Do Not Disturb

by Freida McFadden

The more distance I put between myself and Derek’s body, the more guilty I look.

The Baxter Motel. That’s where I’ll spend the night, then tomorrow bright and early, I’ll get back on the road.

This whole motel feels like it’s about to fall apart.

My first impression was right. Nick is a nice guy. I’m safe here, at least for the night, but first thing in the morning, I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

up until today, I didn't know quite how awful he was.

I didn’t really think he was going to hurt me until I felt his hands around my neck. And that was the last straw. He pushed me around long enough. I would not let him take my life.

Why he was smiling when he heard someone was at the door, then he immediately got angry. He was happy because he didn’t know it was me. He was expecting somebody else. Another woman.

in his warped mind, he assumed anyone coming home early was there to fool around, because that’s what he was doing.

“If you do not want to give me a real name, don’t even bother.” I open my mouth to protest, but then shut it. She’s right. That isn’t my real name.

“Nick always leaves 201 empty.”

“Because a couple of years ago, a woman was murdered in there.”

“Mirrors are the barrier between the conscious and unconscious mind. Everyone has an inner concept of themselves, but mirrors are reality. What you see right now—that is the truth that everyone else sees.”

I can’t see the future but I predict I will never see this woman again.

There was another reason they thought Nick killed her.

I flip around the “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on my door, then I close the door and lock it.

Unlike Derek, who always had some idea of perfection I could never achieve, Scott seemed thrilled just to be with me.

I let my husband die on the floor of my kitchen. So that’s my other secret.

Yes, I killed him in self-defense, but I wanted him to die.

Not only that, but I waited to make sure he was dead. I stood there, watching him bleed out. As he cried for help.

What if the reason nobody’s looking for me is that Derek isn’t actually dead?

“Nick told me he would borrow a pair of boots from his wife.” Greta’s lips curl up. “Be careful what you borrow from that man’s wife.”

Rosalie will not be happy about handing over a pair of her boots so that her husband can help a pretty young guest.” Her eyes narrow at me. “She’s always watching him, you know.”

“There’s nothing to be jealous of. Believe me.” “Tell that to Christina Marsh.”

“I get that it’s hard for her. I’m not saying I would’ve taken it well if the same thing happened to me. But she could still do everything she used to do if she wanted to. Instead, she doesn’t want to do anything anymore. She just stays in the house all day, even though she’s going crazy in there. It’s driving me crazy.”

When I dared tell him once that his mother’s casserole was too salty, he changed the locks on the front door so I couldn’t get in the next day. (And believe me, that casserole was essentially a salt lick.)

I notice now that the water dripping from the ceiling doesn’t look clear the way water usually does. It has a brownish tinge. Almost reddish. I wonder if that’s from rust. It makes sense that the pipes would be rusty here.

I look at the water accumulating in the bucket. It definitely looks red. That’s so strange.

I pass room 201. I don’t know what it is, but every time I walk by this room, I get the chills. The door is closed, and there is a “DO NOT DISTURB” sign hanging from the door knob, even though the room is empty.

I chew on a wedge of meat. I have no idea what animal this is, but it’s delicious.

“If Christina Marsh had listened to her fortune, she would still be breathing today.”

She takes a step back, like she’s almost afraid of me. “You go now. You… you are… danger.”

“Get out!” she shrieks. “You must go! Get away from this place!”

Rosalie. I wonder why she’s on the second floor. If she can’t walk, why wouldn’t she want to stay on the first floor? Why would she trap herself upstairs?

Despite his reassurances, something is telling me I’m making a horrible mistake by staying here.

crack open the Bible. I expect to see the familiar first words: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Instead, the entire first page is covered in red magic marker. Somebody has scribbled across the pages: Get out now, whore!

I stare at the words, a prickling sensation in the back of my spine. I turn the page and there it is again. The same words, written over and over. Get out get out get out get out…

He smiles crookedly. “I bet the guy had it coming.”

I’ve made up my mind. I’m going back home.

“Hello?” I say. A raspy voice spits out, “How could you do that?” And then a second later the knife buries itself in my abdomen, between the open folds of my coat. I stare at it for a moment, watching the crimson stain spread across my shirt. And then everything goes black.

I was the one who discovered the body in the kitchen. It was much later. Too late. I knew something was wrong when I spoke to her on the phone.

That’s yet another piece in the puzzle. Besides Derek’s iPhone, he also had a burner phone in his pocket. Scott claimed that just prior to his death, he was texting with another woman. Planning to meet her for a rendezvous at his house while he believed Quinn to be at work.

“You’ll call me if you find out anything?” “I will. I promise.” He pauses. I’m sure it’s a lie. “And you’ll call me if you hear from Quinn?” “Of course,” I say. But that’s also a lie.

Right now, Quinn’s husband is dead. Murdered. Quinn is gone and so is her car. In my mind, there are two possibilities:

The first is that whoever killed Derek also did something to Quinn.

The second possibility is that Quinn is the one who killed Derek.

I'm going to find you, Quinn. I triple dipper promise with a cherry on top.

I may be a masseuse, but I was majoring in criminal justice in college. I might have gone to law school if I had finished. If my parents hadn’t lost control of their car that afternoon at the end of my freshman year.

I still can’t figure out what he was thinking. He heard a report of screaming coming from my sister’s house. Why didn’t he go inside and investigate? What kind of police officer doesn’t investigate screaming? It’s strange.

I can’t leave the bedroom with the bed still unmade. I just can’t. And I would die of shock if Rob ever made the bed.

I’m going to find her. And I’m going to find her before the police do.