The Man in Room Seven by Karin Nordin

Author:Karin Nordin [Nordin, Karin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2024-08-02T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 36

TWEETY

The parking lot of the Cottonwood Inn is empty when I return from the Ambrosia Lounge. I park along the far side of the building so my vehicle can get some shade and then head for my room. I’m still processing the information I received from Natasha as well as the eerie experience of imagining a little boy running off into the woods. I need to get more sleep at night. I have to make sure I stay alert and keep my wits about me. No more daydreams. I need to focus. If I don’t I might miss something important. Something that’ll lead me to Scout.

As I approach the door to my room, however, I’m overcome by a foreboding sense that someone is watching me. I glance out into the parking lot. There’s no one there. I even look in the direction of the footpath Redneck Rhett follows from the Blue Owl Tavern. Nothing. Nobody.

But why are the hairs standing up on the back of my neck?

I take out my key and stop just before inserting it in the lock. The doorframe has scratches on it. I run my fingers over the sharp indentations in the wood. I don’t remember ever seeing them before. Then I place my hand on the knob. It’s loose and wobbly as though someone tried to rip it off the door. I turn it. It’s still locked.

Did someone try to break in while I was gone?

My gaze follows the line of motel doors, stopping near the center where room seven is. Even in the shaded overhang the heavy heat of the sun hangs on me. It’s oppressive. And it only seems to heighten my unease.

I don’t see anyone. I don’t hear anything. But that doesn’t mean someone isn’t watching.

I stick my key in the lock and quickly head into the room, deadbolting the door behind me.

Breathe, Tweety. Breathe.

But even though I’m fairly certain no one actually broke into my room, I search through it carefully, checking to see if anything is missing or misplaced. That’s when the sparseness of my belongings really hits me. Almost everything I own is immaterial. There’s no permanence to my life. The few important items in my possession can be carried in a small handbag or tucked in a back pocket. Everything else is inconsequential, easily left behind, quickly replaced.

The only things I really care about are the age-progression photos I keep on me at all times and the old Peter Rabbit stuffed animal. It’s sitting on my bed now. Untouched. Looking at it always fills me with conflicting thoughts. On one hand it was Scout’s favorite toy as a baby. I’d wave it in front of him and his entire face would light up with joy. But it was also the one thing Dodge left for me. The thing he taunted me with. A symbol of the child he took from me.

I drop my keys on the nightstand and wipe the tears from my face. Then I take a deep breath and count to six.

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