But I Need You - W. Winters Page 0,25

I was a child. Even into my teen years. My mother hardly ever yelled. That’s what our father was there for. All the discipline. Hearing it now, though … she just sounds desperate.

The tick, tick, tick of the turn signal follows us down Asher Lane. I recognize the street and know the hotel is only one block down. It’s in a quiet area, small and close to the off-ramp to the highway. It’s an old building and used to be some kind of chain. Everything about it screams dated but I guess the owner sold the place rather than updating it.

“Gunshot residue doesn’t lie and you need somewhere to wash it all off, plus a change of clothes.”

“I shouldn’t have done this,” she says and my mother’s statement is a plea. As if she wishes she could go back. I’ve heard that cadence so many times. “Just take me back.”

“I’m not taking you back until I make sure you’re all right.”

“Did you see what I did?” she says and her voice cracks. With a shuddering breath she croaks out, “You shouldn’t have to deal with me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my baby girl.”

“No talking now. Please, just wait.” It’s always a struggle when a child watches their parent break down. But right now? It feels like that bullet went straight through my heart.

“Let me get you inside.”

“Don’t help me. I don’t deserve it.” She begs me as I pull into the parking lot.

“I don’t know, but …” I trail off as I struggle to justify anything I’ve done.

“You don’t know what he did.” Pain lingers in each of her words. “I couldn’t … I didn’t know it all. I just thought … Oh God …” My mother’s sobs wrack through her and she rocks back and forth. A shivering chill flows over me as I slam the car into park.

Something’s been broken for a very long time. More broken than the cracks I skipped over as my father held my hand down Main Street.

How did I ignore it? Waves of heat and anxiety crash within me. Suddenly I need the cold air outside just to breathe.

The lot is mostly vacant. Which is expected. It’s not like this town gets a lot of tourism.

There are a few cars, all of which are much older models than my own.

I turn back to look at my mother, wanting to calm her down or at least make sure she knows to stay here for just a moment. The seat groans loud and heavy as my mother sways with a hand over her heart, her face tilted up to the roof of the car. Like she’s praying.

“I want you to tell me everything.”

“Don’t risk—”

I smack the passenger seat to get her attention. Her eyes whip up at me.

“I’ve already abandoned the scene of a crime. I’m going in that office right there, getting a room and then I need you to tell me everything.” I spoke it all too quickly. But I got it out at least. Licking my cracked bottom lip, I wait for her to say something, anything.

The nod of my mother’s head is subtle, but she agrees. “I’ll stay here.”

I’m firmer this time, like I am with the defendants. “I’m going to need you to tell me everything.”

My mother hesitates but again, she gives me that small nod of agreement. Not wasting another second, I get out of the car and the cold air is nothing but brutal and refreshing at once.

Sniffing and wiping under my eyes, I brace myself to face the first person I have to encounter, a potential witness.

The check-in area isn’t any larger than six by six feet. A counter spans the length of the room and behind it there’s a plain white door that I imagine leads to a back hall or closet.

As I place my hand on the sign-in sheet, wanting to tap it instead of the bell, attempting to get the attention of the man laying back in the chair, his feet up on the counter and a hat over his face, I see under my sleeve of the cream sweater.

There’s just a spot of blood on it.

My father’s blood. My own runs cold as I pull my arm back just in time for the old man to lift the hat from his head.

“Didn’t hear you come in.” He speaks while rubbing his eyes with just one hand and then pinching the bridge of his nose. “Allergies always get me this time of