Kit kissed me goodbye and went downstairs to work.
I cleaned the dishes, tidied up, and packed my things into a plastic bag.
I told Kit the orphanage had called, and I had to go.I left it at that.He didn’t ask any questions because he trusted me.And I repaid his trust by jumping onto a Greyhound bus and leaving.
I rub over my chest.This sinking feeling is getting worse.
Pressing my forehead to the glass, I watch the night pass by, remembering why I’m here.It’s hard to believe that in a couple of hours, I’ll be back in Hollow Banks.
There’s no plan, so I’ve decided to hang back until Jupiter makes contact.I know that she will.The power was taken away from her.And she must take it back.
This game of cat and mouse will hopefully end soon.
And then…that I don’t know.
“Miss, this is your stop.”
I wake to the kind voice of a Good Samaritan, telling me we’ve arrived in hell.
I nod a thank-you to the older man and grab my bag.I have no idea what day or time it is.But the moment I set foot off the bus, memories threaten to drag me under.I measure my breathing and don’t make a scene.
Nothing has changed.
Hollow Banks remains as miserable as I remember it.It’s like I never left.
There’s a nearby motel that rents rooms by the hour, suggesting who its typical clientele is.But it’s exactly what I want.People go there to be forgotten.No one will remember a runaway.I’m a dime a dozen.
I commence my walk along the deserted street.Cars pass by, but I keep my head down, not wishing for anyone to pull over and offer me a ride.I arrive half an hour later.
If possible, the motel is in worse condition than I remember.
I approach the small, glassed office window.There isn’t even a door to enter.The woman behind the window has an ’80s hairstyle and bright blue eye shadow.She’s reading a tattered Harlequin novel, popping her gum.
“How long?”she asks, her eyes never leaving her book.
“I’m not sure yet.Maybe a week?”
“Two hundred dollars.”She turns the page, still not making eye contact.
I slide two one-hundred-dollar bills through the gap in the window.She slides me the key.
“Tha—” She spins on the swivel chair, turning her back to me.
Seems neither of us wants to be here.
I grab the key and head to room 15, assuming it’s mine since that’s the number on the maroon leather key chain.The lock clicks as I turn the key.The room smells musty, and I’m afraid to imagine what might have caused the big brown stain right in the center of the carpet.
The linens on the bed are threadbare.And the pillows look flatter than pancakes.
“Home sweet home,” I mutter, closing and locking the door.For good measure, I place a chair against it.
My shoes stick to the green carpet as I head to the bathroom.It doesn’t look too bad in here.Has all the essentials and doesn’t smell like something died in here.
I’m desperate for a shower, so I strip off and stand under the spray for what feels like hours.I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically.
I turn off the faucets, dry off, change into sleep shorts and a tank, then put on my sneakers before walking on the carpet.No way am I walking around barefoot.
I pull back the covers, half expecting to find a bug or maybe a stain.Luckily, there’s nothing there.I get into bed and, despite the pillows smelling of cigarettes, I fall asleep right away.
