He hadavoided Seymour's Bay for nearly a decade, but the time had come for him to return home. As his cab drove slowly into town, Logan cranked the window down. He could feel the warm sun hit his face mixed with the cool breeze off the ocean. It was a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The briny smell of sea salt filled the cab as he drew closer to his destination.
As he passed by the yellow townhouse he grew up in, a familiar feeling of emptiness filled his body. He dug deep to think of a positive memory, but came up short. Being an only child with wealthy parents seems like a dream, but it was nothing but a nightmare. His mother Cynthia was both critical and vindictive if things didn't go as planned. The only thing she cared about was her social status among the elite, sacrificing any form of relationship with her son and husband. He had little respect for his father, allowing Cynthia to control every aspect of their lives, even though he was the bread winner of the family. Tom was a submissive man, always doing what Cynthia told him. A small grin crossed Logan's face remembering the day he got a letter from his father telling him he had finally had enough of her bullshit and filed for divorce. Even with a life time of negative memories in Seymour's Bay, something seemed to have drawn him back.
The cab came to a halt. An iron archway stood tall reading, "Welcome to Ocean Avenue". As the cab proceeded towards the amusement park on the pier, known as Wonder Warf, Logan couldn't help but notice how the strip had changed. Some businesses from his childhood were still thriving. The old Oceanside Savings Bank still remained, with a noticeable facelift to its outside facade. The Petalphile flower shop and For Pete's Cakes were still in business, also with modern upgrades to their structures. Tourists flooded the street coming and going from Ocean Market and the liquor store. Jimmy Pesto's Pizzeria, now renamed Pesto's, had their usual dinner lineup. An Asian inspired restaurant called The Wok of Fame, had taken up the space of the old music store and an upscale seafood place called Aquarius, sat next to Bob's Burger's. People lined the sidewalks, eagerly waiting for a table to fill their faces with food. The Family Funtime Arcade had relocated to Ocean Avenue, taking over the old stationary place. The biggest change to the strip seemed to be the absence of the funeral home. A new, vibrant sign hung off the building reading, The Hive. It was definitely an upgrade to the depressing sight of a funeral home in the middle of a tourist area.
The last of the changes seemed to come at his destination, The Oasis Hotel. The once dingy chain hotel, located across from Wonder Warf, at the corner of Ocean Avenue and Front Street, had been majorly restored. The now nine story building was bricked from top to bottom with rustic red bricks. Two massive arched windows sat on either side of an elegant oak doorway. The words "Oasis Hotel" were lit up in gold, the inside of the large steal letters were lined with vintage light bulbs. Even in the day light, they shone bright. A teal awning fanned out over the entrance with small details of landscaping paving the way to its entrance.
Logan stepped out of the cab, grabbing a backpack and a duffel bag. He paid the driver, and headed into The Oasis. The flicker of pink and blue lights caught his eye. Looking to his left, he noticed a large neon sign that read, Reflections. While the name was familiar, the building no longer harboured a crusty old couple and their art supplies. Now, resembling the made over hotel, Reflections was transformed into a three level night club.
The hotel lobby was just as inviting as its exterior. The ceiling seemed endlessly high, while bold oak beams lined the room pulling everything together. An exposed brick wall acted as the focal point of the lobby, where the check in counter was conveniently located. Logan walked up to the concierge, a tall, well put together man with strawberry hair.
Noticing Logan's presents, the man smiled and politely said, "Good evening, welcome to The Oasis Hotel. Do you have a reservation?"
Logan shook his head no.
"Not a problem," the man continued. "My name is Jimmy. If you would so kindly give me a few minutes, I can see what we can do for you."
Logan turned away from the desk as Jimmy clicked away at his computer. The welcoming space of the lobby was clean and well thought out. The lighting was soft and satisfying, drawing attention to the sitting area where a wall of water trickled down ever so peacefully.
"We have a few rooms on the ninth floor vacant." Jimmy said, breaking the silence. "I can set you up in one of those. I just need a credit card and some ID".
Logan riffled through his wallet to find what he needed, then threw the worn out cards on the desk.
"And how long are you planning to stay with us," Jimmy asked as he picked up the cards.
"Haven't figured that out yet," Logan replied.
"Well, when you do, just let me know." Jimmy squinted at the cards, then looked back at Logan with a smile. He fiddled around on the computer for a few minutes, then said, "You're all set, you will be in room 903."
Logan nodded.
"If you have any questions or concerns, don't hesitate to ask." Jimmy smiled again, as Logan grabbed the keys to his room and walked towards the elevator.
Once in the room, Logan threw his bags on the floor and flopped on the bed. Exhausted from his long journey, he could feel himself fading into a slumber.
Several hours later, he woke from a nightmare in a panic. He was soaked in sweat, his heart was racing and he could barely breathe. It took him a moment to realize he was safe. Typical, he thought to himself. Why would his nightly scare be any different just because he was in another town?
Logan reached for his backpack and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He threw opened his balcony doors and lit the smoke, taking a long drag, then exhaling. The sun was long gone and the club next door seemed to have closed for the night. He sat down on a foldout lounge chair next to a small table. Other than the waves of the ocean dancing in the night, it was quiet. Peaceful. He embraced the silence, and finished the cigarette, feeling a sense of relief and solitude. He was used to sleepless nights.
Moments later, he heard a small engine moving towards the hotel. As the hum of the engine neared, he stood up and looked down on Ocean Avenue. The sound drew closer and closer, until it was just below him. As he peered down, he saw a lime green Yamaha, slowly making its way down the strip. He watched as it slipped away between the ally of the burger place and old funeral home.
Settling back into the balcony furniture, staring out into the darkness, Logan ran his fingers over an old scar on his right arm. Maybe a part of Seymour's Bay had always been carved into his existence.