He finally exhales that breath.

"Car went in the water," he says. "Windows, doors wouldn't open. I don't remember getting out. But I ended up on the banks, and I watched the water move around the four tires sticking up out of the river. My wife – Shelley – she was still there. Still in the car. They found her, still buckled in. Lungs full of muddy river water."

Miriam's not sure if she should speak.

Louis runs his fingers through his hair. "After that, I sold everything we had including the house. I quit my job at the factory and took one of those truck driver classes to get my CDL, and then I hit the road. Haven't been back home since. I'm just out here now."

"You really know how to say the sweetest things to a girl," Miriam says. It's a smart-ass comment, hurtful, but she can't help it. It just comes out of her.

He shrugs. "I figured things weren't going so well tonight, so what did I have to lose?"

She laughs, and then he laughs. It's an unanticipated sound.

"You're damaged goods," she says.

He nods. "I suppose I am. I also suppose that's not particularly attractive."

Miriam feels a hot rush rise to her cheeks. He doesn't know how wrong he is.

She's on him in the motel room, white on rice, chrome on a bumper, a hungry velociraptor on a chained-up goat. Miriam can't refuse the scent of a damaged soul. The stink of death is in her nose, and she knows it's deeply fucked, but as her mother would say, it is what it is, and what she is is hot to trot, ready to roll. She wants to be ridden hard and put away wet.

Louis, he's like a goddamn building – she has to climb him like King Kong. Hand on his shoulder, she brings her hungry mouth to his ear, she slides her hand around his barrel chest, she tangles her own leg around his. It must look cartoonish, she thinks, but fuck it. They're not making a porno. This isn't for public consumption.

He moans. He's not sure. He's not comfortable. "I don't know–"

No, uh-uh, he's not allowed to finish that sentiment. Her mouth on his mouth, her tongue is a snake in the grass, a worm in the apple. With her one free hand, the one not clinging to his shoulder like a mountain climber, she starts trying to undo the buttons of his shirt, but they're stubborn as shit, so she just rips them. They hit the wall, a clattering rain.

He protests, but the words are swallowed by her mouth.

So there she is. Hungry. Lustful. Driven into a froth.

And she sees a shadow behind them.

She's on Louis, but behind them is another Louis.

And he's standing there, and he peels up the black electrical tape over his left eye, and a river of maggots starts to tumble out of the puckered, ruined hole.