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“Perfect.” Dave started for the checkout and said over his shoulder. “I get to be Dean.”
“Does that mean I’m Sam?”
“Nope. You’re Velma.”
“Um, aren’t you combining shows?” Oliver said.
“Hey, they did a crossover, so it’s allowed.” Dave paid for the items, and Oliver carried the bag as they headed for the car.
“I still say it’s someone local trying to scare people away so he can buy the motel on the cheap,” Dave said.
“If that turns out to be true, I’ll let you pull off the rubber mask he’s wearing.”
“And you’d better get video of it and post it.”
“You know it. It’s going viral.”
It was getting dark when they returned to the motel, and they quickly unloaded the car and locked it. Using the new and more powerful flashlights, they walked around the entire building, verifying all the rooms were empty, including the ruined main office. Back inside their room, Oliver put the chair under the knob and helped Dave sort their purchases.
The lack of sleep caught up with them both quickly, leaving them yawning and nodding off over another game of poker that left Oliver even more in debt. By nine thirty, Oliver blinked blearily at Dave. “You want first or second shift?”
Dave held up a bottle of iced tea. “I’ll take first shift.” He got off the bed and sat in the chair by the window. “I’ll sit up and think of how to collect my poker winnings from you.”
Oliver ginned as he crawled to the top of the mattress and put his glasses in the case. “Make sure it’s extra dirty.”
“Deep, hard, and dirty,” Dave said, the sensual tone of his voice sending a shiver of lustful excitement through the pit of Oliver’s belly.
“Okay, wake me up at three thirty.”
Oliver put his head down and was asleep in moments.
* * *
Oliver woke with a start. A cool breeze brushed his face, layered with the scent of the woods: damp earth, the mouth-watering juniper smell of pines, and the gentle mold of fallen leaves. He rolled onto his back and squinted as he looked at the other side of the bed, but it was empty. Oliver sat up, more awake now, and braced himself with his hands behind him as he peered around the room.
The door stood open.
“Dave?”
Panic fluttered quietly inside his chest like a wayward moth. He fumbled out his glasses and slid them on with shaking hands. Moonlight streamed in through the open door, painting a pale rectangle of light across the ruined carpet. A breeze lifted a piece of paper from atop the warped chest of drawers and sailed it across the room.
“Dave?”
Oliver checked the bathroom. It was empty. The clean scent from their shared wash up lingered, and it made the panic in his chest spread broad wings that took up precious space inside him and made it harder to breathe. He crossed to the open door and stepped out onto the crumbling concrete. Dave wasn’t in the parking lot or the woods beyond. All was silent and nothing moved, but something felt off. Something wasn’t right about any of it, but his mind wasn’t settled enough to pick out the problem. It kept jumping from thought to thought, trying to find a solution. Trying to find Dave.
Then he realized what it was. Everything was silent. The night before, the frogs and insects had steadily provided a loud background noise, but now it was different. Nothing made a sound. All he heard was the wind rustling leaves and soughing through the pines, and it made him shiver.
He did a quick visual inspection of the car, but it appeared to be untouched, so he returned to the room and grabbed one of the new flashlights. He shone it around the room, moving slowly and trying to take in all the details. The chair they’d used to brace the door stood off to the side as if placed there, so Oliver figured Dave had left the room of his own volition. But why? And where was he now?
A quick search turned up the latrine shovel and toilet paper roll, so that reason was out. He hadn’t left a note of any kind, and he was certain Dave wouldn’t have left without leaving one, especially on foot. Into the woods. At night. He would have closed the door behind him, too.
Oliver pulled on a hoodie, grabbed his phone, then stopped when he caught sight of Dave’s phone lying on the floor. The sight of it sent a chill through him and an involuntary gasp slipped from his lips.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Ruby Gallagher, the Vixen of the Morelock Motel had struck again.
“No,” Oliver said aloud, straightening his spine as he tightened his fingers around the flashlight. “There’s another explanation. I know there is. He just went out to check on a sound or something, that’s all.”
