The Starlight Motel

The blizzard hit just outside of Kalamazoo.

It wasn't just snow; it was a whiteout. The wind shook the heavy frame of the Crown Vic, and the visibility dropped to zero. The wipers uselessly slapped at the windshield.

"We have to stop," Remy said, clutching the dashboard. "You can't see the lines."

Silas knew he was right. If they slid into a ditch, they’d freeze to death before a tow truck found them.

"There," Silas pointed. A flickering sign emerged from the white void: *The Starlight Motel. Vacancy.*

Silas pulled in. The lot was empty except for a snowplow buried in a drift.

He dragged Remy into the office. The clerk, a woman who looked like she was made of leather and cigarette smoke, eyed them suspiciously.

"Road’s closed," she rasped. "Fifty bucks a room."

Silas checked his wallet. He had fifty-two dollars.

"One room," Silas said.

"Two beds?" the clerk asked.

"Doesn't matter," Silas said. "Just give us a key."

It mattered.

Room 104 was freezing. The heater rattled ominously when Silas turned it on. And there was only one bed—a sagging mattress with a floral spread that had probably witnessed crimes in the 70s.

"I’ll take the floor," Remy said immediately, shivering as he blew warm air into his hands.

"Don't be an idiot," Silas said, locking the door and propping a chair under the handle. "Floor’s concrete. You’ll get pneumonia. We share."

Remy hesitated. "You... you trust me?"

"I have the handcuffs key," Silas said, taking off his boots. "And a taser. You try to run in this storm, you die. You try to attack me, you wake up stunned. Get in the bed."

They lay down fully clothed. Silas kept his back to the door, Remy against the wall. The space between them was small, charged with static.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the periodic flash of the neon sign outside. *Buzz. Flash. Buzz. Flash.*

"He’s going to hurt me, isn't he?" Remy whispered into the darkness.

Silas didn't pretend not to hear. "King?"

"Yeah."

"He’s a businessman," Silas said, though the word tasted like ash. "He wants his money."

"I borrowed ten thousand," Remy said. "For my Nana. She had cancer. The insurance wouldn't cover the at-home nurse, and she... she was terrified of the hospital. She wanted to die in her own bed."

Silas stared at the cracked plaster of the wall.

"I paid him back eight," Remy continued. "But the interest... it kept doubling. Now he says I owe twenty. I sold my car. I sold my laptop. I sold Nana’s ring."

"Why didn't you go to the cops?" Silas asked.

"King owns the cops in my neighborhood," Remy said. "Besides... I signed the paper. It’s my fault."

Remy shifted. In the cold room, he gravitated toward the warmth. His back pressed against Silas’s back.

Silas stiffened. He should pull away. He should shove the kid to the edge of the mattress.

But Silas was cold too.

"My mom died in a hospital," Silas said. The words slipped out before he could stop them. He hadn't talked about this in five years. "She hated it. It smelled like bleach and sickness. You did a good thing, Remy."

Remy turned over. Silas could feel the boy’s breath on the back of his neck.

"Silas?"

Silas turned. They were inches apart. In the neon flash, Remy’s eyes were wide, searching.

"You’re not a bad guy," Remy whispered. "I can tell."

"I’m taking you to a shark," Silas said roughly. "I’m the bad guy."

"You bought me a burger," Remy smiled weakly. "And you didn't leave the cat."

Remy reached out. His fingers, rough and cold, brushed Silas’s cheek.

The touch was electric. It cut through Silas’s exhaustion, through his cynicism. He looked at Remy’s mouth. It was chapped, pale.

Silas wanted to kiss him. He wanted to wrap his arms around this foolish, kind boy and keep him warm until the storm passed.

He leaned in. Remy’s eyes fluttered shut.

Then Silas remembered the eviction notice. He remembered the empty bank account.

He pulled back, rolling over to face the door.

"Go to sleep, Remy," Silas said, his voice hard. "We have a long drive tomorrow."

The silence that followed was louder than the storm.