The Last Motel (23 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Walking up the street, thinking more and more about the situation, Wayne began to feel nervous.

He figured whoever had stolen his car was bound to dump it, whether or not they discovered the dead body in the boot. And when the police search it, when they find the body and trace the car back to Wayne, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Maybe he should ring up the cops and report it stolen. Then when the police find it, they won’t bother checking it out, they will automatically ring Wayne. And if they do happen to check in the boot, he could just say that the body must belong to whoever stole the car.

Would that work?
Wayne thought.

But did he really want to call the cops? He loathed the thought of calling and speaking to them.

As he came up to the road, Wayne was feeling downright furious. All his plans had gone to shit. His whole life could come crumbling down, all because some low-life screw head had decided to steal his car.

If I ever get my hands on the person...

Probably more than one
, Wayne thought.
Probably a bunch of drunken losers with nothing better to do with their lives
.

A grin began to creep across his face as he pictured what horrible things he could do to them.

Wayne turned left and walked down the footpath.

This road was busier and well lighted. Homes ran along the opposite side of the street – nice, country style houses.

The expansive park was on his left, and it kept on going for another hundred metres or so, before more houses started up.

Wayne hung his head as he wandered aimlessly along. He felt dejected. What was he to do now? Home was a twenty-minute walk – at least. More like half an hour at the pace he was walking.

He didn’t want to go home with nothing. The urge in him was too strong. He could feel his heart pounding just thinking about it.

If he walked home now, without a decent catch, he would certainly go crazy.

But how do I carry the body home without a car?
he wondered.

He could try enticing them home with the promise of sex, money and booze. That often worked.

But he really didn’t know if he could act calm and normal enough to pull it off. Not with everything that had happened tonight. He was too on edge.

The park ended and the houses began. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and sauntered along the pavement.

Up ahead, he saw a person at their car. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but judging by their outfit – white jumper and pants – Wayne figured it was a man; a man dressed like he was just about to bat for Australia against the West Indies.

The idea hadn’t occurred to Wayne until the moment he saw the man, but he now knew what his plan was.

It seems only fair
, Wayne thought.
I have my car stolen, so I get to take someone else’s
.

The man had his back to Wayne, head down, one hand in his pocket.

As he neared, Wayne noticed that the man was also wearing a headband around his dark shaggy hair, and there was a cricket bat perched on the roof of his car – a red Saab 900.

As Wayne crept ever so quietly up to the man, he had a quick glance around to see if anybody was watching. There wasn’t, so Wayne sneaked up behind the man, and in one fast, yet powerful movement, grabbed his head and slammed it into the side of the car.

The man didn’t even have a chance to gasp.

His head hit just above the front passenger window, made a metallic thump, then bounced off the car like a damp football.

Wayne let go his grip and watched the man crash to the pavement, a set of keys falling from his hand and onto the ground.

Wayne stared down at the man’s face and frowned. His hair had come half off and his long bushy moustache was lying almost vertical across his face.

Wayne crouched and studied the man more closely.

“Ah ha,” he muttered.

He pulled at the moustache. It came off easily and with a quiet tear.

He guessed that the man was also wearing a wig.

He was right.

He pulled the black wig off his head, and as he did, the headband popped off. Underneath, the man had short blond hair. Still crouching, and holding the wig and over-sized fake moustache in his right hand, Wayne grabbed the keys from off the ground.

Wayne noticed, as he stood back up, that the man was still breathing.

Taking into account the moustache, wig, headband and cricket bat, and the fact that it was past nine o’clock at night, it seemed this guy was going to a Halloween party. And Wayne wasn’t positive, but it looked as though he was supposed to be Dennis Lillee.

The man looked to be around forty – much too old for Wayne’s liking – so Wayne left the man slumped on the footpath and, once he found the key for the Saab, hurried around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and threw the wig and moustache onto the passenger seat – they might come in handy. As could the bat, so he grabbed it from off the roof, hopped into the driver’s seat, and placed the bat down the side of the seat.

He started the engine. The Saab turned over with a noisy grumble, then settled down to a low hum. He flicked on the headlights. Before he sped off, Wayne looked over at the man sprawled on the cold concrete, saw that he was still out of it, then jammed his foot on the accelerator and roared off into the night.

That had been so much easier than Wayne had anticipated. He felt a surge of adrenaline. It didn’t compare to having somebody at his mercy, playing with their life, torturing and ultimately killing them. But he still felt a small amount of adulation for himself.

He guessed most of his happiness came from the fact that he now had a car. He could roam the streets for a victim he so desperately needed. He would drive around all night if he had to, looking out for that perfect one.

Despite having his car stolen, Wayne found himself in a good and reckless mood. He felt daring and ready for anything.

He eased his foot down on the accelerator pedal, and felt the pull of the car as it sped up.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

9:23 p.m.

Wayne was cruising around the outskirts of Lilydale. He hadn’t bothered to stay in Mt. Evelyn, for worry of the cops looking for the Saab and the man’s attacker.

Not that he cared. He often went searching for victims around this area. He had found his second and fourth victims in Lilydale. One he met in a pub, and had willingly, without question or hesitation, gone home with Wayne.

The other, the second, if he remembered correctly, had been wandering around a back-road, not too far from where Wayne was now. Wayne had stopped, struck up a conversation with him, and the man had hopped smiling into his Bluebird. He had taken that one out along the Maroondah Highway first, and let him loose through the dense forest.

Sometimes Wayne would take the captive out in the mountains. He loved to play hunting games through the wilderness. He had done that three times – had always found them again – and afterwards taken them home to continue with the fun. In one instance Wayne had raped and tortured, and finally killed, the person out in the mountains. No reason, just felt like it. They still hadn’t found his body.

Wayne turned the car right, and started down an even darker road. He liked the feel of the Saab. It was smooth and had a bit of power to it. Although he still missed his Bluebird.

Just ahead, on the right, was a house. It was the first one he had seen so far down this road. As he drove past it, he glanced over and saw that its lights were on.

Who the hell would want to live out here?
he wondered.

Wayne doubted that he would find anybody here.

He was tempted to turn the car around and head to another area, but decided to keep going. He guessed this street must lead to somewhere.

He glanced down at the clock. He was surprised at how early it was. It felt much later.

Down the road, just out of range from the beam of the headlights, Wayne noticed a dim shape. It appeared to be moving.

As the car gained on the shape, and the lights crept over the mysterious figure, Wayne saw that it was indeed a human.

He giggled with excitement. He prayed that it was a male.

Now within five or so metres of the person, Wayne saw that they seemed to be stumbling, as if drunk. Now they were in the middle of the road and waving their hands about. Wayne’s heart fluttered when he saw that it was a male.

And he looked young.

Wayne was almost too overcome with joy.

He slowed down the car and pulled over to the side of the road. He tried hard to wipe the smirk off his face. As the boy hurried up to the car, Wayne wound down the window. The boy didn’t look drunk; he looked exhausted and upset. Wayne put on his most concerned face. The boy rushed up to the open window

“Please help me,” the boy whined.

“What happened?” Wayne asked.

“Can I get in? Please?”

Wayne nodded. As the boy hurried around to the passenger side, Wayne grabbed the wig and moustache and threw them to the backseat.

The boy flung open the door and jumped in.

Wayne turned and looked at the boy. He looked about eighteen or nineteen; had a handsome, almost babyish face, and was wearing a dark suit.

The boy’s face, however, was pale and sweating. Wayne could smell the faint odour of vomit.

He kind of guessed something bad had happened to him, but asked, anyway, “Is this some sort of Halloween joke?” just for amusement. He couldn’t help but grin.

The boy didn’t seem to notice the smile, though.

“No!” he cried. “My friend is...is dead. He was shot.”

Wayne was genuinely surprised. His mouth gaped open and he drew in a quick breath. “Shot? Where?”

Wayne began to wonder if this actually was a Halloween prank. The boy did look distraught, though.

Maybe he’s a good actor
, Wayne thought.

The boy pointed down the road. “About five minutes that way. We were there for a party, but it was...was the wrong house. Guy was c...cra...” He began to sob.

Wayne snaked his hand down the side of the seat and wrapped it around the cricket bat.

“Okay,” Wayne said. “I’ll get you to the police. What’s your name?”

“Simon,” the boy said between sobs.

“Okay Simon. Everything’s going to be all right. My name is Wayne.”

Wayne tightened his grip on the bat.

You’re going to be number nine
, he thought.

As the boy rested his head back and closed his eyes, Wayne brought the cricket bat up.

“Thank you,” the boy said.

Wayne grinned. He drew the bat back, then crashed it against the boy’s head. There was a dull thud, then he slumped to the side.

Wayne placed the bat down, then leaned over and checked the boy’s pulse. “Good,” he muttered.

He grabbed hold of the boy and sat him up straight. He then took the seat belt and fastened it around him, locking it into place.

Sitting back in his seat, Wayne wound up the window.

He rubbed his hands together, and with an evil grin, said, “Okay. What am I going to do with you?”

He had two options: either drive back to his house, or go out along the Maroondah Highway, and into the mountains.

The way he was feeling – daring, excited and reckless – going back home just seemed too boring and normal. No, tonight was definitely an outdoor night. He might not even take this one home.

Wayne stepped on the accelerator and started down the road.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

11:08 p.m.

Wayne smiled when he spotted the wooden sign.

It was still here.

He turned the car left and proceeded down the dirt road.

It had been a while since his last visit to this motel. A few years ago, maybe even longer. What was the name of that guy?

He shook his head. It was so long ago – he couldn’t think of it.

Travelling up the road, Wayne thought it was amazing that this place was still running.

When he had stayed the place had been deserted. If he remembered, only one other customer had arrived that night.

How does she keep in business?
he thought.

Still, Wayne hoped nothing had changed.

Driving through the winding highway, waiting for the boy to regain consciousness, Wayne had started thinking about places to take him.

Usually he took his victims to desolate, out of the way locations, high in the mountains. But they had been conscious when he did, so he could chase them through the forest. This boy was still out of it. He would be no use until he woke up.

Wayne thought about finding one of his spots and waiting for the boy to come to. But he didn’t know how long that would be. He might not wake up for hours.

Besides, the weather was especially cold and windy out there – even more so up in the mountains.

The other times Wayne had brought his victims out here the nights had been relatively warm.

And the forecast was for rain, perhaps a storm. He had learned that from the Saab’s radio. If he had known about the weather earlier, he might’ve gone straight home.

But home was over an hour back, and Wayne didn’t feel like going there. He wanted something different, challenging.

And that’s when he remembered about the motel.

He knew it used to be along the highway, about an hour out of Healesville.  It was an old, lonely motel, situated up in the mountains. It was run by an old lady, and going by the night he stayed there, didn’t get a lot of customers.

It would be perfect for him. He would have all the comforts of home, but still be up in the mountains. He would be out of the storm and wouldn’t have to worry about too many people. Yet it would still be a risk, a challenge. He hadn’t done anything like it.

So he decided to drive on out and see if it was still there. Fortunately for him it was.

Now, as he drove up the road leading to the motel, he looked over at the boy. He was still unconscious. His head was drooping to the left. If anyone were to look in, they would assume he was sleeping.

He decided that if anyone were to ask, they were father and son. He was taking him on a weekend trip through Victoria, and he was very tired.

Finally Wayne came upon the motel. It was just as he remembered it.

The same five cabins and one office. Dense forest all around. And not many customers.

There was only one car parked outside a cabin – a white Ford.

Perfect
, Wayne thought, grinning.

He killed the headlights and pulled up to the office. He shut off the engine.

He wondered what to do about the boy. He decided to leave him. If he happened to wake up while he was in the office, Wayne would just have to deal with the other people. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, however.

Wayne was about to hop out, when a thought came to him. As much as he liked the risk involved in performing his acts at a motel, he didn’t want to be caught. There weren’t many people around, but all it took was one phone call to the cops, and he’d be finished.

An idea struck him. A plan formed in his mind.

He reached around and grabbed the wig and moustache off the back seat. He sat back and placed the black wig on. He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. The wig covered his short hair nicely. It actually suited him and didn’t look too fake. He found two small clips – one near the front and one near the back – and fastened the wig to his own hair. Next he stuck on the moustache. The glue held tight, and he fiddled around with it until it was even. He studied himself in the mirror one last time, to make certain that it was all in place, then hopped out of the car.

The bitter winds stung his face. The smell of pine wafted through the night air. The wig and moustache fluttered around, but didn’t come off.

Now, to find the telephone wire
.

He gazed up at the grey sky and saw the long wire. It ran from the side of the office all the way through the tall trees, back to the telephone pole by the side of the highway.

He had a quick glance around, then headed to the side of the office. There he reached down and plucked the knife from the sheath around his ankle. He straightened. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that the wire ran along the side of the office until it eventually bore into the roof.

Wayne stepped up to the wall and reached high, extending his arm to the telephone wire. He slipped the blade under the wire, then started sawing. He soon cut through.

He stood back down and lowered his arm.

He couldn’t be too careful. All it took was one phone call...

He turned around, and was about to head for the office door, when he spotted a jeep over in the distance. He guessed it belonged to the old lady – or whoever was running this place now.

Wayne jogged over to it.

Might as well
, he thought.
Can’t be too careful
.

With the knife, he slashed all four tyres. By the time he had finished, he had built up quite a sweat. But the frigid winds soon cooled him down.

The wig was making his scalp itch. He ached to scratch his head, but feared messing the look of the wig. So he left it.

Tucking the knife back, Wayne walked over to the Saab. He peered in. The boy was still slumped to the side.

Wayne grinned. He took a deep breath then wandered over to the office door. He stepped inside, grateful for the warmth, but saw that nobody was around. He stepped up to the counter.

As far as he could remember, the office hadn’t changed since he was last here.

There was a bell sitting on the desk, with a little note beside it that read:
ring bell if desk is unattended
.

So Wayne slammed the palm of his hand on the small bell. It jangled loudly.

Soon an old lady came shuffling out from behind the curtain. Wayne smiled as she approached. It was the same lady. He recognised her instantly. He just hoped that she didn’t recognise him.

“Good evening,” Wayne said.

“How are you?” she replied.