"Not at first, but then – then maybe – but not now, not now, I ditched him, that's why I ditched him, you have to believe me, I never wanted–"

But Louis moves away from her and starts throwing his items back in his bag.

"Where are you going?"

"Away," he says. "Away from you."

"Louis, wait."

"No. My truck's not in the shop yet, not until morning. I'm just going to leave. Room's yours for the night if you want it. I don't much care. But I can't abide liars."

She grabs his wrist, but then he grabs hers in return. His grip is gentle enough, but she knows that with a twist of his wrist, he could snap her arm into brittle bits.

"You were right. You are poison. You tried to tell me. I should've listened."

He takes a deep breath, then says the word that is a knife that goes right through her heart:

"Goodbye."

Bag over his shoulder, he pushes his way out of the room, steps over Ashley's supine body, and moves silently down the hallway until he's out of sight.

Miriam hasn't cried in a long time, but she cries now.

Hard, wracking sobs. Her eyes burn. Her ribs hurt. She cries the way a child cries: gasping, hitching, keening.

Over her cries, she can hear his truck rumble to life.

The sound grows to a growl, then fades.

Louis pulls his truck out of the lot and back onto the highway.

He doesn't think much of the black Escalade that passes him, going in as he goes out.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Shocking Developments

It doesn't take long for Miriam's sadness to crystallize into a sharp spike of anger. Her tears become acid. Her frown a curved blade. Her trembling hands like reciprocating saws, ready to vibrate messily through offending flesh.

She's up. She stands in the doorway. Ashley sits like a piece of windblown trash against the wall, a bleary, almost drunken smile smeared across his face. One sleepy lid half-closed.

"Can we go now?"

She kicks him in the mouth.

The back of his head cracks into the wall. Her heel knocks one of his bottom front teeth out, and it hops across the carpet like a jumping bean before coming to a rest.

A trickle of red wets his lip.

"Ow," he says.

A few rooms down, a door opens and a pale man with jowls like a slobbery dog's muzzle peers out. Miriam tells him if he doesn't put his head back inside his room, she's going to tear it off and piss fire in his neck hole.

He turtles swiftly back into his room.

"The trucker. He left, didn't he?"

Miriam says nothing. She is a smoldering volcano.

Ashley wipes his lips. "That's going to be a problem, then."

"Go to hell."

"You love me," he says, spitting blood.

"Keep dreaming."

"You need me."

"That might've been true before. It's not true now."

He grins. Red teeth, like he's been eating raspberries. "You want me."