Chapter 10 – Room Six
Clara’s Pov
The phone almost slipped from my hands. The line of text glowed against the dim light of the room like a quiet threat—Room 6 always leaves their window unlocked.
My mouth went dry. I turned toward Renee’s bed across the small space, her sleeping face soft in the faint glow from the bedside lamp. She hadn’t stirred. Maybe she needed the escape; maybe her exhaustion had finally pulled her deeper than fear.
I wanted to wake her immediately, but I hesitated. What if whoever sent that message was outside right now? If he heard movement—if he heard us whisper too loud—it might push him to act. I couldn’t risk it. I needed a plan.
I set the phone down quietly on the table, listening. Beyond the walls, the rain still fell in steady sheets, masking most other sounds. It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.
My pulse wouldn’t slow. The thought that he might already be here—right outside our door, or on the other side of that thin glass window—made keeping still nearly impossible.
I slipped from the bed and moved to the window on instinct. It was rain-streaked, the pale light of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. I peeled one corner back just enough to look. The motel courtyard was almost empty except for two cars and a lone vending machine humming near the entrance.
Then I saw it.
A shape. A man standing under the awning across the courtyard, half-shadowed by rain and light. Still. Too still.
The air in my lungs vanished. I let the curtain fall.
Do not panic.
I tried to think like Evelyn had, back when she’d painted her calm as steel. Observe, don’t react. Gather information.
I took another breath and crept toward Renee’s bed, shaking her shoulder gently. “Wake up. Please, wake up.”
Her eyes blinked open, confused and groggy. “What? What’s wrong?”
I handed her the phone with trembling hands. She stared at the message, eyes widening. “What the hell—Clara, what is this?”
“He knows we’re here.”
She sat up fully, throwing off the blanket. “We have to get out now.”
“Yes, but quietly.”
We packed in silence. Renee shoved her wallet and charger into her bag while I tucked my phone into my hoodie pocket. We didn’t bother turning on the lights. Every shadow stretched and blurred with the rain flickering outside the window.
When we stepped into the hallway, the old carpet muffled our steps, but the sound of each motion felt deafening in my ears. I peeked down the corridor. It was deserted—door after door, all closed.
“Where’s the car key?” Renee whispered.
“I gave it to the clerk when we checked in. He said he keeps them locked up overnight.”
“Then we go on foot. Come on.”
I followed close behind her. The exit sign glowed dim green ahead, dripping condensation from the roof leak above. The smell of damp wood filled the air. We pushed the door, careful to keep it from slamming.
Outside, the rain hit harder, cold needles against my face. The parking lot glistened in the orange light. The vending machine’s soft hum filled the silence. I scanned the courtyard—no one under the awning now. He was gone.
Renee grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the sidewalk. “We’ll find somewhere to call from—a diner, I don’t care. As long as there are people.”
We barely made it twenty steps before my phone buzzed again. I froze. Renee turned, eyes wide.
“Don’t,” she hissed.
But I already knew I couldn’t ignore it. This time the message was shorter.
Too late. I already told them where you are.
Cold ran through me so fast I almost staggered. “Renee,” I whispered, “he’s not here alone. He has help.”
“I don’t care who’s helping him—we’re not stopping.”
Lightning cracked above us, a flash of white that threw every shape around us into harsh relief. For an instant, I swore I saw movement near the edge of the motel property—a figure slipping between the cars.
Then another flash, and it was gone.
We ran. The rain soaked us within seconds, our shoes slapping the pavement, hair plastered to our foreheads. I didn’t even know which direction we were heading; I just followed the main road, searching for any flicker of light ahead—a sign, an open door, anything.
About two blocks up, a small twenty-four-hour diner glowed faintly. We pushed through the door, drenched and shaking, earning startled stares from the two late-night customers at the counter.
The waitress, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes, blinked. “You girls okay?”
“We need to use your phone,” Renee gasped. “Someone’s following us.”
The woman didn’t even hesitate. She handed over the corded landline behind the counter. Renee called the police while I stood rigid beside her, watching the rain outside through the large front window, half-expecting to see Adrian’s silhouette materialize between the passing cars.
But no one appeared.
When Renee finished, she handed the phone back and whispered, “They’re sending a patrol car.”
We slumped into a booth near the window, backs pressed to the wall. The waitress poured us coffee without asking. The warmth of the mug against my hands barely registered.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. No sirens. No flashing lights.
Renee started to say something, but my phone buzzed again. I looked down, my breath catching when I saw the preview line.
It was a photo.
Renee leaned closer as I opened it. The image was clear, bright, unshakable proof—both of us sitting here, right now, at this booth. The photo had been taken seconds earlier, through the window behind us.
My whole body went cold. I turned in my seat, heart slamming against my ribs. Outside, blurred by rain, a figure stood across the street, half-hidden behind a parked van. Too far to make out his face, but his stance—upright, precise—was sickeningly familiar.
Renee saw him too. “Oh my god, oh my—”
The waitress followed our gaze, frowning. “Someone you know?”
“Call the police again,” I said, voice barely steady.
I grabbed Renee’s hand under the table, squeezing it hard. The man didn’t move. He just stood there, watching.
Then another buzz. I looked down.
A new message. One line.
You look tired, Clara. Should I come in?
I dropped the phone like it burned. “He’s here,” I whispered.
The waitress began dialing just as headlights flashed through the diner window. A car pulled up to the curb outside, its engine low and smooth. The man stepped forward from the rain and reached for the door handle.
And when the glass door swung open, I finally saw his face.
Adrian.
He smiled, rain dripping off his collar. “You should’ve stayed home, Clara.”