Chapter Twenty
Sam and Melody leave her parents house at the break of dawn after agreeing that staying in one place for too long isn’t safe with Adam on their tail. Sam turns down the radio as the tires of the little station wagon hit the freeway.
“I want to stop by the police station before we head back… just in case,” Sam suggests.
Melody nods; she can’t get passed what happened last night; she’s never felt so scared of herself in years.
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Sam speaks with the police officer, a short stubby man.
“But we have no current records of a Jet Kit,” the officer says.
Sam pulls a manila folder out of his back pack, handing it over to the officer behind the coffee colored table. Thick fingers grab the folder.
“Do you have a description of this man?” the officer asks.
Sam looks over at Melody, urging her to say something. She takes a deep breath; the image of Adam is always close enough to her eyes that if she isn’t paying attention to where her mind drifts off to she can swear that he’s standing in front of her.
“He has dark black hair, mid length, is about six three with lightly tanned skin, a narrow nose, large lips and bright sapphire eyes,” Melody describes.
The officer’s tope flops back and forth just slightly as he nods. “And he sometimes goes by the name Adam, you say?” the round officer asks.
Sam nods, rubbing his chin. “Yeah, that’s what he called himself when Melody met him,” he answers.
The officer has a receptionist make a copy of the news documents and information Sam had given him. “We’ll do a search for him and let you know,” the officer says as he hands Sam his card, “Call me if you two run into any trouble.”
They thank him and make their way back to the car. Melody’s legs stick to the hot leather of the car, but she doesn’t notice or even care, she’s far off in her mind. Sam slides across the bench seat, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“They’ll find him. They’ll keep him from you, and if they won’t I will,” Sam assures her.
He presses his lips against her cheek, before he slides across the seat to the steering wheel.
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Sam’s eyes squint as he stares out the out the window at the blackening night sky, watching for exit signs. In the distance there’s a flickering motel vacancy light comes into view.
“Melody, wake up,” Sam says as he grabs her foot that’s stretched out next to him.
“Mmmm, are we there?” she moans.
Sam pulls up to the run down motel, checking the surroundings to make sure they wouldn't get killed in their sleep by some hillbilly with a chain saw.
“No, I'm taking the scenic route. I don’t want to leave a trail for Jet,” Sam answers.
She nods, stretching her arms out in front of herself; her fingers sprawl out across the dashboard. Taking this alternative route will make their drive to Melody’s apartment a half a day longer.
Sam double checks for suspicion vans that could house serial killers one last time before getting out of the car, throwing their belongings over his shoulder and holding Melody tight against his side as they walk up to motel office. A bell above the door rings when they walk in to the cramped room that consists of wall to wall faded orange carpet accompanied by walls yellowed from years of cigarette smoke, along with a ringed brown vinyl desk across from the door.
A middle aged woman sits behind the desk, filing her nails, which are yellowed from years of smoking; her voice proves it.
“What can I do for you two love birds?” her raspy voice croaks.
Melody is taken aback by the hoarse voice that comes out of the thin woman. Sam stands a few inches away from the counter that she sits behind, noticing the little bit of orange lipstick that has rubbed off on to her crooked front teeth from her thin, chapped lips.
“Um, we’d like a room for the night,” Sam says as he looks at the laminated badge on the woman’s black knit t-shirt that reads “Maude”.
She winks at Sam, making his skin crawl, as she reaches a flabby arm up to pull a pen out of her bleached perm. “Now,” Maude says as she takes down their names on a yellow note pad, “I hope you two don’t trash my room up too much in one night.”
She pulls a key off of the wall behind her, holding it by the brown leather strap that has their room number on it. Sam takes it from her liver spotted hand.
“We only intend on catching some sleep before having to drive some more.” Sam assures her. He pays for the night before pulling Melody out of the room.
“Did she freak you too?” Melody asks, strangling the life out of Sam’s arm.
He laughs, even though he was somewhat uncomfortable with Maude. He jiggles the rusted door knob a few times before it finally unlocks. Melody reaches through the door for the light on the side of the wall, flicking it on.
The dim florescent lighting shows the orange carpeting, drapes and tub, along with one king sized bed. Sam laughs, dropping their bags on the floral bedding.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love orange and all, but this is just wrong,” Sam laughs.
Melody lifts up the comforter, searching for any critters that might be living in between the sheets.
“There could be clowns and glass dolls in here for all I care. The only thing I'm worried about is getting eaten alive by a cockroach or something,” she says.
Sam helps her shake the sheets out, just in case, before making his way to the bathroom to change.
“The toilet’s orange too!” he shouts in amazement.
Melody rolls her eyes, throwing Sam’s sweats on under her tank top. She slips under the sheets, confident that if anything had been in these sheets she had gotten it off, and tugs on the beaded cord next to the bed to turn the lights off.
Sam creeps into the darkened room, taking in the small sleeping figure on the bed, wondering if this is what Adam looked at every night before bed. He teeter-totters back and forth on his heels before silently sliding under the sheets next to her, holding his breath so there isn’t a sound that can wake her.
She rolls over, nestling her head against his chest, her legs curling up to her chest, turning her into a little ball next to Sam. He drapes his arm on her side, kissing the top of her head as she sighs, falling back into sleep.
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An hour ticks by with Sam still awake, thinking and obsessing over how Adam could have been holding Melody the way he is now. She moans in her sleep, flipping over so she can stretch her legs out from under the sheets, the oversized pant leg over Sam’s sweat pants roll up to her knee, showing her goose-bumped leg.
He sneaks out from under the sheets, tiptoeing his way to the door until he is standing outside on the other side of the door. While pacing back and forth in front of the door, opening and closing his phone as muggy air sticks to his skin, pondering on making this awkward phone call.
“Tomorrow I should be in the area any way, there’s no real harm in stopping by to say hi,” he thinks to himself.
It’s been a year since he’s talked to his parents, let alone seen them. But the reasons for their falling out are understandable.
“I'm twenty-two years old! I don’t need my parents ‘loaning’ me money all the time!” Sam shouted at his parents through the phone.
It was yet another one of their money arguments. Sam’s father, Keith Winters, is a very profitable owner of the Last Stand, a steakhouse chain. Mr. Winters has over three hundred steak houses spread throughout the country, so he has some extra cash floating around. Mrs. Winters spoiled Sam, who is their only child, and had trouble with coming to terms that he is no longer a child.
“Oh, but Sammy you can’t pay off bills with your writing and photography, not yet anyway. Please let us help you,” Mrs. Winters said.
&
nbsp; Sam’s head pounded. His mother has never believed in his writing or photography.
“No. I am not accepting handouts from you. I’m living fine over here by myself, I just got a job at the newspaper and I have an anniversary this weekend that I am supposed to be taking pictures for. So thanks, but no thanks.”
He could hear his mother sob on the phone right before he pushed end.
He finally flips through his contacts, reluctantly pushing the call button. The phone rings.
Ring.
Ring.
Then stops.
“Hello?” a woman croaks, who is obviously unhappy with being woken up at this hour.
“Hey mom, it’s Sam,” he says as he nervously runs his fingers through his hair.
“Oh! Sammy! Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong? Are you in trouble?” she asks, her voice mixed with joy and worry.
“Well, um, in a way, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Would you mind if Melody and I stop by tomorrow? We’re kind of in the neighborhood.”
“Of course, come on over! We haven’t seen your pretty little girlfriend in awhile!”
“Thanks mom, I have to get back to bed. Good night, see you tomorrow probably around noon. Tell dad and Reese I said hi.”
“Ok, Sammy. Good night!”
His phone makes a clicking noise as she hangs up. He sighs, slipping his cell phone into his sweat pant pockets. Sam sneaks back into bed next to Melody, pulling her by the waist back to him, before falling to sleep.