Free THREE DAYS to DIE by John Avery Page B

know," he said. "You just seem a little ... tight ."
           Ashley's eyes followed Doolin's and she nearly screamed when she saw that her rain-soaked nightwear had become see-through, and that the cold had had its stimulating effect. She stepped back in horror and crossed her arms over her breasts.
          "I have to go," she said, face flushed. Then she turned and hurried out the door.
          "Ring the bell if you need anything," Doolin said after her. "Just ring the bell ..."
          He copped a last look before Ashley slammed the door behind her. Then he closed the registration book and smiled.

Chapter 22
    Room 107
          Rain continued to fall as Ashley limped painfully across the empty parking lot to her Chevy. She looked around then opened the car door and climbed into the driver's seat.
          She shut the door and sat for a while with her hands resting on the wheel. Rain drummed the roof and splashed the glass as she peered out at a distorted image of the Sands Motel.
           She thought of Danny and of their wedding day, of how handsome he had been in his dress uniform. So tall and strong. So desirable. She remembered how hard it had rained at his funeral, and how the American flag draped over the casket had gotten wet, and how she'd been concerned after hearing of an incident where a wet lowering strap had snapped, allowing the coffin to fall into the grave where the lid broke loose and exposed the body to the entire assembly.
          She gripped the wheel tightly, fighting the urge to scream, then shook the disturbing image out of her mind.
          You can drive away , she thought desperately. You can start the damn car and drive away .
          Go ahead, Ashley, a second voice countered, drive on out of here. But don't say I didn't warn you when you fall asleep at the wheel and kill yourself.
          She reached across the seat and grabbed the two shopping bags and stepped out of the car into the rain again. Then she hobbled the short distance to Room 107.
    ---
          The first to assault Ashley's senses, the eye-watering odor – as if someone had dumped a truckload of rotting cabbage in the room and sealed it shut for ten years. She switched to mouth breathing and wished she had purchased some surgeon's gloves back at the drug store.
          All around her, flower patterned wallpaper blistered and peeled from the crumbling plaster like a severe case of motel eczema. Discolored carpeting in front of the TV betrayed the likely truth that something had died there in recent months. Jammed against one wall, a small bed, its lumpy spread a montage of stains. Above it, an oil-on-black-velvet matador, its fuzzy texture (and most of the sequins adorning the cape) long since rubbed off. From a shelf, a dusty oscillating fan wheezed back and forth, ruffling her wet hair in a vain attempt to cool the air, its gear-drive skipping and jumping, each erratic sweep of the room likely to be its last.
          She flopped the large plastic shopping bag on the bed; then from the smaller bag, she removed a half-full quart of grape juice, a half-eaten box of crackers, and a pint of gin, and set them on the night table along with her car keys, credit card and phone. She dumped the contents of the other bag out onto the bed: a lavender faux-suede jacket; a sundress; a white bra and three pairs of panties; a men's white undershirt and pair of boxer shorts (make-shift pajamas, like the ones she used to borrow from Danny); miscellaneous toiletries, pills, and makeup accessories; a simple necklace; and a pair of low heels. She draped the jacket over a chair and smoothed the wrinkles out of the new sundress.
          She walked over to a vanity mirror with half of its silvered glass falling from the frame, and as she ran a brush through her hair she regarded a strange reflection with its Picassoesque interpretation of her tired eyes. The bruise under her right eye was getting