A Gray Life: a novel (4 page)

She loved cheap cab rides
. To take her to the Coach Inn, the fare totaled $181.20. Ashley gave the driver eleven twenty-dollar bills and got out of the cab. While the driver took her bags out of the trunk, she surveyed the Coach Inn.

For such an infamous landmark, it wasn’t bad. Ashley expected thugs and prostitutes to be having a party in the parking lot, but
found one bald man smoking a cigarette by his car. The L-Shaped building had red doors and concrete walls. The neon sign by the roadway was red too. Underneath the large “COACH INN” letters, it read vacancy. Although, the "v" was out, so it read "acancy". Ashley felt safer than she had being on the street.

Bags in hand, she approached the
plexiglas office. There was no one inside. She rang the service bell.

D
un dun dun
.

After a minute, a greasy-haired man appea
red from a separate room. He neared the window, and Ashley saw his glasses were as greasy as his hair.

“Welcome to the Coach Inn, you’re last stop from home. How may I help
you.” He droned.

“I’d, uh,” Ashley cleared her throat, “like to get a room, please, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you alone, girl?”

She thought about lying, but decided it didn’t really matter at a place like
Coach Inn.

“Yes.”

Grease-ball looked her over. He stayed quiet (like a mouse in church), and she was afraid the next thing to come out of his mouth might be, “Get out of here, before I call the cops!”

“Hmm.”
Another moment of staring before he said, “Room’s $85 a night.”

Ash
ley fumbled in her bag. Getting four twenties and a five took longer than it should have. There was no organization to her satchel, and the money had been stuffed inside, along with all of her other important personal items. When she handed the bills over, he checked her twenties under the glare of the light. Satisfied with their validity, he turned to a wall of keys hooks, some empty, but most of them not.

“22C. Checkout’s at noon.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

“Thank you.” Ashley took the key.

She turned around, ready to find room 22C. Grease-ball slipped out of his plexiglas office. When she went to pick up her bags, he was already trundling down the sidewalk with them.

“What are you doing?”

“My job. Not gonna let you walk there alone.” Grease-ball was grumpy in his chivalry.

“T
hanks.”

His kindness was unexpected.
Two small tears fell down her cheeks, and she allowed them, but just the two.

Why are you being nice to me? She wanted to ask. The ugliest man in th
e ugliest establishment, and he treated her decently. She couldn’t figure it. The boy from before had hid secrets beneath his beauty, uglier secrets than the dandruff flakes on Grease-ball’s shoulders.

The kind, gruff man
walked on, with Ashley following. They walked to the second to the last door at the end of the L-shaped structure.

“Don’t use the water ‘til you let it run for a minute. And don’t hang around outside. This place is full of bad people looking for someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Innocent.
Corruptible.”

He smiled.
Two front teeth were missing from the equation and Ashley grimaced. Her disgust didn’t faze him. Grease-ball put her bags down and offered more of his holey smile before walking away.

“Wow.” Ashley said.

Maybe she needed to worry about Grease-ball after all.

****

July 29th

Migh
t be calling it too soon, but I‘d say Louise is my friend. We talk about most anything, and she doesn’t treat me like a kid. No, I'm not crushing on her, calm down. Maybe a little.  From what I've seen of Erin and Michael, they're friends too.

Both Michael and Louise asked me why
 
He
 ignores me. I keep telling them, I don’t know why He doesn’t hurt me.

Instead of hurting me, he lures others.

He brought a new person down the stairs today, a trembling stick of man. His hair was matted and he was missing most of his teeth. The guy was confused, but he knew enough of his situation to be afraid. Heck, I began to be afraid for him as soon as The Man strapped him to a chair. Rarely has He tortured someone center stage, except for

(
saw, thumb tacks, blow torch)

(
Couldn’t save you)

Dad
. He takes his victims to the privacy of the kill room. Not today. Today was the last day of Stick Man’s life.

Certain parts
of his life I’m glad I didn’t witness. Erin told me to go to sleep, and pull my covers up all the way. It wasn’t time for sleep, but I knew what she meant. I tried to sleep, really I did, but I couldn’t do much sleeping with the new guy dying in the background. Gabriella and Louise cried, begged Him to stop, to let the man live.

“You want th
is over?” The Man’s voice wobbled, like my dad’s used to during New Years Eve parties.

“Yes, please.” Louise said.

When He cranked up the sandblaster, I knew Louise had her answer, just not the right one.

The screams stopped first, and then the sandblaster.
I got up, one hand in front of me to shield the mangled dead from my view. It nearly worked, but I did see splatters of blood on the floor, along with chunks, and I didn’t wanna think too hard on where they came from. The Man had blood thrown on half of his body, like a painting.

He spoke, promising
to be a tamer monster than the ones running loose outside. As if we could believe anything a man covered in another man’s blood told us.

We were safer with Him,
 He said.

His eyes were crazier than usual.

* * * *

August 1st

While I helped a Waster to the bathroom, Louise decided to help me. She asked me why I bother when no one else does. I didn’t know what to say, so I shrugged. It would have been too much too soon to explain to her why I feel the need to help the Wasters (even as I feel disgust for ‘em). Best to let her go on thinking I’m a good person, and that’s all there is too it.

After our talk, Louise went into the kill room with Him. They
stayed busy for about an hour before she stumbled out, sobbing in big gasps. Michael rushed over, trying to console her. It was like trying to console a toddler throwin' a tantrum; 
wudn't gonna happen
, as my dad used to say. 

Erin tapped Michael on the shoulder,
saying she would talk to Louise. The two women didn’t do much talking. Erin looked at her, and Louise looked back, and they hugged. No, not hugged. They held one another, crying quietly. It was weird.

* * * *

August 2nd

 
I knew it was coming, and I wondered what took Michael so long to ask. He wanted to know why no one ever tried to escape through the window on the far wall. People sure have tried to escape, and one person almost succeeded.

A
young girl with purple hair used to live in the corner when my family was first got down here. She was defiant to The Man (something I haven’t seen since), always spitting in His face, calling Him names. He kept saying 
Oh, I’m gonna break you
. Not sure what he meant, but I’d say He broke her alright.

Two weeks into our capture
, she stacked chairs and furniture up to reach the window. Using her hands, she broke the pane of glass and scrambled out. I was asleep for a good portion of it, but Erin told me later she heard the girl laughing all crazy-like, thinking she was free. Then a thump, which was probably The Man hitting her over the head with His baton.

He forced h
er back down into the basement.

On the floor, he placed two metal-slats. I think they were cheese graters.

“Kneel.” He said.

“Hell no.”

He pointed a gun at her and she knelt on the graters, whimpering as her tender knees came into contact with the harsh metal. He called her a baby, bragging about how His father had given him the same punishment as a child, and He had taken it like a champ. The statement seemed real, an insight into the deranged Man’s past.

After her knees were ready to give way, He
gave her a knife. She asked Him what the knife was for.

“It’s for you, dummy
. Now, cut off your ear.”

Something about his request struck her as funny, and s
he laughed, a nervous guffaw cut short by the bullet He fired into her thigh. Purple Hair slipped on the graters, cutting deeper into her knees. She fell over.

“
Let’s see you try to run away now, stupid cow. I think you’re done for the day.”

She didn’t seem to be listening;
she was in too much pain to hear Him.

Before she
could beg for the end, The Man turned around and went upstairs. Purple Hair tried joining the Wasters, but didn't last long. Her wounds became green and puss-filled, and she died a week later.

* * * *

August 5th

I’ve noticed a difference about Him.

All of our spirits are getting lower, but not His. As days go by, He get
s happier and happier. Out of nowhere, He asked Michael to go on a hunting trip. We all knew The Man scavenged around for scraps of food to feed us and Himself, but we were unaware He actually hunted to get our food supply, since most of it came to us in gruel form.

W
hat else could Michael do but go, so go he did. Hours later when they got back, Michael was as white as a nun’s bed sheet. He didn’t want to talk about what happened, even though it was clear he had seen things.

Gabriella, Louise, and Marc crowded around Michael, lodging question after question at
him.

“What did you see?”

“Where did he take you?”

“What did you do?”

His wife only had one question for him:

“Wh
y didn’t you try to escape?”

The questions were
overwhelming him. I could see all he wanted to do was fall out on his bedroll and sleep. Sleep to forget. I did it all the time, so I knew the look.

“It would’ve been pointless.” He put his hands out as if to say,
 
that's all I got
.

All he had wasn't enough for Louise.

“What does that mean?”

“We weren’t exactly hunting deer. But I’ll tell you this, that bastard is so jolly lately because now he’s not the only monster running around.”

* * * *

Rap.
Rap. Rap.

What the…?

Rap. Rap. Rap.

Ashley
looked at the clock on the dingy nightstand. 3 a.m. Perfect. Check-out wasn’t for another nine hours. Couldn’t be housekeeping. It had to be either Grease-ball or someone else. Neither possibility motivated Ashley to open the door.

Maybe if she ignored them, they would go away. Ashley reached for a sheet to cover with. Her hands came away empty
, and she remembered why. She wasn’t in her bed. Instead, she was sleeping in a strange bed, on top of a comforter. All of her clothes were still on; the thought of putting on her pajamas had seemed ridiculous.

Rap.
Rap. Rap.

“Hang on.”

Ashley took the gun out from under the pillow, safety on. It got tucked into the back of her jeans, as she assumed it was where guns were naturally placed.

She went to the door
, the one with all the phone numbers and grotesque sayings written on it. The doodles distracted her, as some of the sayings were accompanied by pictures.

Come see Carmella, usually found in 3B
.
A stick figure with Gloria-like jugs was drawn next to the words.

More knocking and Ashley stopped reading the door advertisements.

"Who is it?"

“Hello? Sorry to bother. I
got a flat tire. Got a phone I can use?"

It was a woman, and she was in trouble. Surely, it would be wrong not to
help her because of immobilizing fear. Ashley cracked open the door.

"Hi, are you--?"

The maiden in distress shoved herself into the room. Her exaggerated motions forced Ashley backward. It took a balancing act her to keep her ass from falling to the ground. After seeing the expression on her unwanted guest's face, she was glad to not be in a vulnerable position.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can take your business elsewhere."

There was a palpable anger coming off of the stranger. Ashley wanted to know why it was directed at her.

"What business?" Ashley tried sounding tough.

The smile the woman gave was horrifying. Brown stains on her teeth ruined what little beauty she possessed.

"I don't have to spell it out for you. Just know that you gots to go now."

"I paid for this room. I'm not going
anywhere."

It
was a dangerous answer for Ashley to give, but she gave it anyway.

"
You fuckin' my man?"

How many crazy people do I have to meet in one day?

"I haven't done that with any man, ever."

"I saw him carry your bags over here. Larry
isn’t nice to just anybody."

Larry.
So Greaseball had a real name. If he had been nice to her, it was because she was the rare twelve-year-old to check-in at Coach Inn. Then again, she could've been the umpteenth child he had done business with.

"If you were watching
us, then you saw him walk away too."

"He did that 'cause he knew I'd be watching. After we went to sleep, I woke up and he was gone."

Ashley wasn’t following the lady’s logic. Her voice was laced with panic, and her words barely came out in one piece.

"Okay, well he's not in here."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The woman stepped even closer to Ashley. "He slipped into the room next door." She nodded to the entrance of the adjacent room.

"If you’re so smart, why didn't you knock over there first?"

Ashley woulda thought she slapped the woman for the response her words got her.

"Fucking whore!
Where is he?" She flashed a shit-stained grimace.

"He's not here.
" Ashley repeated.

S
he sounded calm. Inside, her nerves were like spaghetti and she was ready to collapse. The anxiety felt better than fear all on its own.

"You're lying to me."

"Not at all."

"Prissy little cunt." Grease-ball's girlfriend drew her hand back and
hit Ashley so that she saw white.

It took her a second to recover, and her brain
scrambled.
The gun
! the paranoia within her screamed. Ashley took the gun out. Pointed just right, she knew she could get the lady to back off like she had made the boy back off earlier.

"Point a gun at me?" The woman kicked Ashley in the stomach.

Ashley managed to hold on to the gun as she doubled over in pain.

"That's what I think of your gun." Warm wetness flew on to Ashley's face.

Holy hell. The crazy lady spit on me.

The
last thought exploded when Greaseball's girl kneed her in the face. On her way down to the ground, the gun slid away.

"You come here,
do my man, and mouth off to me? Learn some goddamn respect, kid!"

In the next instant, Ashley expected another blow to the face. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the blow never came.

"Jolie, what the fuck you beatin' up a kid for?"

Ashley opened her eyes
. The third voice belonged to a pretty teenager in a tight tube dress and heels. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Her face would have been flawlessly beautiful had she not had a strawberry birthmark by the corner of one eye.

Jolie looked
down at the ground, mumbling.

"She’s been fuckin’ my man and she won't tell me where he gone."

The girl gave her friend a patronizing look. "Larry is out scoring some coke, dummy. He came to my room and when I told him I was dry, he said he was gonna go to Leemo's house."

"Really?"
Jolie was backing out of the room.

"Yes really. Now leave this poor girl alone."
Sounded more like
grr
than
girl
.

"She pulled a gun on me," Jolie said, as if the fact made her own actions justifiable.

"I don't see a gun, Jolie."

Ashley was grateful it had slid under the bed.
Jolie made up her mind, speechifying about Leemo's house on her way out. When she was gone, Ashley was left with the good Samaritan. A good Samaritan who resembled like a stripper.

Instead of leaving, the girl closed the door. She
stood next to Ashley, who shrank back.

“I only wanna
help you up.” An outstretched hand proved the girl’s point.

Ashley took the
hand, never forgetting the gun under the bed. Both girls took a seat on the bed.

Awkward silence happened before anything else.

Finally, the girl said, “I don’t really do coke, you know.”

It was an odd lead-in to a conversation. It was also a conversation Ashley felt way too young to have. She had no choice but to listen, or leave the room. Since she couldn't leave the ro
om without running into Jolie, she listened.

“I just do it when I can’t get away with faking it, usually when a customer is watching me.” Ashley wanted to ask what the girl had to fake, but she didn't want to interrupt. Obviously, the girl felt the need to explain her modest d
rug-use. “Makes them feel less guilty if they think I fuck to get money for coke, as opposed to me actually needing the money to survive.”

“Okay.” Ashley said. She still didn't understand a word of what the girl said.

“I didn’t want us to start off on the wrong foot, you thinking I’m a run-of-the-mill coke whore. I am a whore though.” A brilliant smile followed the affirmation.

Ashley noticed something different about the girl. The inflection of her voice had changed. While she spoke to Jolie, her voice had lilted, a slight twang in it. Now, she had a flat tone. It was as if she had been faking a persona, and alone with Ashley, she dropped it.

Ashley was thinking about the change in the girl’s attitude because she didn’t know how to respond to her last sentence. She found her voice after a while.

“That’s…nice.”
She was thinking the off-chance of meeting Jolie outside would be preferable to her recent encounter with a self-proclaimed prostitute.

“I can
see you have qualms about being friends with a whore like me, but a friend is what you need right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I know Jolie, and she 
is
 a coke whore. She’s all messed up right now, convinced Larry’s hiding under the bed in here. She’ll be back and probably not alone. Considering how old you look, I’m not letting you go anywhere alone. It’s not safe.”

“Me? You look about
sixteen yourself. What sort of protection can you give me?”

Another smile.
“I’m twenty-five. My baby face keeps me rollin’ in the dough.” Once again, Ashley thought she missed the punch line to a very adult joke. “Let’s go, sweetie.”

Ashley didn't move
. Strawberry-Face put her hands on her hips and waited by the door. After a minute of indecision, Ashley grabbed her bag.

“Don’t forget your gun.” The
woman said.

Somehow, Strawberry-Face
had grabbed it without Ashley noticing. She held it out for Ashley to take.

With a th
ank you, she took her gun back.

“Where are we going?”

They were in the parking lot next to a pickup truck. The woman climbed into the driver’s side.

“I’ll drive, and you can tell me where you need to go.”

****