The Dark One

TEN

"Turn it off!" Isabel begged, pointing at the television, where a particularly obnoxious episode of a daytime talk show was playing.

"Jerry's the man," Michael told her from his spot propped up on the motel's other twin bed.

"Turn it off!" Isabel shrieked. The sound of her own voice tore through her head, leaving her gray matter pulsing.

Michael leaped toward the television, but not before the Springer audience went into another round of "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" The words ripped into the delicate membranes of her inner ears, the pain so intense she could feel it through her entire body. "Too loud," she whispered.

A second later Michael had the sound off. But he couldn't turn off the sound of his breathing. The sound of her own breathing. The sound of the hideous curtains brushing against the dirty window. All of these sounds were amplified to the point that Isabel was sure would drive her insane. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the sounds softer. A finger tapped her shoulder lightly. She opened her eyes halfway, and Michael held a sheet of the motel's bleached-out stationery in front of her face. He'd written a note in all caps.