I slowly uncover my eyes to find that the shower curtain is closed, and the water from the showerhead is making a sickening gurgling sound. Adrian must still be inside the shower stall.
The shower curtain is an opaque shade of yellow, so I'm not sure of where he'd be standing right now. "Adrian!" I yell again. I can hear a muffled sound which I'm assuming is coming from him, and that does it for me. Here goes nothing….
I pull open the curtain to find him cowering, standing in the corner of the stall furthest from the showerhead holding a soaking wet towel, plastered to his wet skin at his waist level, and covering his mouth with his other hand as he stares wide-eyed at the churning water in the tub.
At the sight of me, the detective cries out pitifully, dropping his other hand to the towel and attempting to wrap it around himself while turning his head to face the wall. He's shuddering all over and breathing heavily with his eyes closed in embarrassment and horror, and I refrain from looking at him anymore in his complete fear, instead diverting my attention to the water. If you could actually call it that.
The gunk pouring from the shower head is brown and lumpy, like sewage, and smells like it as well, I soon find to be true. I cover my nose as I grab the dial and turn off the flow of the disgusting crap filling the tub. Adrian is standing in about an inch of it, and he keeps lifting his feet to avoid prolonged exposure. Once the 'water' has been shut off, he snatches the shower curtain and pulls it around himself as well. He's still shaking and breathing heavily, and can only stare down towards the floor. I can tell he's still trying to keep from throwing up, for he keeps swallowing loudly and closing his eyes as if in pain.
"Why didn't you answer me?" I say, turning to face the other direction, away from him. I may as well not completely scar him for life, because I have never seen him so terrified, and I myself am terrified by the way he's acting right now.
"I… need to… get out of here," he stammers, on the verge of tears. I can hear him stepping out of the tub, for the brown material on his feet makes a squishing sound on the floor. He gags again, and I turn around to face him. He has the shower curtain wrapped around him and his entire upper body is blanched an unhealthy shade of eggshell white. Even so, I can see some of the brown goop on his chest and his arms, and all over the towel, which is now on the floor.
"Yes, and you will," I say as carefully and calmly as possible. "Now, let's get you cleaned up…."
I turn the spigot of the sink to find—the same brown crap pouring out. He's gagging again, feverishly attempting to wipe it off of his arms. I can't imagine how horrible this must be for him: sewage all over him, and him naked in front of another person: a woman, no less. I need to get him some fresh water, but I hate to leave him in this condition. "Adrian," I say insistently, grabbing his shirt. "Put this on, and then we'll find you a place to clean up."
"N-no! It's… all over me! I'm not ruining my shirt…."
"How about I buy you a new one after this is all over."
He's shaking his head now and fidgeting, looking up at the ceiling and sighing with immense frustration. He's trying to rub his feet off on the side of the tub as well. "Can you just… go away? I'm—I need to figure out what I'm—"
"Look, I know you're uncomfortable. But you need to put something on. I'm going to see if any other rooms have the same problem."
"Then—go do that!" he exclaims, on the verge of panic.
"Are you going to put your clothes back on then?"
"N—I don't know, I just can't destroy something on purp—"
"Well, then I'm staying here, until you agree that you'll be ready when I get back." I cross my arms, watching his expression change.
"Okay, okay," he says, clutching the shower curtain with renewed insistence. "Just… go!"
I turn around, shutting the bathroom door behind me, leaving him in the revolting rotten-smelling room. Realizing that some of the gunk is now on my hands, I grab a towel from the open suitcase and wipe them off. I head down to room 13, and knock violently on the door.
A gothic couple opens the door, and stand side by side. "Hello, how can we… help you?" the guy asks blandly, noticing my panic.
"Is your water acting up?" I must rephrase my sentence. "I mean, is it clear?"
"Uhm, it's clear…." He's looking at me like I'm a moron, and I can understand that. It is a weird question that I'm asking.
"Well, the water in our room is really gross, and my boss needs to get it off of him, so can we use your shower for a little while?"
"Uhhhh…." The gothic guy turns to his raven-haired, although quite pale, girlfriend, and they both turn to look at me, nodding slowly. "Yeah, that's… fine…." he mumbles.
I rush back to our room and knock on the bathroom door. "Adrian?" I say in a high-pitched voice. "The room down the hall—their water is fine. Are you decent?"
"No!" he shrieks. "I'm covered in—"
"Do you have your clothes on, I meant!" I'm met with silence. I suddenly think of the robe I had brought for myself. I know he wouldn't dare put on his own clothes, and this may be the only garment I own that may cover him up well enough.
"Adrian," I say. "I'm going to give you something to wear, okay? Just wait." I hurry over to my suitcase and pull out the leopard-print robe. Thank God it's of a decent length; maybe it's possible that he'll slip it on.
I open the bathroom door a crack, and stick an arm into the room with my robe in hand. He's moaning now, and he hasn't taken the garment out of my hand yet.
"Just… take it, Mr. Monk. Those people might change their minds if we don't get a move on. Put it on; I'll buy a new one."
"—But it's…. leopard-print…" he scoffs. "—and it's… yours…."
"I don't care! Just put it on! Please!" My pleading must have gotten to him, for he hastily yanks it out of my hand. After a minute of waiting, I speak again.
"Are you ready?" I say. The door creaks open slowly, and a very humorous-looking Adrian stands at the threshold, wrapped tightly in my robe, holding it together in the front with both hands, with the fuzzy belt tied tightly around his waist. I almost laugh at the silliness of his appearance in the leopard-print, exposing his slender hairy legs up to a few inches above knee-level. He's absolutely miserable, glancing down at himself every few seconds to cringe and readjust the ill-fitting robe, but I think he looks kinda cute. Okay, I know what you're thinking, but it's true!
He's now staring directly downward, and I see that his feet are still covered in the brown gunk, so I run over to the cleaning supplies and grab a box of wet wipes and a roll of paper towels.
"I'm going to wipe off your feet," I say, squatting down to his knee-level with a thick stack of wipes in hand. I'm not touching that crap directly. He backs up.
"What's wrong?"
"—You're wasting them! I'm not paying for all those!"
"Okay then." I stand back up. "Let's walk over to the room then," I say, making my way for the door. He stays put, which I knew he'd do. "Well, aren't you coming?" I ask, looking back at the robed detective.
"Now—Natalie…you know I can't do—"
"Then let me wipe your feet off so you can put on your shoes."
"They won't be clean enough for shoes…." He reaches out towards the wipes pleadingly. "Please don't waste the wipes…." I almost laugh at this comment. He's always wasting wipes; every time he shakes anyone's hand he needs one.
"I have an idea then. We won't waste wipes, and you won't have to put on your shoes yet." I go back over to the supplies and get two plastic grocery bags.
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
I carry his shower supplies in a fresh new towel, along with his clothes and shoes, as he shuffles down the motel hallway in a bathrobe, his bare feet in plastic bags. "This is just… stupid," he pouts, reddening all over.
"Well, you wouldn't let me use your wipes," I say, as I glance over at him. "Don't worry; you'll be cleaned up and good as new in no time."
I knock on the door and the goths let us in. As Monk shuffles his way into the bathroom, I notice that the pair had replaced the motel's shower curtain with a solid black one. Creepy.
He turns around, looking at the pair, who are gaping at him in disgusted shock. That smell is getting to me as well. "Now you're sure that the water is clear?" he asks them.
"Yes," the woman responds. He turns on the water as I'm standing in the doorway to be sure, and then I lay his clothes on the sink-top and shut the door behind me to let him get cleaned up.
I wait back in my room for almost two hours for him to get done and come back over, although I do call to check up on the progress after one hour, and the goths have already become irritated. I can't imagine what they're thinking right now, so I call the room again.
"Is he done yet?" I ask them.
"He keeps saying 'one more minute,'" the man answers, obviously in extreme annoyance, by the tone of his voice. "Get him out of here, it's been long enough," he snaps at me.
"Okay, I'll be right down." I bring fresh clothes down, getting Monk out of the bathroom after only 5 minutes of coaxing, and he emerges smelling and looking a lot better. He uses his towel to hold the shower supplies, but isn't sure of what to do with the robe and the plastic bags, which he has neatly arranged on the floor. After several seconds of staring at the ruined items, the couple walks over to the doorway, glaring at him.
"Just get him out of here!" the gothic woman shrieks. "We'll take care of the stuff ourselves!"
We leave in a hurry, with a trail of my continuous apologies and thank yous. The next hour is pretty uneventful, with the detective pacing back and forth nervously at the thought of the horrid bathroom.
"Can't we just go home now?" he inquires earnestly. "We don't even have water…."
"We could always talk to the concierge," I say, hoping to stop his incessant worrying.
He stops pacing and looks at me incredulously. "I think the concierge did that to the water," he says, "to make us leave early. He's trying to get us out of here. I must be on to something… Or else he's suspicious…."
"Did he see you looking through his desk?"
"No…." It's an unsure-sounding answer.
"Why do you say it like that? He either saw you or he didn't."
"He didn't see me…." He pauses, as if there's more to say.
"Come on, Adrian, what happened? Did you switch something around on his des—"
"Yes…." He's embarrassed, and he kicks at the thick pile of bleach-soaked paper towels against the bottom of the bathroom door.
"What? Is it obvious?"
"I—um… straightened some of the piles, and put the manuals together; they need to be togeth—"
"I can't believe you did that! He knows, Adrian! What if we're next in line to die?"
The lights suddenly go out.
One more chapter, everyone! Please review!
