"Oh my God, we're gonna die," I gasp, feeling around for the window, as I make my way to the other side of the room—I think.

"Natalie, where are you?" he murmurs, sounding far away. "Natalie, don't leave me—"

"I'm not going to leave you," I retort, grabbing a curtain. "I'm just trying to get some light in the room."

"Oh." He then whimpers after a small thud is heard; I think he just stubbed his toe on that damn bedpost.

Once I reach the window, the yellowish streetlamps around the motel illuminate the corner of our blackened room. Adrian stumbles into the light as well, and we just stand there, unsure of what to do.

"I really think I'm coming close to solving this case," he says. "We will just have wait it out."

"What if he's planning on killing us?" I ask breathlessly. "It's very possible, you know…."

"I doubt it," he comments. "The fact that he's not taking the pictures of the dead himself speaks volumes for what he's capable of doing…." He shakes his head. "Nah, he just wants us to leave."

I check my watch to see that it's almost midnight. "Maybe we should just go to sleep now—" I say, "—since we're not leaving, like I'd prefer to do."

"—But aren't you going to take a shower?" he asks weakly.

"Nope." I cross my arms. "I'm not going through that again."

"Well, you might have some of that… stuff… on you…." he mutters, taking a few steps toward the bed.

"Actually, I don't," I say. "And if I happened to have any on me, the wipes I was holding and the bleach I spilled all over my arms in the process of soaking those stupid towels got it all off."

This is enough explanation for him. He gets his pajamas in hand, which he had conveniently placed on top of his suitcase, and then walks toward the bathroom, stopping abruptly at the door, for I can hear his shoe squeak at the threshold.

"This isn't going to work," he says. "It's… one big open room…. It's not—I can't change in here…."

"How about I cover my eyes and turn the other way then? It's pitch black where you are right now, Adrian; I couldn't see you even if I wanted to…."

"What?" he asks, surprised. He must have caught the tail end of my comment. He shouldn't even be bothered by this, because he just put on new…. undergarments after his very recent shower. I only know this because he made a big fuss over hiding the old ones from me.

"I'm not going to look," I say. "Why are you even worried about it anymore; I saw you ear—"

"Okay, okay, don't bring that up," he mutters impatiently. This is enough to convince him, because I can hear clothes ruffling, and so I turn to face the window once again.

After the ruffling has stopped, I turn around. "Now I have to change," I say, "so can you let me over there?"

"Yes," he mumbles, walking over to the left side of the bed, sitting on the edge and letting his shoes drop to the floor, and then slipping under the covers in a matter of seconds. He's probably scared to death right now. I don't blame him; he's had a rough day. He then turns on his side toward the window, and I shuffle through my luggage and grab my pajamas. I, unlike him, did not change my undergarments earlier, so I quickly conjure up a plan. I take a clean bath-towel and hold it in my teeth as I change, so absolutely nothing is viewable. After I'm in my pajamas, though, I scoff, wondering why I ever messed with the whole covering-up process, seeing as how I'm rooming with Mr. Modesty, who in his obedience and sheer horror at nudity, has remained facing the other wall.

"Okay, I'm done," I say, slipping under the sheets after kicking off my shoes.

He turns over, facing me. I never realized how close we really are in proximity on this little bed. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

"What is it?" I say, turning to face him as well, for I had been lying on my back.

"Well—I, uhm—I can't promise that I… I—well, you remem—"

"It's okay," I say. "Do you remember doing it?"

"Uhm… no," he says, fidgeting a bit. I'm a little disappointed. Maybe he thought I was Trudy or something; who knows.

"That settles in then. No matter what you think, you did nothing wrong. You're too hard on yourself, Adrian…." It still sounds funny saying that, but I like how it feels to say his first name.

"Goodnight, Natalie," he whispers. For some strange reason, I get a little bit of a chill, then remembering that it's probably because the heater is turned off. Everything in this room is going to be out of commission all night, and it's probably going to get cold….

"Goodnight, Adrian."

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

I wake up slowly from my sleep with goosebumps and a chill radiating all over my body. It's then that I realize Adrian and I are cuddled up in the center of the bed, face to face, and his pajama sleeves must be a bit rolled up, for I can feel his arm hair tickling me. I lift an arm to rub my eyes, and allow for the covers to slide down a little. Adrian really looks peaceful in his sleep, almost as peaceful as when he was found buried in the casket in the Sonny Chow murder case. There's a big smile on his face; I've never seen someone so happy to be sleeping.

Soon though he stirs awake, opening his eyes to find himself face to face with me. There have to be mere centimeters between our faces right now, and I'm taken aback but I try not to show it. Usually I'm awkward being uneasily close to him, but right now I find I'm as comfortable as if Mitch himself was here with me. Adrian doesn't jerk away as he had done after the first night; he just gently lifts his arm off of where it was draped over my side, and rolls onto his back, rubbing his eyes as his smile slowly fades.

"What time is it?" he says, groaning in an early-morning voice.

I grab my watch off the nightstand and hit the Indiglo button. "It's… four in the morning," I grumble, sighing angrily.

"Wow, it's really cold in here," he says, rubbing his upper arms. "Is that why you woke up?"

"Yes," I answer, pulling the covers up to my chin. "Were you cold too?"

"Not until you started moving…." I am pleasantly surprised by his comment, and I smile. "Uhm, the blanket slipped down," he attempts to correct. It's too late. I'm finding myself a bit giddy after his statement.

"Well, I'm going back to sleep," I say, snuggling the sheets around me.

"Goodnight," he whispers. Oh, how I love his little traditions; he probably always had to make sure to say goodnight to—wait, did I just say 'love?' I couldn't have….

"Goodnight," I whisper back. He lies on his back now, with the sheets up around his neck. I can feel his arm brush against mine as he settles into his position; he has goosebumps too.

The sleep that follows does not last long, for a high-pitched shriek is heard coming from outside of the motel. I jolt up abruptly, noticing that Adrian is just a step behind.

"What the hell was that?" he says, glancing nervously around the pitch black room.

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out," I reply fearfully, getting a sudden chill.

He sits up fully, and drapes his legs over the side of the bed as he puts on his shoes. "I have to see what happened," he says. "Are you coming?"

I sigh deeply, and force myself to leave the warm confines of the covers for my cold shoes on the floor.

We head out of the room to find that the hallway lights are all still on, but something more pressing is at hand. Other guests have emerged from their rooms as well, and are congregated by the main entranceway. Adrian and I shove past them and step out into the chilled night air, seeing something lying in the middle of the road in front of the motel.

Upon closer inspection, the 'something' is found to be the body of the concierge. He's holding a duffle bag, which presumably was filled with money, for there are still some bills inside, and others scattered across the road.

"Looks like he was hit by a car while trying to leave with the money…." I murmur. The detective shakes his head. I don't know whether I'll ever be right with my assumptions. He begins to explain his reaction.

"—Why would he be in the middle of the road with the money? He owns a car, I'm sure, so why didn't he just drive off with it?" He points to the cars in the parking lot. "Besides, who would come out these roads at this time of the night anyway?"

It appears the concierge may still be alive, although in his last moments, for he has just taken a large gulp of bloody air, and is staring at us with fearful, blood-shot eyes. He grabs Monk's pajamas, causing the detective to yelp and jump back, and hoarsely utters one last word. "Sam…." He then releases his grip of the shirt, rolling his eyes back into his head, and letting out his last breath.

I bow my head, thinking of Mitch. I hope he didn't have to die like this…. I hope it was quick and painless…. I can feel tears coming to my eyes, but I wipe them away.

The guests soon pour out of the motel and approach us tentatively. "What happened?" one asks.

"A murder," Adrian says matter-of-factly, looking up from the roadside. "Call 911! And tell them to watch for a Samantha Morris at the Mexican border as well, and to apprehend her; she's a suspect in at least three murders! Do you hear me? Samantha Morris!" he cries, turning his view to the crowd, as several members nod in response. "And please…could you all go back inside? This is a crime scene!" The group of guests slowly makes their way back into the building, mumbling to one another excitedly.

The detective swabs the man's large blood-covered watch with one of the bills, and leans in closer to get a better look. He then glances around the parking lot, noticing something on the sandy asphalt. It looks like tire-tracks to me.

"I've got it all now!" he says, jumping to his feet. "I know exactly what happened…."

"You are truly amazing!" I exclaim, "—but what are we going to do about the body?" The emergency squad might hit it on their way over here."

"We'll just have to stand here then, in front of the body…" he mutters. I stand up next to him, and we wait in the middle of the dark highway for the arrival of the emergency vehicles. I am shivering in the intense cold, which is compounded by the fact that it is January and I'm out in a desert at night, wearing my skimpy pajamas.

"Okay! Here's what happened," he says, excitement evident in his voice. "Samantha Morris, the nurse, had been traveling along this road, probably on her way to work, or to interview for a new job. She noticed the desolate motel and thought up a great money-making scheme.

"After initially meeting the concierge, she became his… partner, probably his girlfriend, eventually…. She had him buy all sorts of high-tech equipment like the VGA converters and cable adapters, along with a computer, and promised him that if he followed her plan, they'd make the money back, and more….

"She was going to create a reputation for the motel, an infamous reputation, by making it, how do you say, 'haunted….' She would—take pictures of the deceased after they had passed away, and then transfer them to the motel; they would then be broadcast to the guests who stayed more than one night—the higher paying guests—along with the time of death, so there was no discrepancy. The key to this was that this revelation had to happen before they had died, so it wouldn't seem like a blatant murder linked directly to the motel. The early warning was more of an eerie event than an affirmation of homicide.

"For the first two deaths, she herself had to kill the victims, who were on life support in the hospital where she worked. She unplugged their machines before the blackout, which is when they passed away, then took a digital picture and sent it to the motel, afterwards causing the real power outage, having known about the generator problem—it's an old hospital, the one in Las Vegas…. She had worked there for quite some time so it wasn't difficult to know what breaker to shut off. During the blackout, she plugged the machines back in, making it seem as if the generator hesitancy was the sole cause of their deaths.

"She then thought up an even better plan that didn't involve killing anyone. She had been on suspicion for the two deaths in Nevada, but hadn't been formally charged, and so she went to Arizona. In the winter, Arizona switches to Mountain Time, which is an hour ahead of California time. See?" He motions to the large watch on the man's wrist, with its various faces. "He's wearing a watch with the different time zones, just to make sure he remembers when to broadcast the deaths…. After that adjustment, it was easy for the pair. The patients would die and she would send the pictures to this motel with their time of death, and the motel would display them a half hour before the time of death. That way, a death that happened at 4:00 am in Arizona could be broadcast at this motel at 3:30 am.

"As you can see, at rumors of ghosts, the motel became packed, and all the money that was made was placed in safekeeping within the motel, but nothing was ever repaired. I had been suspicious of that myself, seeing how many guests come through this place….

"Tonight she was going to send the concierge another picture, but he probably told her that I was suspicious of him and that he wasn't going to take the risk. She then drove down here, figuring that he was having a change of heart, that he was going to make a run for it, so she decided not to take that risk, and simply killed him. She had never supposed that it may have actually been true that I could have been on the right track. She'll probably be at the Mexican border in a few hours."

"—but why was he in the middle of the road?"

"She most likely attacked him and knocked him unconscious in his sleep," He says, motioning to the tire tracks in the sand. "These tire tracks are fresh, showing that she pulled into the parking lot first and went inside. She probably hit him in the head with some blunt instrument, then dragged him out to the road with the duffel bag in his hand, making it seem like he was trying to hitchhike with the money in tow. She then took the money and ran him over as she left, shrieking, to alert the motel as to when it'd be supposed that he was killed." He strides over to the motel entrance, kicking the dust up, as I walk beside him. "She did a nice job of wiping away the drag marks, but she forgot about her tire tracks."

He smiles broadly, having solved the case. I am so proud of him that I wish I could kiss him on the cheek, but I guess a hug will have to do for now. Without warning, I do just that, and he lets me. We stand in that embrace until the emergency vehicles arrive, keeping each other warm.

The End


Please tell me what you think of my story! You can either choose to review, or email me at naturechildwv at excite dot com. I really love feedback, good or bad! Please don't hesitate to leave me some! If you can't review now, do it at some point, please!