The Last Motel (10 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

10:36 p.m.

The night momentarily blackened as Morrie yawned. When he had finished he wound down the window. Icy breeze whipped at his face, and the glorious smell of forest and clean air penetrated his nostrils.

Despite their momentous predicament, Morrie felt free, almost happy for a short time. He pretended that he was driving to a secluded mountain, his beloved rifle by his side, about to spend the hours hunting, nothing but the night, the trees and the animals around for miles.

Morrie could feel his eyes begin to go heavy. He shook his head and worked the muscles in his face.

He yawned again, this time reaching down and switching on the radio. He caught the end of the weather report.

“...A cool twelve degrees, and it’s only going to get colder. Rain is forecast for tonight, in fact it looks like there’s going to be a storm, perfect weather for Halloween. That’s all for the news at the moment...”

Morrie turned down the volume. He breathed a heavy sigh. He didn’t like the sound of a storm. Especially driving through these winding roads.

Another yawn. A deep, loud yawn.

“You need rest.”

Morrie jumped at Judy’s voice.

“You really shouldn’t be driving if you’re so tired.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Morrie said. “You haven’t spoken for the past hour.”

“Sleep? How can I sleep after what happened? I’ve been thinking.”

“You must be tired as well,” Morrie said.

“Exhausted,” she sighed. “A storm is on its way.”

“Yep,” Morrie said.

“How far are we from Mansfield?”

“About half an hour.”

Judy suddenly sat up. “Hey, there’s a motel coming up in five minutes. We just passed the sign.”

“We’re not even two hours out of Lilydale,” Morrie said. “I want to put more distance between us and the...house,” he finished.

“Come on, you’re tired and there’s a storm on the way.”

Morrie tried to clear his mind and think logically. He never intended to stop at a big town like Mansfield. His plan had been to drive on past it, and if he couldn’t make it to New South Wales, either stop at a small, out of the way motel, or if it came down to it, sleep in the car. He wasn’t overly joyous at the thought of staying somewhere so close to Lilydale, but he was almost falling asleep at the wheel. And there was the storm.

“Maybe,” he said. “We’ll have a look at it. If it’s secluded and not too busy, maybe.”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Judy said. “I don’t think you’ll last until Mansfield.”

“I don’t want to stay there, anyway.”

“Well then, we have no choice.”

Despite his reluctance, Morrie knew it was the smart thing to do. Staring out the windscreen he could barely focus his eyes on the painted lane dividers.

“Jesus,” he mumbled.

He reached over and turned up the radio. Some disco song was playing. He switched it off.

“I wonder if the police have found the body yet,” Judy said, gazing out the passenger window.

Morrie was about to respond, when Judy called out, “There it is.”

He stomped on the brakes, the tyres squealing, and turned sharply to the left. “Not very well signed,” he grumbled. “Almost missed the damn turn off.”

As he drove along the narrow dirt road, Morrie peered up at the rear view mirror. Back in the distance, hidden amongst the tall pine trees was the sign for the motel.

“Maybe this is a good place to stay after all,” he said. “It’s well hidden.”

The road became steep. He planted his foot hard on the accelerator. He gazed around at the pine trees then stuck his head out the window and breathed in deep. He quickly brought his head back in. “Ah, I love the smell of pine.”

He turned his head and saw Judy looking out the window. The steep road levelled out, and they arrived at the motel. The group of cabins were all dark, except for the large one on the right and one over to the left. Although, strangely, there was no car in front of that cabin. Figuring the larger one was the office, Morrie headed over. He stopped just in front of the door and turned off the engine. He touched Judy on the shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”

She ignored him and continued to stare out the window. He opened the door and stepped out. He was surprised at how cold the night had become.

He was about to head over to the office entrance when an old woman emerged from around the side of the building. She hugged her shawl tight around her shoulders and smiled at him as she neared. Morrie guessed that she was the manager. “Good evening,” she said, stronger than Morrie had expected. “Windy night.”

Just act like nothing has happened
, Morrie told himself
. Act nice and friendly
. He gave her his most natural and polite smile.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

12:46 a.m.

They were still there. Whoever the fuck they were.

He flicked the cigarette out the window, then rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

Three fucking hours
, he sighed to himself.
I’ve been here three...no, wait...over three hours. Damn!

He gazed over at the Volvo and Mercedes, and snarled. He had thought a few times of going over there with his Smith & Wesson and interrupting the party. After all, the friends might be all females. But that was just a pissed off drunk’s fantasy. He was here for Helen and Helen alone.

As he unscrewed the top of the second hip flask, and sank back the fiery whisky, his thoughts went back to another time. Another woman.

She had hurt him as well. Probably more so: he had really cared for her. Even loved her.

Not that he didn’t care for Helen. He did. He had to, or else he wouldn’t be waiting three damn hours in the car just to be with her. Show her how much he needed her.

But the other woman had been special. Even though it had all happened twenty years ago, his love for her had never ceased. Neither had the pain.

And now Helen, doing the exact same thing. Hurting him like he had been hurt before.

Whether it was just the drink, or perhaps the flood of memories, tears suddenly formed in his eyes.

Damn bitches. Why do they always do this to me? Damn it! Don’t they know I care for them? That I need them?

He wiped away the tears and took another drink of the whisky.

The radio, its endless crackling and distant voices, was starting to get on his nerves. But instead of turning it off, he only turned it down. Because it was like having one of those really annoying friends that you don’t like, but constantly see anyway. It was good just to have a companion. And, like an old friend, the noise of the radio had become a part of his existence. It seemed natural.

It had just gotten on his nerves because he was drunk.

There was nothing much of interest coming from it anyway, just the usual. The only serious happening tonight was a shooting. Apparently some eighteen-year-old had been gunned down on the front lawn of a house in Lilydale. They hadn’t arrested anyone yet, but they did have two suspects.

He occasionally tuned in to hear updates of that incident, but only when he wasn’t occupied with thoughts of Helen.

He rested his head back, the flask of whisky still in his grasp, and listened to the moaning wind.

How long am I gonna have to wait?
he thought.
Damn! Maybe I should just go over there...

He smiled to himself.
Wouldn’t Helen get a surprise?

But he couldn’t do that. Even in his drunken state he knew that would be downright stupid.

But who’s in there? And when the fuck are they going to leave?

As he sat there thinking, a grin came across his face.

Could he? Should he?

Why not?
he thought.
It won’t do any harm
.

He switched off the radio. He leaned over to the glove box, but decided not to take his Smith & Wesson. He took another swig of whisky then hopped out.

The wind blew his hair and jacket about. He looked around the street. He could see no one walking a dog, no midnight joggers. It was too late for trick-or-treaters, so it looked as though he was alone.

He started for the house.

In his ordinary sober state, he would never have done anything like this. He wasn’t some pathetic peeping Tom, for God’s sake. But he kept telling himself that this was purely for curiosity. He was bored and wanted to see who it was that had fucked up his night.

He arrived at Helen’s house, looked around one more time, then made his way to the left side of the house. He had been here enough times to know the layout. He headed for the first window.

His heart, which pumped alcohol filled blood around his body, was racing as he stepped up to the window. The curtains were drawn, but he could see into the house through a narrow gap. The lights were on in the lounge room, but there was nobody there, only a few empty flutes sitting on the table, as well as three bottles of wine.

Where are they?
he wondered.

He left the lounge room window, and walked farther down the side of the house. He tried to keep his footsteps as light as possible, but couldn’t help the leaves crunching under his feet.

Branches scraped his arms and forehead as he pushed his way down towards the back of the house.

He came upon another large window – Helen’s bedroom. He was actually heading for the kitchen window, but he stopped and peered in.

Again a narrow gap allowed him to see into the room.

His breath was stolen from his throat. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped.

There were three people on the bed, all naked. At first he had trouble deciphering what exactly he was witnessing. There appeared to be just a mass of skin. But then one of the people emerged from the congregation and walked over to a drawer. He recognised her as Helen. Totally naked and gleaming with sweat, she looked absolutely stunning.

His cock became hard. He watched as Helen opened one of the drawers and pulled out a long instrument. With slightly blurry eyes, he strained harder to see what she had taken out. He still wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

But when she strapped a belt around her waist, and he saw the long thing jutting out, he understood.

“Holy crap,” he muttered.

He could faintly hear the sound of music. Something jazzy. The trumpet was the most audible instrument.

Helen walked over to the other two.

Those he had no idea who they were – or at least he didn’t think he did. One had its arse in the air and its head in someone’s crotch. The other person was greedily lapping at the partner’s groin from underneath.

A sixty-nine
, he thought.

And he wasn’t completely positive, but they both looked like women.

“Oh man,” he said, excited.

Helen brought the dildo to the woman’s backside and began slowly slipping it into her anus. There was a rather loud moan as Helen pushed in deep. The other woman licked hungrily at the vagina.

The dildo all the way in, Helen began moving back and forth.

The woman that was licking the vagina now moved her mouth to the anus, to the dildo. As she licked, she slipped three fingers into the vagina and began digging in and out hard.

Helen had begun to really build momentum, and she was fucking the woman’s arse with real fervour.

He could hear the screams of pleasure from the woman being prodded even over the noise of the wind and music.

After about two minutes, Helen pulled out and they all hopped up.

He now saw that they were definitely all women – and, Jesus Christ, all amazingly beautiful. One was a stunning, large breasted blonde – the one that had been doing the fingering. The one who was getting fucked up the arse was a brunette.

The moment he saw her, his cock got even harder and he sighed out loud. She looked younger than the other two – perhaps mid-twenties – and had a foreign look about her, maybe distantly Spanish or Mexican. Her deep brown skin was glossy with sweat and she had the most perfect body he had ever seen. She made Raquel Welch look plain in comparison.

The blonde lay down on the bed. Helen and the brunette remained standing. With her red hair all mussed and her large nipples fully erect, Helen strolled over to the brunette and took her into her arms. They opened their mouths wide, both their tongues poking out, and kissed. They sucked on each other’s tongues while Helen caressed the brunette’s bum. She did the same.

The blonde was busy masturbating on the bed.

Then something happened that he wasn’t prepared for. He let out a loud, drunken burp.

He was just as shocked as the women who stopped their love making and turned their heads towards the window.

Shit!
he screamed in his head and ducked down.

He waited below for the window to open, for Helen or one of the other girls to call out, but it didn’t happen.

After about a minute of squatting under the windowsill, he stood up and peered in.

The three women were on the bed, sucking and fucking each other. He decided it was time to leave.

He walked down the side of the house, through the trees and bushes, and finally to the front lawn. As he headed down to the footpath, he had mixed feelings. He felt very turned on – as any heterosexual male would be from watching three beautiful women get it on.

But another part of him felt betrayed, almost angry. It was as if Helen was cheating on him.

Making his way towards the car, he realised he had another problem. He was in dire need of a piss.

He didn’t particularly feel like knocking on strangers’ doors, so he headed for the largest tree on the street.