Chapter Text
The snow flurries flew towards the windshield, swirling and dizzying in the inky darkness. Hours of driving in the dark snow, the endless snowflakes dancing in his vision, it was enough to make him nauseous. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel tighter, his eyes struggling to focus on the fuzzy outline of the road ahead of him. He had been searching the darkness for any sign of a place to stop and rest, a neon sign, a lit up porch, anything. It had become a struggle just to keep his eyes open- at one point he resorted to slapping himself in the face as hard as he could. Nearly a ten hour drive. He needed to sleep, even if he didn’t want to.
Finally- like a mirage someone would see on a flat desert after being lost for days- the hazy faint glow of a blue neon sign. The pinprick of light in the distance drew him in like a moth to a flame and soon he was pulling into a small icy parking lot. Cozy Bear Inn. More like a roadside motel, he mused, but beggars can’t be choosers. The quaint building was shaped like an L, wirh a main office and the rooms branching off at angle. The office was lit, the welcome sign flickering and missing letters. Wel-me, it said. Tim reached into his back seat and grabbed his duffel bag that possessed all his belongings, zipping up his thick canvas jacket and breathing in deeply before throwing open his car door and awkwardly jogging to the office.
He was welcomed by the hollow sound of an old bell above his head, a halfhearted jingle announcing his presence. The older guy at the desk looked up at him from his magazine, eyes raised in surprise. He clearly wasn’t expecting any one in this weather.
“Good evening, how can I help you?” He said. His name tag read Darryl. Tim cleared his throat.
“How much for a room for tonight?” He asked, trying to fight the shivers that threatened to rack his body. Darryl slid his magazine to the side, clicking on some old desktop computer that looked straight out of the 90’s.
“85.” Fuck. That’s 85 dollars he really needed for food and gas, but he also needed a warm place to stay unless he wanted to freeze to death in his car.
“Sounds good.” He mumbled, digging in his wallet for a few tens and a five and sliding it across the desk. Darryl handed him a key, it had a stupid cartoon bear keychain with his room number on it. I just know this place is gonna smell like piss. He thought.
“By the way we don’t serve breakfast,” Darryl drawled, reaching for his magazine again. ‘Fisherman’s Weekly’ . Tim scoffed under his breath.
“Got it, have a good night.” A short jog in the blistering cold and he was in front of his room, number 3, fumbling for the key and practically jumping inside. He flicked on the dim yellow lights, and was greeted with a small room. Nothing special. Just like all the others hes stayed in. A single bed with itchy looking plaid covers. Two nightstands with antler lamps, a shutter closet and a narrow bathroom. At least it was warm. He peeled off his coat and extra layers and flopped onto the bed. Too tired to brush his teeth, too tired to care about sleeping in jeans and a thermal shirt.
His eyelids drooped with the weight of exhaustion, but instead he forced himself to reach over the side of the bed and pull out an old laptop from his duffel bag. He didn’t like technology anymore, But he allowed himself his flip phone and his laptop. The old dell computer blinked to life and he hesitantly dragged his cursor to internet. Shaking fingers typed his own name into the search bar. Nothing. No articles, no police reports. Same as every time He had managed to disappear and no one was looking for him. Of course, who would? No family, no friends. It was a good thing anyways, he tried to remind himself. He didn’t need anyone. It would have made it too difficult to flee. Every other night he did this same ritual. Scouring the internet, shutting his laptop, feeling relieved and empty at the same time. The first few months he had fled everything he had been more paranoid than ever, waiting for flashing red and blue lights, waiting for IT. He wouldn’t have minded going to prison. They would’ve sent him to the psyche ward soon enough however, and that thought made him shiver. He was never going back there.
With a labored sigh he shut his laptop and stuffed it carefully away. Rolling onto his stomach and turning off the bedside lamp. In the darkness of the stale motel room, listening only to the sound of his own breathing, he finally let sleep take him.
The bell above the front door jingled once again, and once again Darryl looked up in surprise. Two in one night, in this kind of weather? A gloved hand slapped a Benjamin Franklin on the counter before he could say anything. Blinking at the money, he lifted his eyes to greet the stranger. He was covered head to toe, not unnatural this time of year with the snow so bad. Snow pants, a heavy gray jacket, some sort of bandana or ski mask pulled over the mouth and a baseball cap and hood pulled low over his eyes.
“I need a room for tonight.” The stranger rasped.
“You got it. Number five is clean, here’s your key. No need to sign in-“ Darryl rambled, snatching the #5 key off the wall behind him and tossing it on the desk. He grabbed the money and turned to the cash register to begin to count out the strangers change. “Oh and we don’t serve-“ ding a ling! The bell chimed, and Darryl was alone in the office. The guy had taken the key and left without a word. Fuckin weirdo, Darryl thought, leaning back in his squeaky chair and opening yet another issue of ‘Fisherman’s Weekly’