Part 3
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets…"
-Paul Tournier
The haunted, explicitly bright light of the morning sun trickled into the cramped, small enclosure of the motel room, shedding its brilliant light on the single bed and throwing the shadows of the worn, dirty corner chairs into definite focus against the dying yellow flowered wallpaper.
A woman stood near the single, lonely window near the door, and gazed lazily out with scornfully dishonest hazel eyes. Sharp, tense worry lines took residence in the corners of her mouth and eyes, marring her quietly attractive face. A cigarette dangled expansively from her fingers, ash gathered in clumps at the tip, yet she paid it little mind and kept her focus trained on the weed infested parking lot outside. A thin, black silk robe was slipped over her petite figure, exposing snatches of uncovered, smoothly regal skin, and her feet were bare, grazing the filth-encrusted, mud-colored carpet with a necessary distaste.
Precious feet from her, wrapped in the thick, neutral maroon of the comforter, a man lay motionless; his face buried deep in the folds, hidden from her. A long-fingered, callused hand hung over the side, limp and impassive as death itself.
"Are you awake yet?" Her voice was blood dripping over sandpaper, rough and liquidly dangerous. "I have to get home before Jonathan, remember…" She glanced absently at the clock beside the bed where looming, incandescent numbers placed the time at half-past seven.
"I'm awake."
"And who could tell? You were just lying there like a corpse. I thought you were still asleep." She curled her lips derisively up and ran her fingers through medium-length black hair.
"Lynzie…" The sound of his distressed, obviously annoyed tone had Lynzie smiling smugly and studying her newly manicured nails.
"You know you love me."
"I have no idea why." He moaned the words out with difficulty and pushed himself slightly up in the bed, trying to untangle himself from the comforter.
"Of course you do." The light of challenge shone in her greedy, malice-filled eyes. "You love me because I'm cold…" She crossed the room, flinging the cigarette to the ground without a care. "Because I'm calculating…" Pulling back the covers, she slipped off the robe, letting it fall in a magnificently adulterous heap on the ground. "You love me because I'm completely and totally wrong for you."
She tugged her lover's pale, handsome face up to hers, and ran her fingers through his disarrayed, fair hair. "Tell me you love me."
"I love you." The sweet, jaded declaration was delivered rather breathlessly and with, in that one moment, with true sincerity.
"I know you do." Lynzie smiled and for the first time in years really meant it. "That's the only thing with you." She let his head drop and slid away from him, her soft, kewpie-doll mouth curved in a semblance of a frown. "That's the only thing."
"Are you leaving?"
"Hmm? Oh yes, I've got to go. Jonathan'll be furious with me if I don't turn in an appearance soon. I trust you'll pay for the room, as usual?" Lynzie admired her dark features in the bathroom mirror as she finished pulling a rumpled navy skirt over her hips.
The man in the bed said nothing, but merely stared at the white plaster ceiling as if something immensely interesting had suddenly caught his attention. Under the comforter, he balled his hands into fists, the wedding ring on his left hand cutting into his palm like a dagger.
"It's been tremendous fun, dearest one." Lynzie sailed into the bedroom with her purse slung over her shoulder and her clothes haphazardly hanging from her small frame. Her stuck up wildly in every direction, but her face shone like a lighted candle flickering in the breeze. She bent down near the bed to pick up her silk robe and effectively jammed it into her purse. "I'll see you later, my darling." She swung out the door with exuberant abandon and determination, instantly forgetting the man in the bed the moment he was out of sight.
"Take care," The man's voice hit against the door and the walls, never reaching Lynzie, and sounding totally devoid of life and vitality. "Mrs. Freeman…"
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
"So the only one left to notify is the wife?" Detective Paris rubbed the palm of his hand over blood-shot, azure eyes and pressed his mouth together in a hard, firm line. "What was her name again?"
"Her name's Lynzie Freeman. She's a wolf, like him and they've been married two years last March. According to Monique, she's also got a legion of lovers right here in Hollenbrooke and has been cheating on Jonathan almost from the get-go of their marriage." Detective Williams shifted a muddy gaze to Paris. "But that's beside the point."
"Whatever." Paris lifted his hand away to reveal a pained, exasperated face. "Where is she?"
"That's a good question."
"You don't know where she is? Did you call the Freeman residence?"
"Yes." An all-knowing, self-important smile of superiority spread across William's lips smugly.
"And?" Paris's patience had been worn to bits last night from lack of sleep and over-work. The last thing he needed to deal with were Williams's head-games.
"The maid answered. Said she hadn't seen Mrs. Freeman since about eight last night." Williams began to toy with an unsharpened pencil that had been lying on Paris's desk. "Supposedly, she and Mr. Freeman had a huge blowout, which resulted in both parties storming out of the house."
"Why are you smirking like that?"
"Smirking? Am I smirking?" Williams turned his back to Paris in an unmistakable gesture of contempt. "I didn't realize."
"What do you know that you're not telling me?" Paris forgot about his fatigue and focused intently on his partner's back. "Did you find something out last night researching at city hall?"
"I didn't find much out at city hall."
"So, what…"
"It's not related to you, Paris." Williams stuck a stubby, thick-fingered hand in his pocket and touched the pictures that were resting there to reassure himself that they were indeed still there. "It's not related to you at all."
"I don't…"
"You carry on the investigation from here. I've got a little research I need to do." Williams cut Paris off again and set the pencil he was holding back onto his partner's desk.
"I'll catch up with you later."
Paris watched Williams walk away, a thousand valid protests on the very tip of his tongue.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
It was mid-afternoon when thick, black sheets of rain clouds began to roll into Hollenbrooke and blotted the hot, radiant sun from the sky. The wind picked up three-fold, blowing tree branches and leaves about, and made an intense bitter wailing noise that sounded more like someone crying than a breeze. The temperature dropped twenty degrees and a biting chill snapped on the heels of the wind, sending the land into a near frost.
It was in this wild maelstrom, this vociferous storm, Monique had decided to venture out away from the comfort and safety in The Millionaire's Circle to take her chances in the city.
"Just visiting Marilyn- my second cousin twice removed. She's bought a house on Broadway, and I've been meaning to take a visit." That's what Monique had told Jack, with false smiles and artificial love. "Marilyn has been furious I haven't called, and she is a relation, Jack-love." She kissed him then, nothing passionate, just a simple peck on the cheek as one might give to a sibling. "You know Marilyn would be terribly disappointed if I didn't at least make a quick stop."
Monique had taken Jack's new car, the sleekly silver foreign one that had been made in Germany, and had gone exactly twenty miles-per-hour over the posted speed limit all the way into town. Monique didn't believe in following the rules- she was one of those careless, vibrant creatures who floated in and out of reality, always looking for something new and exciting to enrapture her. For her, rules never applied.
When she got to The Red Lion Inn on the corner of Johnson and Rio Vista, she parked the car and than proceeded to walk into the dim, unassuming lobby that made this hotel a favorite of people who enjoyed discreteness. Riley Lennox, as always, was waiting for her by the elevators.
"Riley, you're an absolute dream to this tired girl." She trailed an arm around his shoulders when she saw him. "You're an absolute dream." He responded in kind by simply guiding her into an elevator, which would lead them up to the suite they always reserved for their nights together.
The suite was large and airily breathtaking, designed in a Louis XVI period style. A chandelier hung from the center of the room, crystals and diamonds dangling in the dark, and a gold, Persian carpet reminded Monique of luxurious quicksand. A fresh glass vase of white roses kept company with a bottle of wine and a bowl of fresh strawberries. The gold and blue bedspread was draped royally over an antique four-poster bed.
"Does this suit you?" Riley always said those exact words every time they first opened the suite door. It was a tradition of sorts.
"It suits me very much." She hung her coat and hat on the gleaming, golden coat rack in the corner. "But I would prefer some candles."
"If you want candles, you can have them." Riley took a matchbook out of the glistening, cherry-wood desk and, one by one, lit the candles by the bed and on the table.
"Oh, Riley…" Monique laughed suddenly, her beautiful, little face shining in the dim candlelight, as if she had said something very clever or funny. "You must think me so wicked to be carrying on a liaison behind my husband's back. Why do you stay with me?"
"I could never think you anything less than perfect, Monique." He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her temple, handling her gently as if she were made of some delicate glass. "And we both know why I stay with you."
"I hate this, Riley."
"I know, but someday…"
"I'm getting tired of waiting for someday." Monique drew back slightly. "I think Jack might suspect."
"How could he? You said yourself he trusts you implicitly." Riley studied Monique with a concerned reserve. "He doesn't suspect anything."
"I'm afraid."
"Of what?"
"You know Jonathan's dead?" She tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear and looked earnestly into Riley's eyes. "They say the girl- Paige or something- murdered him. I don't think it's true."
"You don't think it's true that Paige murdered him?"
"That's right."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I just don't think it's true."
"Don't even worry about it. You and Jonathan weren't even that close anyway. Besides, you're not to think of it now, Monique." Riley reached up and took a hold of one of her hands much as Jack had done just a little over a few hours ago. "Tonight is for us."
"It just keeps turning in my mind, over and over like a broken record. I'm getting bad feelings and I…I feel like I'm being watched. On the way here, I was almost positive someone was following me…" Monique turned from him, and carefully went about the business of selecting the perfect strawberry from the over-flowing bowl. "I know that I'm a werewolf, not a witch, but…"
"Monique, like I said before. Now isn't the time to think such things." He walked over to her and tentatively put a hand on her shoulder. "No one's following you, and you're not being watched. You're just a bit shaken by your brother's death. That's all."
He tilted her head back and moved closer to her, as if he was just on the verge of sealing his words with a kiss. The fear had left Monique's eyes, and she had put every ounce of her faith and trust into Riley.
Then, the bedside phone rang hoarsely, ruining the mood and the evening. Riley sighed with frustration and released Monique so quickly; she almost toppled to the ground. He helped her up casually and then went to answer the telephone.
"Hello…. Look what's this…. Yes…. No, I don't…. If that's what this is…. Okay…. I'll be there…." He put the receiver back on its cradle, and then hastily rushed over to where his coat and hat were resting on the coat-rack.
"Monique, something's come up that needs my attention. I can't… I won't be gone more than an hour-and-a-half. Wait for me?" He paused at the door, frozen comically between her and the impending disaster.
"You know I'll wait for you." Monique dropped gracefully into a chair and tucked her legs under her. "I'll always do."
After he had left, Monique settled into a tableside chair and uncorked the wine. Pouring herself a glass, she consoled herself by looking out the window and watching the rain fall in large, wet drops on the sidewalk below.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
A quarter of an hour later, the main door to the suite opened slowly and purposefully. Monique, who had her back to the door, smiled brightly, her face flushing in pure pleasure. Thinking it was Riley she called out: "Back so soon, love?"
There was a silence that permeated the suite like chaos, turning things upside-down and leaving Monique's question unanswered. Monique could feel her joy dying a slow death, and being replaced with the hideous slide of panic. "Riley?"
The only answer was the swift closing of the imposing, wooden door; the old, rusted hinges groaning shut.
"Riley, is that you?" Every instinct in Monique's body was screaming loudly and painfully, every intuition nerve on fire with warning. She did not turn, in fact, was too afraid to face whomever it was at the door, and sat rigidly in the chair, still watching the rain outside. She could feel the urge to scream and cry out bubble up in her throat, but she beat it down, strangely determined not to make a sound.
When something touched her shoulder, a bare whisper of a touch against the soft fabric of her blouse, her resolve crumbled, and terror spread through her like wildfire. Slowly, so slowly, she turned, her eyes wide and bright.
This time she did scream.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~