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Chapter Four: Arsonists Anonymous

Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable around his car, Ted had followed Sammy into the motel room. The kid was sitting on the bed with a duffel bag full of clothes and a worn out jacket where he had presumably found his cell phone.

"I think these are all mine," Sammy said, gesturing at the clothes, "They don't look like they would fit you."

Ted ignored what was most likely a shot at his height, and sat on the opposite side of the bed, facing the wall. Telling the kid about the trunk of the car was out, he'd decided that back in the parking lot. Sammy didn't need to know, especially since he seemed to have forgotten about them being criminals for the time being.

How had he and this kid ended up like this anyway?

People did not just wake up one day and become killers, did they? There had to be some explanation.

He briefly wondered if he should somehow dispose of the 'equipment' from the trunk. But decided against it, as he was not sure he could do it without attracting suspicion. Despite not knowing who or what he was, he was certain of one thing – it would not be good for either him or the kid if the police got a hold of anything from that trunk.

He really did not think that Sammy would fare well in jail.

Not that he was particularly eager to find out how he would manage either, but he could just tell the kid was not cut out for it. Strangely, in spite of how annoying the kid was, he felt the need to shield him from this.

To protect him.

Probably because it was more than likely his fault that Sammy was involved in. . . well what ever it was they were involved in.

Ted sighed. This was so not good, but dwelling on it would get them nowhere. Maybe they should just stop looking. Take one set of ID's and disappear somewhere. Start over. However, without knowing who they were and what they had done, they had no idea who was after them, or how much they knew.

As long as they had no memories, they were sitting ducks.

He shook his head. Behind him, Sammy was still going through his belongings, completely oblivious to the horror that sat hidden in the back of the impala. He scuffed his shoe on the floor, dismally.

A fine white powder fell to the floor from the treads of his sneakers. Ted stared at it blankly. Where had that come from? He stood up, and followed his steps back across the room until he stood by the front door where there was a small pile of the white powder.

His first thought was a desperate hope that they were not involved in drugs as well as. . . well it was best not to speculate on what they had used the guns in the trunk for.

A close second thought was, can really bad drugs screw with your mind this much?

He stared down at the powder a long moment before a third thought crossed his mind. The powder seemed to have been spread in a rather deliberate line directly in front of the door. It was disturbed now, obviously he and Sammy had walked through it a few times. But why would anyone deliberately pour drugs on the floor?

Bending down he scooped up a small sample with one hand. He had just realized that it was nothing but salt when Sammy spoke. "What are you doing?

Ted turned to face him. "There's a bunch of salt in front of the door," he informed the younger man while holding out the white powder for Sammy to see.

Sammy brows furrowed in confusion. "Salt? That's weird," he replied, making his way to the door. He paused in front of the window and turned to Ted. "It's here on the widow sill, too."

Walking over to see for himself, Ted saw that there was, in fact, a line of salt spread purposefully across the sill. Clearly nothing they owned was going to answer any questions for them. All they seemed to be doing was further confusing themselves.

"What do you suppose that's about?" Sammy asked, looking to him as though he held all the world's answers.

"How would I know?" he snapped, a little too irritably. It was not the kid's fault, but damn this was turning out to be a bad day.

At least, he thought it was a bad day. In reality, he supposed this could be the best day of his whole miserable life, and he would have no clue.

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After finding the salt they had both run out of ideas for the time being. Ted had situated himself on the bed and had spent the afternoon channel surfing, and trying not to think about his trunk. Sammy, on the other hand, had settled in the chair in the far corner of the room and had taken to reading an old newspaper. It had been the only thing he could find.

He seemed to be determined to read every single word in it, though.

Ted flipped to yet another channel. He really had stopped actually looking at what they were, just automatically switching it every few minutes. He was fairly confident he had been through the entire listings. More than once.

"Hey. . . Ted," Sammy called, interrupting his thoughts.

With a sigh, Ted muted the television and turned to look at the kid. "What?"

"Two of the obituaries are circled. . ." he said holding out the paper.

Hesitantly, Ted got up and accepted the paper, not sure he wanted to look, but at the same time knowing he had to. He glanced down at the page, and swallowed hard. The obits were for two fourteen-year-old girls.

Oh God.

Why would they have marked this? Surely they had not. . . done this. He looked back up at Sammy who was looking at him confused.

"Do you recognize them?" Sammy asked, hopefully, probably mistaking his paleness for recognition.

Ted just shook his head not sure he could trust his voice at the moment. He moved to hand the paper back, not having really read the blurbs when a loose page fluttered out onto the ground. Leaning forward Ted scooped it up and skimmed the article.

It was an article, cut from another paper. It had pictures of the same two girls next to a picture of a burn-damaged classroom. Ted suddenly felt rather nauseous.

There had definitely been a gas can in the back of his car.

"Maybe we knew them?" Sammy suggested having come over to look at the new article.

"Yeah, maybe," he replied weakly, hoping the kid could not tell he thought otherwise. Hell, he did not need his memory to know that had he known the girls. He would not have saved this article of their death, otherwise. That was just. . . morbid.

Great, he was the world's first squeamish serial killer. Just great.

No. Until they had memories, or concrete proof, neither of them were serial anythings. He took a deep breath. No need to freak the kid out. If Sammy wanted to think they were here for a funeral, who was he to argue?

He shoved the paper and the cut out article face down on a table and made his way back to the bed. "I think I'm going to turn in," he said, not wanted to sit up and speculate on the reason for keeping such disturbed reading material.

"Uh, sure. But Ted?" Sammy asked. "Since there is, um, only one bed. . ."

"Oh, no way in hell am I sharing a bed with you Fruitcake," Ted announced firmly.

"What? Where am I supposed to sleep then?"

"I don't care. You pick, so long as it's not on my bed."

"Well, that's not fair!" Sammy whined. "We don't even know it's your room. Besides, even if it is, I mean, we were clearly traveling together. . ."

He glared sharply at Sammy. "Just how many times must I explain this to you, Fruitboy. I am not gay."

"Well then why would we get a room with only one bed?" Sammy retorted.

"I don't know! Maybe the motel was full!" he yelled back.

Sammy started to say something then stopped. After a moment he admitted, "I didn't think of that. . . but then why wouldn't we find another place?"

"I don't know. But I do know that I am not sharing this bed with you," Ted replied as he headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed.

"But – but, why do you get it?" Sammy stammered.

"Because I said I do. Seniority remember?"

"That's a load of bull. We should at least flip a coin for it or something!"

The kid was persistent he'd give him that. "Look we'll find another place in the morning," he offered as he stared at the two toothbrushes on the counter wondering which was his. He so did not want to use Sammy the Fruitcake's by accident, that would just be gross.

It was kind of funny actually, for all he knew he was a mass murderer who burned school children alive and here he was worrying about toothbrush germs.

"We can't," Sammy protested.

"What? Why not?" he shot back while mentally playing eenie-meanie-mynie-moe with the toothbrushes.

"If someone knows us, and knows we're here they might come looking for us."

Ted looked at Sammy startled. He had a point. Damn, why hadn't he thought about that? He nodded, "Yeah, yeah. Good thinking."

Sammy left him alone after that, long enough for him to make a choice – the red one – and finish in the bathroom. As soon as he headed back for the bed though, the kid sprung his next idea.

"We should alternate," he declared.

"Alternate what?"

"Who gets to sleep on the bed. If we're going to stay here and the hotel is full it's only fair," Sammy reasoned.

Ted sighed. He was too tired to argue, and maybe tomorrow another room would open up? "Fine," he consented. Sammy looked pleased with himself so he quickly added, "I get it tonight."

"What? Why?" Sammy asked. "It was my idea, I should get it first."

"Nuh, uh. Don't work like that, Sammy," Ted replied flopping onto the bed.

"Give me one reason why you should get it first," Sammy challenged.

Ted smirked at him from the bed. "Well, we're alternating right?" he asked innocently. When Sammy nodded he continued. "And if I recall right, last night you slept here, and I slept on the bathroom floor. Therefore, you already had your turn and that makes it mine."

"That doesn't count!" Sammy tried to argue, but Ted just crawled under the covers and told him to have a pleasant sleep.