Jeramey Gillilan

The Sick Stag

He sat up, adjusting himself in the driver’s seat. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. The deep drum of wiper blades echoed in his ears like a heartbeat; fast but consistent. It was uncomfortably close to his own. “I’ve never seen this side of town,” he thought while peering past a rain-drenched windshield onto a narrow street. Shops, either boarded up or closed, stood along the derelict one-way road. Hours of rain had soaked the concrete and stained buildings but sparse neon lighting gave false warmth to the area. Scanning the glow, it was there: The No Tell Motel. His grip tightened on the steering wheel before peering across his shoulder to the briefcase in the passenger seat. The raindrops became white noise.