Graveyard Watchman (Book 1)

Chapter 19

"Here you go." An older lady behind the motel front desk says, holding out two key cards to me. I take them and try my best to smile.

"You're paid up for the rest of the month. If you need your rooms for longer, just let us know." 

I nod and walk back out to my car. Aunt Kelly is waiting behind mine in her Explorer with Uncle John who looks asleep and is most likely high on pain meds. As I get closer I notice she's wiping her eyes before she sees me. 

"Are you okay?" I ask, hoping the concern on my face doesn't reveal how frightened I really am. She doesn't need that extra burden right now.

"Oh, yeah, honey." she quickly hides the kleenex I already saw. "I just hate that you're having to use your inheritance money." She looks over at Uncle John then back to me and whispers, "He doesn't know this but I managed to put a little money away for emergencies but it's not enough..."

"Aunt Kelly, this was my choice and I want to help!" I interrupt her. "Besides, you really don't have a choice--my mind's made up." I smile and watch her face brighten as she shakes her head. "Here." I say, handing her their suite card key. "I was able to get a room right next to yours."

~~~

A couple hours later, after getting Uncle John settled in and making a quick grocery trip, Aunt Kelly is already making dinner. I know it's her attempt at keeping things as normal as possible and I'm grateful for her all over again. Their room has a kingsized bed and a tiny kitchenette. It doesn't have an oven but there's a hotplate for stovetop cooking, a microwave, small fridge and a coffee pot. All the basic essentials until we figure out what to do from here. I could afford a lot more but Aunt Kelly insisted on something simple and functional. 

"I'm gonna grab a shower and go to bed." I say as I take the last bite of my chicken. "Here let me help with the dishes..."

"Nope, I got it, honey. Get some rest." Aunt Kelly says, kissing my cheek as she gives me a quick hug.

"Okay, text me if you need me." I whisper before letting go.

~~~

My room isn't fancy but it's clean and there's a thick, white robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It's too big but that makes it more comforting as I wrap it around my body and slip into bed. 

I'm exhausted but the second I close my eyes, horrific images of the past 24 hours slam into my head and I instantly wonder If this is what Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome feels like.  I reach for the remote, flipping through channels and eventually find an old movie--anything that it will take my mind off today. 

But it's no use.

Thoughts that keep turning into more questions have stayed with me this entire time and won't go away. The fact that The Watchman or Dominic, I need to figure out what the hell to call him, carried me out of our burning house, for starters. How did he know and where did he get the firefighter's uniform?  I need to find him. I need to go back to the graveyard. Somehow, I know he'll be there. 

I can feel it.