The Book of Fate

100

Outta there! Now!” the guard yelled as he gripped the back of Rogo’s shirt.

“Get off me!” Rogo shouted back, tugging free and running deeper into the poorly lit room. Two steps later, motion sensors kicked in, flooding the room with the buzz of fluorescent light. On Rogo’s left was a single bed with a beat-up oak headboard, immaculately folded white sheets, and a Bible sitting on a fuzzy, olive-green wool blanket. Rounding out the cheap motel decor was a mismatched white Formica side table and a faux-wood dresser that held a pile of old magazines and a ten-year-old twelve-inch TV. To the right, oak double doors opened into what looked like a conference room, complete with a long mahogany table and half a dozen modern black leather chairs. None of it made sense. Why’s a public bathroom connect to a separate bedr—?

From behind, Rogo felt a sharp tug on his shirt. He again tried to pull away, but this time, the guard was ready, yanking him backward toward the bathroom.

“Y’know how much trouble you just got me into?!” the guard shouted.

“I was just — the door was open—”

“Bull… shit,” the guard insisted, whipping Rogo around and sending him smashing face-first into the room’s half-closed door, which slammed into the tile wall as he shoved Rogo into the bathroom.

“Are you nuts?!” Rogo screamed, twisting to break free. The guard held tight, marching him back through the men’s room and toward the door to the hallway. A full head taller than Rogo, he gripped Rogo’s wrists and held them behind his back.

“I’m a lawyer, you stupid monkey. By the time I’m done suing, I’m gonna own this place and turn it into an Arby’s!”

As Rogo stumbled from the bathroom into the salmon marble hall, the guard shoved him to the right, back toward the lobby’s white frosted-glass doors.

“Dreidel, tell him who you are!” Rogo called out, his voice echoing up the hall.

“W-What’d you do?” Dreidel asked, already stepping backward, away from the check-in desk.

“Don’t move!” the guard warned Dreidel.

Panicking, Dreidel spun around and took off for the sliding doors.

“No… don’t!” the guard shouted.

Too late.

Before Dreidel even registered the words, his foot hit the sensor mat. But it wasn’t until the doors started to slide open that Rogo noticed shadows on the other side of the frosted glass.

With a hushed swoosh, the doors yawned open, revealing a thin bald man with chiseled cheeks and a crusted-up bloody nose. Slumped over his shoulder was a fit blond man whose head was drooped down, unconscious. His shirt was soaked with what looked like blood.

“Guess who I found?” Boyle announced as he stepped inside. “All that’s left is—” Spotting Dreidel, he froze. Without even thinking, he let go of O’Shea, who clattered to the ground, splayed out across the sensor mat.

“Boyle,” Dreidel blurted.

“Boyle?” Rogo asked.

“Don’t move!” the guard yelled at Boyle, pulling his gun and shoving Rogo aside.

“Put your gun away,” Boyle ordered.

“I said don’t move!” the guard repeated. Turning to his radio, he shouted, “Fellas, I need some help down here!”

Regaining his balance, Rogo couldn’t take his eyes off Boyle. It was just like Wes said. The pointy features… the gaunt cheeks… but still so much the same.

“R-Ron, are you okay?” Dreidel asked, still in shock.

Before Boyle could answer, his brown and blue eyes locked with Rogo’s. “You’re Wes’s roommate, aren’t you?”

Rogo nodded, his head bobbing slowly. “Why?”

“Is Wes here too?” Boyle asked, his eyes swiftly scanning the lobby.

Confused and completely overwhelmed, Rogo followed Boyle’s glance, searching the lobby, the elevators, the check-in desk, almost half expecting Wes to jump out. “I–I thought he was meeting you.”

“Meeting him?” Dreidel asked.

“Meeting me?” Boyle replied.

“Yeah, no—you,” Rogo shot back. “That note you sent… for Wes to meet you… seven p.m. Y’know, at the graveyard.”

Staring at Rogo, Boyle shook his head, clearly clueless. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, son. Why would I invite Wes to meet me at a graveyard?”