The Wayward Bus

They hit the pavement.

Joseph stared down the road.

-It’s coming, he said.

-There’s no schedule here, Joseph. It’s a rural road.

-Count to ten.

She looked at the duffel bag in his hand. It was light. Just the clothes they'd acquired since running away from the wedding.

The top of a bus peaked over the horizon. The destination sign flickered. Route 101 - Southbound.

Rosa stopped breathing for a second.

The bus stopped and the doors hissed open.

Joseph stepped up and looked at the driver and nodded. He nodded back and let Joseph on.

Rosa followed.

They found a seat in the back. The vinyl was cracked.

Joseph put the bag on his lap. He squeezed the handle.

-You see? he asked.

Rosa looked out the window.

-Coincidence, she said.

-Precision.

-You’re scaring me, Joseph.

They sat in silence and watched the ocean on their right.

-Tell me about the room, she said.

-Room 112 he said, and closed his eyes.

The migraine was back. She could see it in his temple.

-It’s a motel room. The Stardust. Or Star-something. The neon sign is broken.

-What about the room?

-Ground floor. End of the row. It used to be two rooms. 112 and 114. They knocked the wall down.

-Why?

-Renovation that ran out of money. Or a request from a specific guest.

-The courier, she said.

He nodded.

-He paid for a month. Cash. He was supposed to drop something off. He never made it.

-And we’re just going to walk in?

-The clerk is tired. He won’t care who we are. As long as we act like we belong.

Rosa looked at her hands. She rubbed them. She couldn't get the phantom feel of the blood off.

-And if you’re wrong? she asked.

-I’m not.

-But what if you are?, she asked.

-I’m not wrong.

She leaned her head against the cool glass.

She thought about Jack. Standing at the altar.

Had she been wrong?

She thought about the tables in the basement. The drains.

She looked at Joseph, who was shivering.

-Give me your hand, she said.

He opened his hand. She took it. His skin was fever-hot.

-We’re going to the motel, she said. But if there’s no room 112, Joseph, if there’s no wall knocked down.

-There is.

-Then I’m leaving. I’m walking to a police station. Tell them I'm not missing anymore.

-You won’t have to.

The bus drove and the sun set.

The brakes hissed again.

-Here, Joseph said.

They stood up and got off onto the side of the highway.

The Star-lite Motel. The "lite" was dead.

They walked across the lot and into the lobby. The clerk was watching a small TV.

-Yo, Joseph said.

The clerk blinked. He looked at Joseph. His eyes glazed over.

-Name?

-You have it, Joseph said to the clerk, as if he were reminding him. Room 112.

The clerk checked the book.

-The paid room.

-Yes, exactly, Joseph said.

The clerk reached into a cubby and dropped a key on the counter.

-Maid service is Tuesdays, the clerk mumbled.

Tuesday didn't mean anything to the clerk, or to Joseph, or to Rosa Sharon.

Joseph took the key.

They walked outside.

Room 112 was at the end.

Joseph put the key in the lock. It turned.

He pushed the door open.

Rosa held her breath and stepped inside.

It was huge. Two queen beds. Two dressers.

Twice the size of a regular room, and a plastered wall where a second door should have been.

-See? Joseph whispered.

He walked to the closet. He opened it.

A brown bag sat on the shelf up top.

Rosa felt the floor tilt.