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We exited the elevator and moved down the hall until I stopped at my door saying that I would meet her upstairs in half an hour. She agreed as she stopped at the adjoining door and slid her card key through the slot. We looked at each other astounded as we slipped into our rooms. Another coincidence – could this all be serendipity? Were we destined to meet out of all the people in the world and how could she be even interested in a man 20 years her senior? We did indeed meet in the roof bar. I changed my shirt to one a little dressier and my linen beige slacks and I rushed like an eager schoolboy to the bar to await her arrival. I was almost afraid she wouldn’t show up but a few minutes later, she entered wearing a floor length shimmering silver caftan that lit up the room. I stood and held out her chair to a ‘Thank you, kind sir’ and we decided to order a bottle of white wine since it turned out we both preferred wine to beer or liquor. We talked like old friends for two hours as we. Needless to say, I had been there more than once. I turned off the light and drove. My body felt weak, but I had forced myself to the garage and in the car after discovering my parents at the Taskers. This was the kind of thing that could not wait. Bits of Sarah’s story twisted through my mind. For instance: the fact that her family had taken off without telling her. If that was the case, how had she found them? I thought about what she had said about finding the bodies of her new neighbors, about how they had looked: drained, withered, mummified. I tried to make sense of it, but nothing seemed to fit, nothing rational, anyway. By the time I pulled into the motel, I was more confused than ever. Sarah had written her room number under the cell phone number on the card she had given me: number 4. The number gleamed in the yellow cast from my headlights. With a heavy sigh, I twisted the key, and the ignition stuttered to a stop. I sat for a moment, listening to the slowing tick of.
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