Do Not Disturb

by Freida McFadden

While I’m washing the blood off my hands in the kitchen sink, the doorbell rings. I freeze, my hands full of pink suds, the steaming hot water causing my fingers to burn and tingle. There’s somebody at the door. Somebody waiting patiently on the front porch for me to answer. The timing couldn’t be worse.

Our carpet can easily hide dust and debris. Bloodstains too, apparently.

I never quite meant to break up with Scotty Dwyer, but now, for the first time, I wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn’t. If I had married a good, honorable man of the law instead of Derek, the man that I chose. I wouldn’t be standing here with blood on my skirt and on the soles of my shoes. That much is for sure.

I walk back out to the kitchen, examining the carpet for signs of bloody footprints. The kitchen looks about the same as how I left it a few minutes ago. The sink faucet is dripping like it always does. There’s still that crimson smear on the green dish towel. The three plates I left in the drying rack are still lined up in a row. The refrigerator has that note taped up that I wrote to myself to remember to buy more paper towels. And my husband is still lying dead on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.

I want to make one thing clear. I killed him. I’m not going to claim it was the butler or a one-armed man. I did it. I killed my husband. All I can say in my defense is I had a good reason.

Maybe in death, he’s achieved that total relaxation that the meditation app on his phone failed to provide. Maybe he’s finally achieved a sublime state of complete bliss.

If they find out what I’ve done, they won’t rest until I’m rotting away in a prison cell for the rest of my life. They will spend every penny they’ve got to make me pay for this. So that leaves one option: Run.

I get a sick feeling just thinking about it. This is my life from now on. Hiding from the police. I’ll never see my home again. I’ll never see my sister again. But it’s that or life in prison.

He didn’t get it. This car is mine. I paid for it myself, unlike our ridiculously extravagant house and furnishings. It’s the last thing I own that still feels like me. I climb in my Corolla and start up the engine. And I run.

We end the call, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the freezing rain hitting my windshield. “I love you, Claudia,” I say to the windshield. And then I start to cry.

It wasn’t until after we were husband and wife that everything changed. Derek had been shopping for a new bank, but in retrospect, what he really had been shopping for was a wife. He took one look at me and decided I fit the bill. I still don’t know what it was about me that drew him to me. Or maybe it was all just dumb luck. Maybe if he had sat in front of Melody’s desk, she would be the one now speeding toward the state line. I wish it could have been different. I wish Derek had been the man he promised to be. Or better yet, I wish I had listened to Claudia and stayed the hell away from him. But it’s too late now. I have no choice but to play with the cards I’ve been dealt.

And what’s worse, I can hear the man’s footsteps behind me. I quicken my pace. I don’t know what he wants, but it can’t be anything good. There are about twenty feet between me and my car. I’ve just got to make it twenty feet. I hit the key fob and my car lights up. Almost there. But then a brawny hand grabs my shoulder.

Maybe I should head back. It’s not too late. I could go home and confess to the police what I did. It’s better if I confess than if they discover it themselves. Better than trying to escape during what is possibly turning into a blizzard. But I don’t turn around.

Over the sound of the engine and the wind and rain outside, I hear another noise. It takes me a second to make it out. But when I do, my stomach sinks. It’s a siren.

“You need to get off the road—soon. With this storm and now your busted taillight… It’s an accident waiting to happen.” “Right. I understand.” “The next time I see you, I don’t want it to be in a body bag.”

It’s so tiny that I almost miss it. And that’s perfect. The Baxter Motel. That’s where I’ll spend the night, then tomorrow bright and early, I’ll get back on the road.

As he pushes the mop across the floor, I notice the glint of a wedding band on his left hand. I look down at my own left hand and see the simple gold band still in place. All of a sudden, it feels like it’s burning my skin. I want to rip it off and throw it across the room.

I can’t shake this uneasy feeling that I should leave this motel right now. Grab my bag and get back on the road, no matter how hard it’s raining or snowing. This place is trouble. But that’s silly. It’s warm and dry in here. And there’s an actual bed that I can sleep in.

“I don’t shower at motels. When I was a kid, I saw this movie where this woman got murdered while taking a shower at a motel. It scarred me for life.” He smiles. “Well, it’s there if you change your mind. I promise you won’t be murdered.”

He laughs. “Oh, it won’t be. Believe me. My wife, Rosalie, she was the cook.” I freeze for a moment. Did he just refer to his wife in the past tense? That’s odd. And the name Rosalie sounds strangely familiar.

He flashes me a disarming smile, and my shoulders relax. 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.

There’s the outline of a woman sitting in the window. That must be Rosalie, Nick’s wife. I awkwardly raise my hand to wave to her. She doesn’t wave back. People don’t seem terribly friendly here. And that’s just fine.

If I had listened to her in the first place, I never would have married Derek. She warned me. Repeatedly. She told me she didn’t think he was a good guy. But he was just so perfect when he was courting me. There was no way to know what kind of monster he was. But up until today, I didn't know quite how awful he was.

“I am Greta,” she says. She has the very slightest hint of an accent that I can’t identify. East European, I think. “I’m Kelly,” I say.

“Nick always leaves 201 empty.” I nod. “Because of the leaky pipe, right?” “No,” she says. “Not because of that.” “Then… why?” “Because...” Greta pulls a ball of socks out of the trunk and gets back on her feet while holding onto the wall for support. “Because a couple of years ago, a woman was murdered in there.”

“I don’t like to tell tales.” Really? Because it seems to me she likes to tell tales very much. But I can’t say that.

“I love mirrors,” Greta tells me. “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 slip out of her room, the socks clutched in my right hand. I can’t see the future but I predict I will never see this woman again.

“Did she ever tell your fortune?” He snorts. “Yeah. She told me the usual thing. You’re going to die young. Horrible misfortune. Like I said, it’s a good show—it’s what she does. I wish she could’ve told me about that pipe breaking. Now that would’ve been useful.”

“That’s horrible,” I murmur. “And they never found out who killed her?” He lifts his eyes. But he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the window behind me. “No. They never did.”

I flip around the “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on my door, then I close the door and lock it. I walk over to the window, watching the flakes fall from the sky.

I didn’t appreciate him. I was too young, and I didn’t know what other boys were like. I thought every boy would race around the side of his broken down Ford to keep me from opening the door on my own.

Right now, I need to sleep. I’ve got a long day of driving ahead of me, and since there’s nothing else I can do right now, I should do my best to rest up. But I have a bad feeling sleep will be difficult.

It’s almost impossible to think of Derek that way. He was so strong and big and full of life. He was larger than life. For him to be dead… He is dead, isn’t he? Isn’t he?

“I’m just saying. 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.”

But it could be worse too, right?” “Sure,” I say. You could be on the run after killing your husband. Or maybe you didn’t kill him, and he’s coming after you. So yes, things could be worse.

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.

As I walk back to my room, 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 press my ear against the door. It’s silent inside. I reach out my hand and brush my fingers against the door. On an impulse, I lower my hand onto the door knob. And I try to turn it.

“It runs in my family.” She stirs the food on her plate. “We all have an ability to see beyond what is visible to the naked eye. I can see past, present, and future.”

Also, I will tell you…” She leans in close enough that I can smell wine on her breath. “If Christina Marsh had listened to her fortune, she would still be breathing today.”

“That is your choice. But even if you do not know your fortune, that does not keep it from coming true.”

“If you know your fortune, are you able to stop it? Or do you just have to try to look surprised when it happens?” “In some cases, people may alter their destinies,” she says. “But it is rare. Most people simply allow it to happen. Like Christina.”

I want to roll my eyes at her, because it’s all so ridiculous. But there’s something about this woman. Something about her strange room and her eye socks and her beef stew that is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. If anyone can tell the future...

“You will find love. I promise you.” I cock my head to the side. “Is that what you see in my future?” “No. You are young and beautiful. Some things are simply obvious.”

Then something hits me. She called me Quinn. Somehow, she knew my name.

“You’re going to be okay.” He puts his hand on mine. His fingers are a little rough and calloused, unlike Derek’s baby smooth skin. For a moment, a thrill goes through me. But then he pulls his hand away. “Just hang out upstairs. You’ll be out of here before you know it.” I take my bag and trudge back up the stairs. Despite his reassurances, something is telling me I’m making a horrible mistake by staying here.

I walk over to the staircase, but before I can start descending, I hear voices coming from downstairs. Oh my God. It’s the police.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.” He pauses. “I hope you find her.” “Oh, we will. It’s just a matter of time.”

Why couldn’t I have married a good guy like Nick? Why did I have to vow to spend my life with a narcissistic sociopath? I look up into his brown eyes with my red, swollen ones. The kindness and concern in his eyes almost floors me. And before I entirely know what I’m doing, I lean forward and I press my lips against his.

As I rifle through my purse, looking for my keys, I hear footsteps. I look up and see a figure approaching me. It’s so dark here, it’s hard to see who it is. I squint out into the blackness. “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.