The Night That Never Left Us

Chapter Three

"Are you..." Sara started, but Michael hushed her, listening for another knock. When it came, he tried to read its intent. It was ridiculous, he knew that; it was a knock, not a particularly rushed one, nor particularly stretched out. A stream of possibilities flooded his mind, and while he couldn't pick one that made most sense, he could easily point out the one he feared most.

"Hide under the bed," he whispered to her. She knew from his reaction that he didn't know who it was, nor did he expect anyone, and her eyes widened. She wanted to offer help, even if it was just a suggestion, but all that surrounded them was walls. On the Buttercup Road, they had had a road ahead of them, a road that could get them away. Now they were trapped in a room, the only window leading directly into the hands of the person the door kept away, for now.

Neither knew what to do while they both knew there was only one thing to do. They gave each other one more second, just one, but brevity always made their moments seem longer. Anytime they were frozen in time, in place, together, and the world around them was rushing against their favor, when things were supposed to be at their messiest, there was nothing but clarity. It was ridiculous, the weight of the words he struggled to say, when it was nothing compared to what triggered them.

"I..." he started.

"I know," Sara said. She laid her hand on his shoulders, quickly, too briefly. He wanted to lean forward, destroy the distance, the bars between them, but there was never time, not unless they stole it. There was the damned knock again and she crawled under the bed. Michael untucked the bedspread, pulled it to him so that it fell to the floor, hiding her. It wasn't much and it could so easily be futile if someone saw right through the decoy. She had left her purse on the table. He picked up the towel from the bed and threw it over the purse, and it felt just as futile. But it was all he could do and there was never enough he could do to protect her.

A gun was in the pocket of his jacket. Until today, Michael would have never pulled a trigger with the intention to aim. As he took the gun out now, he knew he would never let her get in anyone's aim. He neared the door, and his hand was on the knob when they knocked again. The gun was behind his back, just out of their sight, but ready, and as he opened the door just enough to see who it was, it would take him less than a second to gun them down.

A kid of about seventeen stood on the other side of the door. His face was red in places, his jaw overworked the gum in his mouth, and a bunch of leaflets was in his hands. He wore a cap with the name of the motel splashed in front. Michael remembered him from the reception desk when they had checked in.

"Hey, man," the kid said with a casual grin on his face.

Nevertheless, the grip on the gun remained unabated, just to be sure. Michael leaned forward, looking to the left and to the right of the man, towards the stairs and down to the parking lot, looking for everything and anything suspicious, finding nothing. A man was putting a duffel bag in the trunk of a car, a woman was crossing the parking lot, counting the bills in her hands before stuffing them in her wallet, giving a quick kiss to the man before opening the door of the passenger side. Two teenagers sat on the hood of a car, smoking, with no intention to hide it.

It seemed unreal that there was nothing, that they had no one on their trail, no Bellick in a car with darkened windows, no agents in vehicles in imposing numbers. Is this how their lives would be from now on? Their hearts racing at the slightest noise they didn't anticipate, their minds rushing to worst conclusions at the smallest sight that was unexpected? Always living for the moment, out of fear that it was all they would have, mixing the good with desperation and urgency, until one day perhaps forgetting why they used to think the stolen moments were worth it? The relief Michael had felt for a moment now turned into cold that made it hard to breathe again. He wanted to give her more, so much more.