My old Toyota Corolla
Chapter Five:
(Parkers POV)
"This sucks major monkey butt." I mumbled whilst dropping my navy duffle bag on my foot. My foot wasn't going to be a happy camper, nor was my body by the look of that bed down yonder. That sheriff was defiantly going to get it, who does he think he is leaving me in a crappy motel like this? "God help me."
The room was fairly large, but hadn't kept it's upkeep in sometime as it had appeared infront of my eyes. Didn't they know Parker has high expectations for hotels? I really need to go celebrity. Clean room with rose petals on my bed please! Chop chop! But no, I get the room with the ticking ceiling fan, stained carpet, and rickety mattress. How do I know it's rickety? I tried it out, The Parker Test is every motels nightmare.
Already immediately, I had started to rummage around the desk compartment and come upon… an unholy old issue of the phonebook! I felt quite accomplished while I sat on the bed with the book in my lap, phone in my hand, and the name of Mort my head. My finger traced down the list quickly before jabbing itself at MORTON RAINEY. My voice faintly recalled the number as I flew my dialing skills into work.
And damn, I must say that that man really needs to learn how to pick up a phone. I hadn't called once like normal and give up but called four times in a row with no one to answer on the other side. With a heap of sighs I slammed myself down on the cheap mattress and let a long sleep overcome the form of a very unhappy attendant.
(Third Person POV)
With his feet propped up against the table and his figure sliding slowly from the back of the wooden chair it looked as if the motel owner was enjoying the sleep of a lifetime, before a girl blasted through the door of his office, screaming at nearly 3:00 in the morning.
"S-Shooter!" She yelled trembling slightly, "Shooter! I-I wake up t-to f-f-find the word scrawled I-into th-the wall!"
"The wall?" He inquired with an eyebrow lifted.
"Yes the wall!" She had spoken loudly and lost her frail speech. "Parker Abbensail." Her soft voiced answered his question, even though it wasn't asked. His eyes zoomed down the paper that was vertical from his view. There, Parker Abbensail, room 8. (A/n We'll call this guy Oswald the Motel Owner.) Oswald cracked his neck and sighed before picking himself from his spot and step over to where the blonde was standing, quite impatiently, before she grabbed his arm and started dragging him out the door.
The room was in the corner of the motels structure and he undoubtedly remembered another event occurring here… what was it that happened? Oh yes! Room number 8 was were the author Morton Rainey had crashed in on his ex-wifes parade. Oswald had arrived just in time, right after he called the police, to see Rainey pull out a gun and aim it at the two people in bed. Oswald jerked from his reminiscing as Parker shoved him inside the room.
It wasn't in the best of shape, yet Oswald still hadn't spotted what the girl Parker was screaming about. Parker pushed him once more and turned him around forcefully, so he could stare at the words SHOOTER etched deeply into the wall. It was very noticeable and Oswald knew he would be paying extra to have the damage repaired.
"Is this some sort of joke?" Oswald boomed loudly, causing the girl to furrow her brows in anger.
"A joke?" Parkers voice grew in volume. "A joke?! Why would I want to scare the shit out of myself! Do you actually think I came here to plan out my revenge on your crappy accommodations? Nonetheless think of the most silliest name to scribble on a wall? Shoot--"
"Alright ma'am! Just lemme call the police for cripes sake!" Oswald walked over to the bedside table and picked up the receiver and added quietly, "For a second time…"