The Last Motel

by Brett McBean

  “Seriously, Morrie. You don’t think they were cops?”

  Morrie was removing his shoes, using his feet to work them loose. He kicked them off, and they fell to the floor with a dull clunk.

  “Christ,” Judy coughed. “Your feet stink!”

  Morrie grinned.

  “You need a shower.”

  “How about we take one together?” he said.

  “I’m not in the mood. Anyway, what if they are cops?”

  “Man alive, they’re not the cops. Don’t worry, Judy. We’re safe here for now.”

  Judy huffed. “I guess so. How’s your migraine?”

  “It feels a lot worse after I had to chase you around the goddamn forest...in the freezing cold.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have hit me.”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such a smart arse.”

  She turned her head and glared at him.

  “Listen, let’s not fight, huh? We’ve got enough to worry about. And I’ve got this hell of a headache.”

  “Sounds fine by me,” Judy said.

  Morrie took out the packet of smokes from his shirt pocket. He flipped the top open and pulled out a cigarette. He offered the pack to Judy, who took one.

  He shoved the pack into his pocket, then pulled out his lighter. He lit both of the cigarettes. “It’s strange about those two young men.”

  “Their car?”

  Morrie nodded. “Why have they parked around the back?”

  Judy took a puff and shrugged. “Maybe they have drugs in the car.”

  “I wish,” Morrie chortled. “I could use some.”

  “I doubt it,” Judy said. “Or else they would’ve used that instead of buying smokes off us.”

  “You never know. The drugs could be for some big dealer, and they’re just on their way to deliver it.”

  “Whatever,” Judy said. “I really don’t give a shit about their problems.”

  “I know, I know. We have our own problems.”

  “Don’t make fun of me or the situation,” Judy said. “Don’t forget – we’re in a world of shit.”

  “You think I don’t know that!” Morrie snapped. “Jesus.”

  “You think the police are looking for us?”

  “I don’t know, probably.” Morrie took a drag of his cigarette. “They won’t find us, though. We’ll be in another state by this time tomorrow.”

  “Let’s check the radio. There might be information about it.”

  Morrie shook his head. “It’s only eleven-thirty. There won’t be a full news broadcast until midnight.”

  “Damn,” Judy muttered. “I can’t just lie here doing nothing, waiting for the police to catch us. I keep thinking I hear sirens.”

  “Well what do you want me to do about it?” Morrie sat up and gazed over at Judy. “What the hell do you expect me to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Can’t we just leave now? Drive away?”

  “Jesus,” Morrie huffed. “We already discussed this. I ain’t driving all night, during this shitty weather. Besides, I’m fucking exhausted, and I have a pounding migraine. If you had gotten off your lazy arse and gotten your license, maybe you could’ve driven.”

  Judy rolled over onto her side, facing away from Morrie. She began to cry.

  Morrie rolled his eyes and finished off his cigarette. “I’m taking a shower.” He stubbed the cigarette on the side table then flicked it to the floor. He hopped off the bed and headed for the bathroom. “You stay here and watch out for Mrs. Bates. Make sure she doesn’t interrupt my shower.” Morrie chuckled.

  “I don’t know how you can make jokes,” Judy said softly.

  “I’m just dealing with it, okay?” He stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door. “Fucking hell,” he grumbled.

  He stepped over to the shower and flung the dirty green curtain aside. He was surprised to find the shower quite clean. The white porcelain, although stained from years of use, was a lot cleaner than Morrie would’ve thought. He started to undress.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Morrie stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He shuffled over to the bed where Judy was curled up, her back to the bathroom, and sat down. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  “Hot water didn’t last too long. Feel a lot better, though.”

  Judy didn’t answer.

  “Come on, Judy. You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

  He shook her gently. “Hon?”

  He leaned close to her body and heard snoring. He smiled. “That’s it, have a sleep. You need it.”

  So do I, he thought.

  “We’re going to get through this,” he whispered to her. “Don’t worry.” He kissed her cheek, then stood up. The heat from the shower was beginning to wear off. His body had goose bumps from the chill inside the cabin.

  “Wouldn’t have killed her to put a heater in the cabins,” he mumbled. He wandered back into the bathroom and retrieved his clothes. While in the bathroom, he gazed at himself in the small mirror above the sink. “I look terrible,” he said. He looked pale and washed out. His beard needed a trim as well. “You’ve really done it this time. You fucking moron,” he said, shaking his head.

  He turned away from the mirror, and threw down the towel. He got dressed quickly, then left the bathroom, turning off the light as he went past. Judy was still asleep. He walked around to the other side of the bed, and gently sat down. He propped the pillow up against the headboard, then lay down on the bed. He glanced at the clock radio. It was quarter to twelve.

  He desperately wanted to hear the news report. It might tell him something about their situation, and how much the police knew. Until then, he would take a short fifteen-minute nap. Morrie closed his eyes. In his mind he saw the dead kid – his bloody body sprawled on the ground.

  Morrie’s eyes shot open.

  He would have to wait out the fifteen minutes staring at the ceiling of the cabin. His conscience wouldn’t allow him the luxury of sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Wayne flushed the toilet then went over to the sink. As he turned on the tap he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He grinned. Despite his age and excess weight, he was still a handsome man – at least in his view.

  He turned off the tap and gazed down at the sink. There were still splashes of blood that hadn’t been washed away. He turned the tap back on, and cupping some water in his right hand, washed the blood down the drain. When the sink was clean of blood, Wayne turned the tap off and dried his hands.

  As he left the bathroom, he ran his fingers through his sandy-blond hair. His head still itched from the wig, so he spent a full minute standing by the bathroom door, scratching his scalp, moaning with pleasure from the relief it gave him. The itch subsided for the time being, Wayne shuffled over to the fridge and grabbed a Sprite, glancing at the boy that lay face down and spread-eagled on the bed. Well, not really a boy. Wayne knew that he was eighteen. But his smooth features and tender white skin made him look younger than he actually was.

  Wayne popped the top off the can. He took a long drink and winced from the acidic liquid. He let out a noisy burp, then proceeded over to the bed closest to the bathroom. As he sat on the bed, Wayne couldn’t help but look over at the boy, and felt a wild heat surge through him. He felt himself grow hard. He switched the can to his left hand, and with his right, undid his pants and gripped his cock. He flinched from the cold touch, but as soon as he began masturbating, he forgot about the chill.

  He stared at the naked boy, at his smooth pale skin, at his firm buttocks, and imagined that it was a dead body lying bound to the bed. He let the can fall to the floor as his excitement grew. Not once did he blink, not wanting to break his vision. He let out a restrained groan, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer. Finally, the pleasure too much, Wayne jumped off the bed, ripped off his trousers, and hurried over to the unconscious boy. He landed on top of him with a wet slap, then pushed himself d
eep inside. Wayne grabbed the boy by his hair, slid in and out slowly, panting and slobbering all over his head and neck. The entire time he imagined that the boy was nothing but a lifeless body, until he erupted inside him with a climactic groan. He then fell against the youngster, exhausted and sweaty.

  He lay on top of the boy for about a minute before he eventually climbed off and stood at the end of the bed, and did up his pants. He looked at his hands, and saw they were spattered with blood again. It was from gripping the boy’s hair.

  Most of the blood had dried, but he had obviously hit the boy on the head harder than he had thought. It seemed the wound was still bleeding.

  Wayne proceeded into the bathroom and washed his hands. When he had cleaned off all the sticky gore, he dried his hands on the towel, then headed back.

  He walked over to his bed and flopped down. He was worn out. Carrying the boy into the cabin had been hard work. And since he was still knocked out, it had been like carrying a dead weight. Wayne was surprised, but glad, that nobody had seen him struggling with the young man. He had a story all worked out, but luckily he didn’t have to use it. And even though he had done it many times before, it still amazed him how much work it took to undress a person who was unconscious.

  Wayne glanced over at the crumpled black suit that lay on the floor at the end of the boy’s bed.

  Why was he wearing a suit? he wondered.

  With a deep sigh, he turned his head and reached over to the radio. He spotted his moustache sitting on the bedside table. He grinned.

  From over on the other bed, the boy groaned and started to move around.

  “Awake! Finally,” Wayne said.

  The boy started to whimper. Realising his hands were tied, he jerked them about, trying to free himself from the makeshift constraints. Wayne had tied the pillowcases strong, so there was no chance of him getting loose.

  The boy, who had been facing away from Wayne the whole time, gradually turned his head and stared at his captor. His eyes were half-closed; it looked like he was doped out.

  Wayne hopped off the bed and wandered over to him. He slapped his bottom hard, which made the boy flinch and begin to cry.

  “How does your arse feel?” Wayne said. “I bet it hurts, don’t it?”

  The boy didn’t answer. He was shaking.

  “Are you cold?”

  The boy nodded his head. “P…please, do…o’nt hurt me.” Those last few words were barely a whisper.

  “Listen, I’m going to turn you over onto your back, okay? That means undoing the ligatures, so no funny business, got it?”

  Again the boy nodded. “My...head...hurts,” he said.

  “Don’t be such a wimp. It’s not that bad, only a slight cut.”

  Wayne walked around the bed, and began untying the pillowcases. He managed to loosen the left hand without much trouble, and immediately the boy brought his arm down.

  “Remember, if you try anything, I’ll make sure you’ll have a slow, painful death. We’re up in the mountains, so there’s no place for you to run to. You’ll freeze to death before anyone finds you.”

  Wayne walked around to the other side and started untying the boy’s right hand. “If you don’t fight and do what I ask, I’ll let you live, okay? There’s only one condition; you can’t tell a soul about this. I’ve got your wallet, so I know where you live. I’ll hunt you down. I’ll kill your entire family, including your little brother.”

  He heard the boy draw in a quick breath. Wayne smiled.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ro...Robert.”

  “Ah, little Robert. The fun I could have with him.”

  The boy’s right arm fell away.

  “Turn over,” Wayne told him.

  Very slowly, the boy rolled over. When he was lying flat on his back, the boy lifted up his buttocks. Wayne guessed because it was too painful for him to put his full weight on it.

  “Put you arse down,” Wayne said. “Now!”

  Sobbing, he lowered his bottom. “Oow,” he cried.

  “Deal with it,” Wayne said. He grabbed the boy’s right arm and placed it against the bedpost. “Keep it there,” he said.

  The boy did as he was told, and Wayne retied his hand with the pillowcase. He made the knot tighter than before.

  “It’s too tight,” the boy snivelled.

  “Shut up. It’s fine.”

  Wayne walked around the bed and picked up the boy’s left arm. This time he was met with resistance. The boy pulled his arm from Wayne’s grip.

  “Give me your arm,” Wayne growled.

  The boy shook his head. “Not until you loosen my right hand.”

  Wayne chuckled. “You giving me orders now?” He shot out his arm and slammed his fist down on the boy’s stomach. The boy cried out.

  “Think of Robert, Simon!” Wayne spat. He cursed himself for using the boy’s name.

  Wayne tried again. This time there was no resistance. Wayne bound his hand to the bedpost, making the knot extra tight.

  “There we go,” Wayne panted. He was sweating profusely. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then stood back and leered at the young man. “My, my, aren’t you a good looking kid.”

  The boy’s body jerked from his crying. Wayne licked his lips and closed in on the boy. He lowered his head to the boy’s waist. “You’re huge for a young man,” Wayne said.

  He opened his mouth and placed his lips over the boy’s limp penis. He swirled and sucked it in his mouth, and gradually it began to grow. Deep down Wayne knew it was purely a physical reaction, but he imagined that it was because the boy liked it. In his mind he heard the boy moan and call out in pleasure. He was saying, “Oh yeah. That feels so good. Oh, harder.”

  The penis was now fully erect. Wayne slid up and down vigorously. He never noticed the boy crying and wailing out. He didn’t care.

  After a minute, Wayne became bored. Neither man came, although Wayne was still very much aroused. He stood up, and watched the boy’s member shrink back down.

  Wayne lifted his left leg and placed his foot on the bed. He bent over, lifted the bottom of his jeans, and pulled out the knife from the sheath that was tied around his ankle.

  The boy still had his eyes firmly plastered shut, and Wayne saw tears streaming from underneath his eyelids.

  “Don’t you scream, now,” Wayne breathed. “Open your eyes.”

  The boy did as he was told, and as soon as he fixed on the knife, his eyes grew wide and he started shaking his head. “No. P...please, no.”

  The boy kicked at Wayne’s hand. He missed the knife, but got some good shots at Wayne. He managed to kick him on the arm and in the stomach.

  “You little fuck,” Wayne hissed.

  The boy started to scream. He began thrashing around on the bed and shouting out for help.

  Scared, Wayne threw down the knife and lunged at the boy. He grabbed him around the throat and squeezed. His cries were at first muffled, but they stopped altogether as Wayne tightened his grip. The boy’s eyes began to bulge and his face turned a bluish-red.

  Wayne closed his eyes as his excitement grew. The sensation of squeezing the boy’s throat – the power it gave him, of holding someone’s life in his hands – was greater and gave him more of a thrill than sex or fellatio ever did. He didn’t want to kill the boy, so he loosened his grip enough to give him some air. When the boy’s face had returned to a relatively normal colour, Wayne placed his hands back on the boy’s throat and continued to strangle. He did this several times, his titillation increasing with every torturous act, until his excitement reached boiling point.

  As Wayne came in his pants, he let go of the boy’s throat and ran into the bathroom.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Al threw open the door and rushed inside. “Christ that wind’s strong.” He closed the door and brushed the hair out of his face.

  “Did ya hear the screaming?” Eddy said. He was sitting up in bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips.


  “Yeah, where did it come from? The couple next door?”

  “Nah, it came from over there.” He pointed to the right. “From the people who just arrived.”

  Al ventured over to his bed and sat down. “Can I have a cigarette?”

  Eddy threw the packet over to Al, who fumbled and dropped it.

  “Never were good at sports,” Eddy said, grinning.

  Al reached down and picked up the smokes. He took one out, and motioned for the lighter.

  “Don’t drop it,” Eddy cautioned.

  This time the small lighter landed in Al’s hands. Eddy clapped.

  “Sounded young.”

  “The scream?” Al said.

  “Yeah, a teenager or something.”

  Al shrugged. “It’s Halloween. Get all types of weirdos tonight.” He lit the cigarette. “Probably some bizarre sex orgy or something.”

  Eddy nodded. “I guess. Anyway how’d ya do?”

  Al shook his head. “No good. I couldn’t see into the office or the back part, which is where she lives, I think. All windows had shutters on them.”

  “Why didn’t you just open them?”

  “They were locked, moron.”

  “Ah well,” Eddy said. “Looks like we’ll never know if the old bag was telling the truth.”

  Al took a puff. “Not necessarily. The back door was unlocked. It leads directly into her house. What an idiot, huh? She locks the shutters but not her back door.”

  “You didn’t go in?”

  “You crazy? She was in there. I could hear the TV.”

  “I still think you’re an idiot. There’s no ex-cop back there.”

  “Don’t ya think we’d better make sure of that? What if there is? Not only do we have a stolen car, but a dead body in the boot.”

  Eddy sighed. “You worry too much, Alfred.”

  “One of us has to...Edward.”

  Eddy laughed. “Ooh, he’s bringing out the big guns. Edward! Please, Al, don’t hurt me anymore. Please?”

  “Fuck you,” Al said. “This is all a big game for you, isn’t it? The fact that we could go to jail doesn’t matter to you. This is all like a fucking movie.”

  “Hey, you’re the film freak,” Eddy snapped back. “If anyone is getting off on this situation – the dead body, the creepy motel – it’s you!”