“Oh, no?” She cocked her hips and shot me a look that saw through my bullshit. “Because it looked like you were trying to steal Mr. Holmes’ truck.” Muse wore an elegant, if a little tight quarter-sleeved black blouse and an above the knee grey skirt with one inch heels. Her lips and nails were immaculate. Her black hair hung in layered waves that perfectly framed her face and the sun made her flawless, brown skin shine with warmth.
Basically, she looked as put-together as I was taken-apart.
“Listen, I’m so sorry. I need to get out of here. I was kidnapped—”
“I know who you are, Little Bird.” Muse’s voice was calm and empathic, as she looked me over. She held out a hand to guide me out of the truck. “C’mon on back inside. I’ll get you fixed up and into some dry clothes.”
“I can’t go back in there.” I raised my hand defensively. “I can’t.”
“You gotta trust me, honey.” Her eyebrows rose with motherly concern. “You’re safer in there with me than you are out here alone.”
I shivered at the thought of being discovered by any of the bikers, especially Top.
“It’s gonna be okay.” Muse dipped her head and leaned
in closer.
I desperately needed to hear those words.
Cautiously, I took her silky hand and let her lead me back inside.
We walked through the lobby and into the breakfast dining area that was empty save for one couple who’d wrapped up eating. They’d started clearing their plates, but Muse had them leave it for the maid then filled the room with light, small talk pleasantries.
I scanned the room while they talked, planning an escape if necessary.
LCD TVs playing the news and morning talk shows hung mute on the wall separated by generic corporate paintings and a beautiful unlit fireplace. Soothing, morning ambiance music played through speakers. Plain but nice mosaic tile covered the floor, and the wooden tables were inlaid with granite.
How could this place exist next to such a scummy bar?
The smell of standard-fare continental breakfast food was amazing. My stomach growled angrily. When was the last time I ate?
“Poor dear. You must be famished,” Muse remarked, seeing me lustfully eye the discarded scraps of eggs and the half-eaten Belgian waffle on the couple’s plates.
I didn’t even care that there was used napkins and creamer packages littered on top. “I am. May I?” My stomach grumbled, hunching me forward slightly as I looked longingly into the kitchen.
“In a moment. I want the staff to make a fresh batch.” Muse winked as she poured me a cup of tea and sat me down at a table.
My stomach groaned and twisted. Waiting was torture, but I didn’t want to argue with her generosity.
“So tell me, Little Bird, how is it that you are joining me for breakfast today?” Muse crossed her long legs and sipped her tea, her beautiful, almond eyes flared with curious, playfulness. It reminded me of a cat, sizing up a caged canary. “The boys usually don’t bring in too many strays.”
We chatted and before I knew it, she’d pried open my floodgates. I told her everything about the Steel Veins showing up at my aunt and uncle’s gas station, the shooting, and most of what happened with Top last night. I didn’t tell her about Remy for some reason. I wasn’t sure why I kept our interactions to myself.
“Oh, you poor dear. That’s horrible.” Muse laid a hand over mine, consoling me. She then glanced into the kitchen. “I bet you they’re done in there. You wait right here, Little Bird, and I’ll fix you up some breakfast.”
The second she was gone, I scanned the room. It was almost impossible not to like Muse, but after last night, I couldn’t take any chances. There was a phone on the wall by the concierge desk. I scurried over as quickly – and more importantly, as quietly – as I could.
I hesitated for a moment, struck by a new anxiety. This was the first time I’d ever called the police. Was there a certain way you were supposed to say things? I chastised myself for getting hung up on stupid, little protocols and dialed the number.
You don’t have the luxury of being scared anymore.
Right away, a dispatcher picked up. “9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“Hello? Hi. I’m at the Crowne Rock Hotel,” I whispered as loudly as I dared, my eyes darting frantically around the room for signs of movement. “I need help! There’s these bikers here. They’re trying to kill me and—”
“So Star, is it?” Muse called out from the kitchen. “I like that name.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I hung up in a blind panic, but it didn’t actually see her. She must’ve not finished plating my food yet. Small miracles. I slunk back to the table, hoping that was enough of a message for the police to come and not think it was some kind of prank. Along the way, I grabbed the small paring knife that the couple had left with their dirty plate. It struck me as odd that a knife this sharp was out here at all. Usually, places like this only had dull butter knives available for the public, so the couple must’ve asked for it specifically. I counted my meager blessing and stuffed the knife in my pocket.
“My girls tell me you had quite the eventful night.” Muse appeared a moment later with a plate of eggs, bacon, and a Belgian waffle that looked incredible.
“Eventful. I guess you could call it that.” It was eventful in the same way being eaten by shark was a fishing accident. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I got your name.”
“I’m Mercy, but the boys all call me Muse because I inspire them to be such upstanding members of society.” She cocked her head, overtly reveling in self-deprecation.
I choked swallowing my food and started a coughing fit. When I was able to collect myself, I realized I was actually smiling. That’s exactly what I needed right now, some food and mercy…“Mercy,” I gulped down some tea to clear my throat but just ended up scalding myself. “Mercy is such a pretty name.”
“Why thank you, sweetness. I, of course, would love to take all the credit for it, but my parents in Georgia might be none too pleased if I did.” Muse fluttered her eyelashes appreciatively before getting up to bring me some juice. “Tell me, who did you ride in with?”
“Remy,” I blurted out in between heaping mouthfuls. I forced myself to slow down despite my growling stomach. “Do you know him?”
“Oh, Little Bird, I know everyone.” If Mercy could thrive in this barbaric world, I didn’t doubt that she did. She smiled hungrily. “Now, Remy… There’s a dangerous boy.”
“They all looked pretty dangerous to me.” My mood took a dark turn as I remembered where I was. I wouldn’t be safe until this place was a distant memory. Maybe not even then or ever again.
“You say Remy brought you here? Interesting.”
“Why?” Despite my hunger, I slowed down and just picked at my plate to give her a little more attention. I was curious as to what she could tell me about him.
“Out of all of them, he’s the least likely to wrap himself in, shall we say, the troubles of others. Although...” Muse flashed me an odd look like she’d suddenly remembered an actor’s name that was on the tip of her tongue all day.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, sweetness. You just remind me of someone Remy used to bring here a lot. Back when the Steel Veins first started showing up.”
“Who?”
“A pretty, little thing named Maria, but that was a lifetime ago. The Veins were a different club back then.”
“Maria...” I said the words aloud absently. Was that why he took me? “Who was—”
“Oh, Star Honey, that’s none of my business. Best we don’t talk about that.” She patted my knee in a polite, but assertive way that told me in no uncertain terms that the conversation about Remy’s past was over. “Remy is a complicated man.”
Was she afraid of Remy? Muse didn’t strike me as a person who could be intimidated.
“I’m beginning to see that. I don’t know what to make of him. He’s so guarded, but I think there’s a decent man in there somewhere. Or there might have been at one time. He saved me from that… man.” I caught myself. Muse and Top knew each other, so I’d have to choose my words carefully. “I don’t know his real name, everyone just calls him Top. I don’t think I’d be alive right now, if Remy hadn’t gotten me out of that bar last night. That was some pretty serious shit.” A shiver tore through me, the scene replayed in my mind. That giant’s grizzly hands tearing through my clothes like paper. I shivered again.
“I know. My bar is going to need quite a bit of work.” Muse frowned. A subtle severity crept into her features, but only for a moment before it was replaced again, by her sympathetic smile. “Poor dear. It’s okay. You’re safe. That’s over now.”
I desperately wanted to believe her.
The conversation became lighter and easier as I finished breakfast. We were even able to joke a little bit. It felt like I was having tea with a friend I hadn’t seen in forever, and that was such a good feeling. Maybe it was going to be okay after all.
I even managed to not think about Remy, at least for a little while.
She said that the nearest town was an hour drive and that she’d be able to bring me there in a few days w
hen she picked up groceries for the hotel. The thought of being stuck out here that long twisted my organs into knots, but Muse promised to put me to work cleaning the rooms.
“No one ever looks twice at the maids,” she said before handing me a little sign-up cash. When I was abducted, I didn’t have anything with me – no phone, money, or ID. It felt good to stuff something into my pockets again.
Something other than a stolen paring knife.
Although Mercy didn’t know for certain, she figured that the bikers would probably be gone tomorrow regardless. Most of them had civilian jobs and had to be back home for the work week. If I just kept my head down for another day or so, I’d be fine.
“Excuse me a moment, Little Bird. I can’t have an employee wearing soggy clothes.” Mercy winked at me and waved down one of her girls that walked by. They talked over by the concierge desk as I finished my tea.
I’d never cleaned rooms before, aside from my own. It couldn’t be that difficult.
Mercy came back with a housekeeping outfit – a pair of khakis and a brown, collared shirt – then took me to a room to shower and change.
The clothes didn’t fit well, but they were dry, and at this point, that was all I cared about. When I had cleaned myself up, I met my new “mentor” one floor up in the middle of cleaning a particularly trashed room.
Gloria was the woman’s name. She was a Latina in her late fifties who didn’t speak a word of English. My pitiful high school Spanish was seriously put to the test, but Gloria was all warm smiles.
I struggled through sentences, outright butchering words until I was so flustered I ended up acting out the points I was trying to make. Gloria nodded emphatically, and before long, we worked out a system.
“Mira. Mira,” she repeated. She’d hold up a finger and then make the vacuuming motion then run off to the bathroom where she would hold up a second finger and feign scrubbing.
I watched the way she cleaned first, then she watched me to make sure I was doing it thoroughly enough. The woman was so efficient and clearly took some measure of pride in her work.
Not being able to speak my language didn’t stop the wonderful woman from making very simple jokes about very smelly customers that even I was able to understand. She’d plug her nose and wave away the fake stench, and then she would laugh and laugh which in turn made me laugh. I wasn’t laughing at her, I was laughing with her.
