Every minute that passed prompted more sweat and the shuffling of feet. Steven sighed repeatedly. Even Lily pulled away from William’s hand so she could twist her hair tie around her finger.
Then Quincy came strolling out. He was whistling and carried two plastic sacks in his hand. He motioned to the motel.
They hurriedly crossed the road to where Quincy waited. He reached into the sack and put on a comically large trucker’s hat with the words, “Deez Nuts,” in bold black letters.
He winked at William, holding up a key. “The ATM is now fully drained. And we got the Presidential Suite. Old girl behind the counter is the kingpin of this monopoly. Got us a room. I think she wanted me to invite her in, but alas.”
He handed William a hat. It had the grill of a Jeep on the front with the outline of a naked woman and read, “My Jeep looks better topless.”
“My God.” William smiled.
“I have the charming habit of being incredibly inappropriate at all times. It’s this one. Room one.”
With a quick turn of a key, they hurried in. The room was dark, the combined smell of mold and Lysol rising to greet them.
“Don’t touch anything until we check for bedbugs,” Quincy cautioned, steering Lily away from where she was about to sit on the bed. “OK. We’re all winners at the Lower Florida Nordstrom. Jeans and T-shirt for William, belt for me to hold up these Hammer pants, and even something for Miss Lily here. Enough junk food to clog our arteries, and toiletries for all. And a cheapie phone. I know we can’t use it, but it claims to have internet service at least.”
“How much cash did you get out?” Steven asked.
“Let’s just say if a local needs ten bucks to buy a Hunt Brothers pizza, they’re out of luck. More money in there than I would have thought. Miss Linda needed some cash.”
“Miss Linda?” William looked back from where he was peering out the curtains.
“Miss Linda Mosh from Cambria, Illinois. Miss Mosh has financial accounts I can access when necessary. Helpful to tuck away cash during tax time, and certainly helpful now. If you testify to the IRS about it, I’ll deny it.”
“Could I have the phone?” William asked, grabbing the clothes and a toothbrush. He needed to shower badly.
“Give me a minute,” Quincy said, tearing open the packaging.
William rushed through his shower and hurriedly brushed his teeth. His beard was already becoming unkempt. Thankfully, Quincy had bought several hats, including a solid navy blue. The T-shirt was a size too small for his liking, but the jeans would do.
He stepped out, and Lily quickly ushered herself in, carrying another plastic bag, closing the door.
“Did she get something to eat?” William asked.
“Kid can tear through some Doritos. Phone is operating. The bars are low, but you can give it a whirl. And no sign of bedbugs, which is why Dr. Richards felt it was safe to use a pillow.”
“Just need to rest for a moment,” Steven said, his eyes closed.
“Everybody needs to rest.” William held up the phone, praying that the internet responded.
“Careful with whatever you’re searching. They’ll be looking,” Steven said.
“Just checking CNN. I want to see something.”
Just as Quincy began to wipe down a chair using a thin packet of Lysol wipes from the store, the bathroom door opened, and Lily stepped out. Gone was the nightgown, replaced by a horribly bright yellow dress with grinning suns on the hem. The same color of yellow shone on the flip-flops on her feet.
“Thank you, Quincy,” she said softly.
Quincy scratched his neck. “I’m used to buying Versace for women. But you’re welcome, kiddo.”
“Are we safe?” she asked.
William set down the phone, coming to squat in front of her. “I think so. I want you to know something: None of this is your fault. None of it. What happened back in the cotton field, and the airport, when you saved me in the car—you’re not doing it. I am. I don’t know how, but I am.”
Lily narrowed her eyes. “But… I’m a monster—”
“No, no honey,” William took her arms. “You’re not. I know it’s hard to understand. But you and I—we’re… connected, somehow. And others like us.”
“Do you make them do bad things too?” she asked.
“I don’t want to. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“You made me stop. Maybe you can make them stop too. I don’t want people to get sick anymore. Why did they do this to us?”
William held his breath. “Do you remember… when you were taken? Up into the stars?”
She just stared for a moment, and then nodded once.
“And when they brought you back… what happened?”
She shook her head firmly. Tears pooled in her eyes.
“Ok.” He reached out, touching her arm. “It’s OK—”
“I saw you,” she said, stifling her sob. “I saw you when you dreamed.”
William’s eyes widened. “You could see me in your dreams?”
“I had to find you.”
Her bottom lip jutted out and the tears let loose. William held her, stroking the back of her hair. “You’re a brave girl, Lily. But can you tell me, why did you feel like you had to find me?”
“Because of the monster,” she said, the bitterness sounding harsh in her young voice. “It’s waiting for us.”
William’s legs hung off the edge of the picnic table. The trees that lined the back of the motel were still; even the branches didn’t sway, as if to indicate it was too hot for anything to move. He’d need to shower again after sitting out here.
He took another swig from the bottle of water. It was warm already.
A shape briefly interrupted the sole source of light, a bulb positioned above the trashcans in the back. Hands in his pockets, Quincy strolled towards him.
“Lily asleep?” William asked.
“Yep. Had to practically write her a contract in blood stating that if she changed into the world’s ugliest unicorn pajamas, she could wear the world’s ugliest dress again tomorrow. You’d think I’d bought her Vera Wang.”
William managed to smirk. “She loves it.”
“Poor kid. Wherever she came from, whatever life she had, she must have not had much.”
“I wish I knew anything about what happened to her before, but she’s clearly traumatized by it. Enough to where she won’t talk about it.”
Quincy leaned against the table. “Gotta be honest with you: I’ve wanted to know this all my life. But now that I do, I’m not feeling real good about it.”
“Obviously you didn’t know what you were getting into.”
“I give zero shits that the papers call me a crazy conspiracy theorist. You should see my office in LA. I have the first edition of Communion in a glass case. And yes, I will admit, a framed Independence Day poster. You grow up a fat kid with no friends who likes science, and your Dad tells you about your great-grandfather’s research about people disappearing into lightning, what else are you supposed to become?”
“I bet you are regretting those interests now.”
“Here’s the reality: I lead a pretty shallow life. I’ve made a lot of money on teenage girls wanting to project images of their faces to their boyfriends. I’m not curing cancer. I am surrounded by people with way too much plastic surgery driving Teslas. It is any wonder than I sought out a greater understanding of the cosmos?”
“Apparently it’s genetic.”
“I mean, can you believe it? Our great-grandparents discovered the first proof. And seventy or so years later, here we are. And let’s be honest: This isn’t by chance. The Corcillium wanted us to make this connection, but obviously without all the death and explosions.”
“And it’s only getting worse. That’s what scares me the most.”