I crossed the road onto Plainview Street, where the Sunrise Motel was. As I was crossing, I saw a familiar face in the driver’s seat of a passing police cruiser: it was the cop that I had talked to at the store. What was he doing here? Was he looking for me? Surely the Icarian Corps would have informed them that we cannot use vehicles. He doesn’t glance my way, however. For what reason did he come down here?

As I neared the motel, I heard Jenna speaking with someone in the motel’s reception office. The other voice is excited and sounds almost childlike. Too childlike. In fact, it sounds exactly like the voice of the child that had been shivering behind the shopping cart.

“And then, Arturo pulled out his gun and I was so scared and then he shot him, and then....”

Was it the same child?

“Uh-huh, sure.” Jenna’s disinterested voice responded.

“And then Arturo shot the guy, but he didn’t even notice and punched him! Punched him so hard the floor cracked!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Dylan.”

It was the same child. What was their relationship? Mother/Daughter? Maybe. I skulk away.

“But you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah! Cheek still hurts a little...” Their voices trail off as I walk across the parking lot and approach the staircase. I had made the commitment to always take it instead of the elevator whenever possible to help with my weight loss. I regret that choice now as I grasp the handles of the bag, and begin the climb up.

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“That’s him!” A shrill voice called from the receptionist's office. “That’s the guy!

“Lawrence was?”

“Lawrence?” Dylan turns on his heel; his long brown hair bouncing as he moved, “Is that his name? Is he a superhero?” He wore a green and brown plaid button-up shirt that was a little too big for him.

“Eh,” Jenna glances over I shake my head, “Well he’s a unique individual?”

“Lawrence, thank you!” The boy said.

“Eh, you’re welcome?”

“So you really kicked Arturo’s ass, eh?”

“Well, he shot me.”

“So Dylan didn’t make that up? Huh. She always had an active imagination.”

“Oh, she? I thought she was a boy. Is she your daughter?”

“Daughter?” Jenna looks offended for a moment, “Do I look that old? No. She’s my niece. Her mother’s...well Arturo was a bad influence on her.”

“Ah.”

Either prison or...it probably wasn’t an uncommon occurrence here. A few of the people I went to school with had similar fates. There wasn’t much economic opportunity here, after all. There were the fields, the dairy farms, the state prisons, and the packing houses. Either that or working dead-end jobs at All-Mart or a fast food place. A few of my friends who had once been top of the class in high school were now managers, and couldn’t climb any higher, no matter how hard they seemed to try. There was a quarry on the very outskirts of the town, but you had to know someone in the family that owned it to get a job there. It was pretty much the same with the fields. You had to know someone; and a bit of Spanish, to land a steady job there.

“So is Arturo her father?”

“No.” Dylan interjected, “Step-father.”

“Ah.”

I feel like I’m prying into an open wound.

“Well, these things are getting heavy.” I shake the bags in my hand. “Have a good day.” I bow my head and excuse myself.

“Bye! Thank you again, Mister.”

“Uh-huh.”

I feel my cheeks burn. I had never been thanked like that, and, since that day after coming out of the door in the parking lot with the golem, I hadn’t talked to Jenna that much either. God — gods, her eyes, like a pair of smoky quartz, were something else, weren’t they? What was I thinking? I shake my head as I climb the last few steps. Just because someone is treating you well doesn’t mean they’re attracted to you Lawrence, I remind myself. I set the bags down and open the door. Clio jumps off the bed to greet me as I carry the bags inside, and set them down. Only three more days here in the Motel, I tell myself, and then I won’t see her again, after all. More than likely, anyways.