Crystal Creek Read online

  Crystal Creek

  William Malmborg

  Contents

  1. Friday

  2. Saturday

  3. Sunday

  About the Author

  Also by William Malmborg

  Crystal Creek is a work of fiction. Names characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  Copyright © 2016 by William Malmborg

  Published in the United States by Darker Dreams Media

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 0-9962831-5-3

  ISBN - 13: 978-0-9962831-5-1

  To Nancy Koller and Mardelle Fortier

  Friday

  Brian Goldman studied the empty parking lot for several seconds before committing to a spot near the motel office, his concern with the abandoned feel offset by the fact that he had called and made a reservation two days earlier. Not that one had been needed, it seemed, a sense of foolishness getting the better of him. But hey, what was it gun rights advocates were always saying? Better to have and not need, than to need and not have.

  Guns, condoms, and motel reservations, the statement was fairly versatile.

  Wouldn't mind having a gun while staying in this place.

  Especially once it gets dark…

  A chill followed, one that he couldn't suppress despite the brutal August heat that was smothering the valley.

  Now or never, he said to himself, the never option seeming like the better of the two. All he had to do was pull out of the crumbling parking lot and head back to the airport. A four-hour drive followed by a five-hour flight followed by an Uber ride, and he would be back home, body ready to crawl into bed and go to sleep.

  No, not the bed.

  He had no idea if Jared would be staying the night after fucking his wife, but even if he wasn't, Brian would prefer not to sleep in the same sheets where that had taken place.

  In fact, he would rather sleep in the sheets here, bedbugs and whatever microscopic fluid stains were present a welcome respite from being with a wife who no longer wanted him.

  Memories of seeing the emails and feeling his stomach drop filtered in, a sense of anger-laced sadness starting to get the better of him.

  No, no, no, he urged and quickly pushed the thoughts away while getting out of the vehicle, the oppressive heat helping to shift his focus.

  He hoped the rooms were air-conditioned.

  A few years earlier, he wouldn't even have thought it possible for a building in this day and age not to have a cooling system, but then he had headed out to stay in a bed and breakfast up in Maine that was supposedly haunted, and arrived during a record-breaking heat wave—one that put this heat to shame. Sure enough, no AC, and given the age of the place and some local code that required it to stay historic looking, the owners were not allowed to put in temporary window units. Instead, the room had a fan, one that seemed to simply push the boiling air at him rather than cool him off.

  “Maybe you'll find a cold spot that you can spend time in,” Alice had quipped when he called her to complain about the situation, her disbelief in the paranormal causing the statement to be a jab.

  There were no cold spots in that bed and breakfast.

  No ghosts either.

  The trip had been a total waste.

  Hopefully, the same would not be true of this one.

  He needed a serious break, one that would get him out of the call center where he was currently employed and help him once again pursue his true purpose in life.

  Once he did that, maybe Alice would start to have feelings for him again; maybe their marriage would rekindle itself and they would live happily ever after.

  2

  Wind chimes jingled as he stepped into the front office of the motel, their position allowing for the top of the door to strike them whenever it was opened.

  The front desk was empty, and the jingle from the chimes didn't bring anyone to it, so Brian looked around for a bell he could ring. There wasn't one. He waited, vetoing an urge to call out down the hallway beyond the front desk, which looked to lead into some private living quarters for whoever resided within the motel when not at the front desk.

  The interior decor was dated, but then such was to be expected in a run-down motel that was perched on the edge of a dying town.

  Hell, just the fact that there was a motel still in operation was amazing.

  Crystal Creek, despite having a pleasant ring to it, was not a tourist destination, nor was it positioned in a way that would make it a good stopping point for people traveling through the mountains to get to the coast. Instead, it was a literal dead end, one that would be hard to stumble upon even when lost. One pretty much needed to make a conscious effort to get to the town, and even then the route was difficult given the lack of signs and the overwhelming urge to turn around while heading toward the town. Then again, that “turn around” urge may have been unique to him given how upset and hurt he had been upon seeing the emails that Alice and Jared had shared with each other.

  You knew she was seeing someone, he reminded himself.

  No, he had suspected it.

  Suspecting and confirming were two different things.

  While suspecting it, there had still been doubt.

  Now there was no doubt.

  Now he had to deal with the reality that she was cheating on him, the reality that her love for him had faded so much that she had taken a step back to a former lover who she had seemingly despised during the early days of their own relationship.

  You're failing her as a husband.

  He shook the thought away and walked over to a bookshelf on the wall to the right of the desk, his eyes automatically scanning the spines for a copy of his own book that had been published years earlier, six months after he and Alice had been married.

  It wasn't there.

  It never was.

  The sound of a toilet flushing somewhere beyond the front desk appeared.

  A few seconds later, a teenage girl walked in, a smile on her face. "Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help you?"

  "I'm Brian Goldman," Brian said. "I have a reservation for today through Sunday."

  "Ah yes, I've been expecting you. Not too often that we get a reservation called in."

  "That's what I gather," he replied, then, realizing how snobbish the comment was, added, "Crystal Creek is off the beaten track a bit."

  She laughed. "What track? Most don't even realize we exist. Not even the cell networks, which you'll learn fairly quickly if you try to make a call."

  "Great," he said, false enthusiasm evident. "But hey, if I decide to see a movie, I won't have to worry about phones ringing."

  "We don't have a theater anymore."

  "Bummer."

  She didn't reply to that.

  "So, I suppose I should get all checked in."

  She smiled and said, "Which room would you like?"

  The question caught him off guard. He was used to being told which room he would be in while being handed a key. "Um…four, I guess."

  "Four it is," she said and reached behind her for a key, the movement revealing a nasty-looking scar on her inner arm.

  Once the key was in hand, she pulled an oversized ledger book from somewhere beneath the desk and spent a few seconds flipping through it until she got to the current week. So far it was blank.

  "Print and sign here," she said while pointing.

  He did.

  "Okay, perfect." She closed the book.

  "Don't you need a credit card or some type of payment?" he asked.

  She smacked herself upside the head, lightly, for effect. "Cash is preferred, credit if
that's all you have."

  He used cash, since his credit card was still smarting from the plane ticket and rental car.

  "Now you're all checked in," she said once the cash was in a portable lockbox.

  "Thanks."

  "Enjoy your stay."

  3

  The lock on door number four was stubborn and didn't want to accept the key right away, but then, after a bit of gentle probing with the tip and a few whispers of encouragement, it slipped right in.

  Twisting the knob, he pushed open the door, a squeal of protest from the hinges echoing, which was almost reassuring because it meant no one would be able to ease their way into the room while he slept.

  Unless there's a secret entrance somewhere, he told himself, remembering the movie Vacancy.

  Thinking about the movie brought about a longing for the past. Alice and he had seen it in the theater, the two enjoying the entire thing up until the ending, which they felt was a cheat—no one would have survived being stabbed in the stomach like that, and even if he had somehow survived it, he wouldn't be passionately kissing his wife afterward. Their disappointment with the ending wasn't enough to ruin the high they were feeling, their seat on cloud nine firm thanks to the news that Brian’s book on the paranormal and other strange occurrences was going to be published.

  The advance was not spectacular, but was enough for him to buy an engagement ring.

  The publication of his first book and his marriage to Alice took place within months of each other, and at first, both showed promise.

  Now, nearly ten years later, all he could do was shake his head at how things had ended up.

  But maybe this trip and story will help, he told himself.

  Maybe—

  His thoughts stopped as he realized there was no phone in the room, the nightstand seemingly empty without it even though it did have a clock and a TV clicker.

  Lacking the phone, the room itself wasn't bad. Dated, but nicely kept and clean.

  Then again, such upkeep probably wasn't difficult when one rarely had guests.

  And now this weekend they're going to have two.

  Speaking of, he wondered where Annie was. Given their interaction throughout the week, he had assumed she would arrive before he did, but given the empty parking lot and his ability to choose any room while checking in, it was obvious that she hadn't arrived yet.

  He checked his phone to see if she had sent him any messages, but saw that it had no service, which reminded him of what the girl behind the front desk had told him about the lack of cell coverage in Crystal Creek.

  Call her from the front desk, he suggested to himself.

  Chances were she was on her way, and if so, maybe she was still in an area that had coverage and could give him an idea of when she would arrive.

  If not…he would simply have to wait.

  Feeling a sense of urgency, he headed back to the office to see if the girl would let him use the phone.

  4

  Alice Goldman sat by the phone waiting for Brian to call, each silent second increasing her panic, her mind imagining the arrival of divorce papers in the mail. She actually had no idea if divorce papers would be mailed or hand delivered, but the method of delivery didn't really matter; it was the fear of them being delivered, of her having ruined their marriage, that upset her.

  It's his fault.

  No, it's not.

  A few months ago, after he had started working a late shift at a call center to supplement their income, she had started sleeping with an ex-boyfriend named Jared who had recently been divorced. Now, however, she wished she had never gone that far. Not because she was certain that Brian knew about it, but because during those moments with Jared she had realized it was Brian she was picturing on top of her, and Brian whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, despite the difficulties they had been having.

  Which is why Jared was your ex-boyfriend! the angry side of her brain shouted.

  The tears that had been falling ever since Brian had stepped from the car that morning returned, her mind once again trying to figure out if he knew or if his silence during the trip to the airport had been something else.

  He knows.

  And that is why he didn't talk to you this morning, and why he isn't returning your calls or texts.

  5

  "Sorry, local calls only," the girl behind the counter said.

  "But this is really important," Brian said, a bit perturbed.

  "It's policy," she said, hands raised in a “what can you do?” gesture.

  Brian sighed. "Okay, rules are rules, and I don't want you to get in trouble."

  She didn't reply to that.

  "Can you at least tell me if you've heard anything from an Annie Morgan? I'm supposed to be meeting her, and she was supposed to be here by now, but…" He put up his own hands. "Seems I'm the only guest at the moment."

  "That you are," she said. "And honestly, if she was planning to arrive today and have a room, she never contacted us about it. The only reservation I have is for you."

  "Really?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "That's odd, because she assured me she had made a reservation as well."

  The girl shook her head. "I don't know what to say. As you can imagine, it's a pretty rare thing to have a reservation made, so if there was another one for today, I'd have known about it."

  "Hmm, well, I guess it is what it is. I'll just have to wait and see if she shows up."

  "Sorry I couldn't be more helpful."

  "Not your fault," he said.

  "Anything else I can try to do?" she asked.

  "No," he said and started to turn, but then stopped. "You know what, I do have a local call to make if you don't mind."

  "Oh?"

  "Do you have the number for Cheryl Gaffney?" he asked. "She's the editor for the Crystal Creek Daily News."

  "Um…Cheryl? Yeah. I have that. One sec."

  "Great." He had planned on waiting until Annie was there so the two could go talk to her together, but now figured he could get a jump on that while waiting. Later, if Annie wanted to talk to her as well, they could visit again.

  It took a few minutes, but eventually the girl returned to the desk with a number written down for him.

  "Thanks," he said while taking the number. He then twisted the phone around toward himself so he could dial.

  "Crystal Creek Daily News," a female voice said after a few rings.

  "Hi, Cheryl? This is Brian Goldman. We've been exchanging emails this past week."

  "Oh, hi."

  "So, I'm in town now, and was hoping we could get together and talk about…" He looked at the girl, who was listening intently. "The situation we discussed."

  "Oh sure, though I hate to say it, but I haven't really been able to find much."

  "That's okay, any little bit will help. Is it okay if I swing by now?"

  "Yeah, that's fine. You have the address?"

  "I do," he said.

  "Okay, I'll see you in a bit then."

  "Great, thanks."

  He set the phone in its cradle.

  The girl stared at him for several seconds and finally said, "Okay, I'm so curious."

  Brian smiled. "Sorry, can't spill anything right now, but you'll be one of the first to know what's going on once I can."

  "Promise?"

  "I promise."

  6

  "Excuse me, can you tell me where two-seventeen Sunrise Avenue is?" Brian asked.

  "You lost?" the clerk asked.

  Brian stared at him for a moment and then said, "No, I just can't find where I'm going."

  The clerk spent several seconds repositioning packages of mystery meat and then said, "Any address with a two in it is a second-floor place. To get to the second floors you have to go down one of the alleyways, find the stairs, and go up." He took a few steps and pointed through the window. "See the second floor?"

  Brian didn't need to have the second floor pointed out to
him, but he thanked the man anyway and left the small country store. Sure enough, several different alleyways separated the old buildings, alleyways that had probably originally been designed to accommodate coal deliveries but now were nothing more than areas of wasted space. Then again, he doubted anyone was regretting the lack of potential storefront space, given how dead the town was.

  About a block down from the country store he came upon two boarded-up storefront windows, one of which had the number 117 painted upon it. No other numbers were present, not even on the doorway that sat between the two boarded-up storefronts, its glass still intact.

  Hard to believe they still have a newspaper going, he noted to himself.

  A few seconds later, he was climbing a wrought-iron stairway up to a small landing that had three flowerpots on it, all of which really needed some water. To the left of the pots was a door, the numbers 217 painted upon it along with the words DAILY NEWS.

  He knocked.

  No answer.

  He knocked again.

  Still no answer.

  He tried the knob.

  The door opened upon a small entryway-like room, one made smaller by stacks of old newspaper bundles lining the walls.

  "No, honey," a voice echoed from the room beyond a cutout in the wall, "he really does love you. He just sometimes gets wrapped up in his work and can't think of anything else. Really. Don't worry. He's told me several times that you are the greatest thing that's ever happened to him and he doesn't know what he would do without you."

  Brian stepped into the doorway cutout and saw a woman who he assumed was Cheryl Gaffney standing with her back to him at a desk, phone to her ear, an unlit cigarette in her other hand. Sitting on one corner of the desk in a square of sunlight was a fat orange cat. The cat looked up at him for a moment, which caused Cheryl to twist around in the chair and give a startled yelp.

  "Shannon, I have to go…no, everything's fine, I have a meeting." She hung up the phone.