Surfacing,

Part Two

By Lauren

Drew hesitated to even touch the doorknob to enter the hotel lobby. The place had looked grimy from a distance, but she couldn't even have imagined how filthy it actually was. Images of trying to sleep in a bed infested with cockroaches crossed her mind, and she almost gagged.

"This is disgusting," she muttered, drawing her hand back, refusing to touch anything.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Drew, your hand's not going to fall off," Ray admonished, reaching out and turning the film-covered brass knob.

"Isn't there anywhere else we could stay?" she asked quietly, following Ray inside the dimly lit room.

Ray shook his head as he searched the room with his eyes. "This is one of the nicer places around here."

"Oh, God," Drew said, scanning the room. It was cold inside, with a damp, musty feeling. The whole place smelled of smoke, and still glowing cigarette butts protruded from a nearly full ashtray. A long desk stretched nearly all the way across one side of the square room.

I wonder if this was a nice place once, Drew mused, gingerly running a finger across the wooden desk.

Little mailboxes with silver keys hanging on them were mounted to a wall. Drew noted that nearly every key was gone.

Ray walked over to a closed door which had "Management" written across it with the kind of stickers that people use to mark their names on mailboxes. Drew shivered, wrapping her arms more tightly around her, exhaling with puffed cheeks. She gave Ray a half-hearted smile as he knocked on the door.

A few minutes later a sleepy old man opened the door and walked over behind the desk. He looked like the hotel: run down, dirty, and tired. Drew noticed that he had dirt underneath his cigarette-damaged fingernails as he opened an ancient-looking registry book.

"We need a room for the night," Ray explained, and the old man nodded, smiling with unusually white, clean teeth.

"Well, that's pretty obvious," he replied, and Drew listened carefully, trying to detect an accent. She was going crazy not knowing where she was, and if she knew Ray, he probably wasn't going to tell her. I don't really know Ray, though, she realized. Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into here? Maybe she didn't know Ray, but for some reason, she trusted him.  Because he's a priest, she decided. Although he hasn't exactly acted like one tonight.

She snapped to attention when she realized that the old man was talking to her. "Sorry?" she responded, blinking her eyes.

Ray shot her a look that told her to snap out of it. "I said," the old man began, "you need to sign the guest register."

Her heart jumped with panic, her eyes immediately turning to Ray's face. 

"I'm sorry, Mister..." she began, her voice trailing off.

"Paterson," the old man finished, looking pleased that she wanted to know his name.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Paterson," she repeated with a smile. "My mind's been wandering all night. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"That's all right, Mrs. Delgado," he accepted, and Drew's smile widened.

She picked up the ball-point pen that lay on the open book and signed "Debbie Delgado" in heavy blue ink; she nearly laughed when she saw Ray's "Homer Delgado" above her own pseudonym.

"Well, Mr. Delgado, I hope you and your wife enjoy your stay," Mr. Paterson said with the same wide grin. He must wear dentures, Drew decided, smiling back.

"Thank you," Ray said, taking the key and handing the man a twenty-dollar bill. He grabbed Drew's upper arm and hauled her out of the office as quickly as he could.

"Wake up, Drew," he hissed as soon as they had stepped back out onto the sidewalk. "You have to pay attention or you're going to slip and tell someone your real name."

"I will not," Drew said stubbornly, glaring at him. "You know, you don't give me much credit, do you?"

Ray ignored her. "We're in room 17." 

"Fine," Drew said, falling into step beside him and setting her jaw with anger.

The seven was missing from the door, and had left behind a dark shadow against the faded door. "Welcome to your temporary home away from home," Ray said sarcastically, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open.

The room was even filthier than the office had been. The carpeting was olive green and looked like it hadn't been vacuumed in decades. The comforter on the single queen-sized bed was rumpled. A worn, faded armchair and chipped wooden table stood by the window.

"Hell on earth is more like it," she seethed, reluctantly walking inside.  "Just the place for an errant priest."

Ray came in behind her and closed the door. "Who says I've been making any mistakes?"

"You don't classify this whole thing as a mistake on your part?" she asked in disbelief, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, so now I'm the one who's at fault here? If you hadn't shot that guy, we wouldn't be in this rat-infested hole in the first place!" He whipped his jacket off angrily and flung it across the chair.

Ray disappeared into the bathroom and walked right back out. "Oh no? I suppose he walked up to you, turned the gun on himself, and pushed your finger against the trigger, then."

Drew's eyes narrowed. "You know what? This isn't even worth it. I'm not going to sit here and justify my actions to you. You said it yourself, I'm Jewish, you don't have any divine control over me."

"Fine," Ray said, collapsing into the flimsy chair. Drew was surprised the legs didn't buckle and snap.

"Fine," Drew replied, crossing her arms over her chest again and looking away from him. A few seconds later, though, she gave into the temptation to look over at him; he was staring at her.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Drew looked away, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk about it. You'll just criticize me for it."

"No, I won't," he said.

"Uh-huh. You've been showing me such sympathy since we checked in. I thought for a moment when we were walking over here that you might actually have decided to be a little calmer about this whole situation, then you go off on me again. I don't get you."

"You're an infuriating woman, Drew," he said, his face expressionless, his eyes intense.

"Yeah, well, what did you expect?" she asked. 

"I don't know. You've been infuriating every time I've talked to you."

"What about Michelle and Danny's wedding? You didn't seem too infuriated then," she said with a small smile.

"Hm. I think that day warped everyone's personalities a little bit," he responded. "I'm going to ask you again. What happened tonight?"

She drew her knees up to her chin. "I don't really know. It's all such a blur. It happened really fast."

"Why did you shoot that man?" he asked, leaning forward in the chair.

Drew shook her head again. "After...after I heard the first couple of shots, I ran from the room where everyone was waiting for the hit, and kept on running until I ended up in that room. It was so still, and so quiet, and empty, and I figured it was safe there. So I walked in and sat down in the dark, at Carmen's desk."

Ray nodded. "Then what?" he asked gently.

Closing her eyes, Drew said, "I had a gun with me; Danny gave it to me. And I was sitting there, in the dark, and I was upset about everything that had happened, and that man walked in. He didn't see me, and he started rifling through the bookshelves, looking for God knows what, so I stood up to tell him to stop it." 

"And you shot him as your warning?" Ray asked incredulously.

"I thought you weren't going to criticize me," Drew returned, her eyes fiery.

"Sorry, sorry," Ray said, holding up his hands. "So you stood up. Did you make a noise or something?"

"I accidentally knocked over a picture that was sitting on the desk," Drew said ruefully, wringing her hands, "and the glass broke all over everything, and it made a really loud sound. The man turned around and pulled a gun on me. And I shot him. And then you walked in."

Ray massaged the back of his neck and blinked his eyes. "So it was self-defense, then."

"I guess so. I don't know. He didn't actually threaten me, besides pointing the gun at me. I mean, I probably would have done the same thing."

"You said he was looking through a bookshelf."

"Yeah," Drew said, "pulling out papers and shoving them back in. I don't know how he could even see what they said. It was pretty dark in there."

"I know," Ray agreed. "It was."

"If it was self-defense," Drew began slowly, "which I guess it probably was, then is running away the smart thing to do?"

He ignored her. "Look, if we want to get out of here early tomorrow--today, actually--then we'd better get some sleep. I’m going to go take a shower.”

Drew sighed, sitting down heavily. "You can have the bed. I don't think I would be able to sleep if I tried."

"No, you can have it," he said considerately, standing up and walking toward the bathroom.

Drew laughed. "I don't want it any more than you do," she said with a smile. "God knows who has done what on this bed." 

"A word of advice," Ray said, his hand holding the doorframe, "even if you are Jewish, that's not a good thing to say to a priest who's taken an oath of celibacy. You just don't go there."

Drew laughed again. "Okay, Homer," she teased.

Ray stepped back into the room, smiling widely. "What's wrong with Homer?"

"Homer Delgado?" she laughed. "What isn't wrong with Homer Delgado?"

Ray laughed. He has a nice laugh, Drew noticed. It's really genuine. "And who exactly is Debbie?"

Cheeks coloring, Drew mumbled, "She was a cat I had when I was a kid."

He shook his head. "Debbie Delgado."

"Sounds like a stripper's name," Drew mused.

"What did I tell you about the sex stuff?" Ray teased. "That's an off-limits topic of conversation with me."

Drew laughed lightly. "Go take your shower, Ray," she ordered.

Ray saluted her. "Yes, ma'am." He closed the door behind him. 

"I'm sleeping in the chair," she called out, a smug smile on her face.

"No fair!" Ray yelled from the bathroom.

God, could this night get any crazier? she wondered, spreading Ray's jacket over the threadbare seat of the chair and sitting down on it. No, I'd better not even think that. I'm sure it could.

***

"Drew. Drew," Ray said, shaking her shoulder.

"What?" she barked.

"Come on, Drew, you've had an hour's sleep. You can sleep in the car," he offered, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the chair.

"For the love of God, Ray, leave me alone," she muttered, stumbling in her sleepy fog.

"Come on, we're leaving," Ray ordered, placing a hand on her back and steering her out the door.

A shiny red compact car was parked in front of their door. "What's this?" she asked, rubbing her eyes, trying to get them to focus.

"This," Ray said, "is our new mode of transportation."

"Where did you get this?"

"It's not important," he said vaguely, opening the door for her and walking around the small car to get into the driver’s seat.

Even through her drowsy haze, Drew was angry. “Why won’t you answer any of my questions?”

Ray looked at her for a long time, which completely unnerved Drew. 

Oh, God, she thought, this is scaring me. What the hell am I doing here? "There are things you don't know, Drew," he finally said. 

"God, you've been acting like this since we left, Ray! Do us both a favor and get out of Santos-mode, and give me some answers. I may not be the most experienced person in these types of things, but I'm not a little girl. I can handle whatever you're keeping from me." Her face took on a hurt expression. 

"It's not that you can't handle it, Drew," Ray began.

Drew interrupted him. "Okay, then it's settled. You promised me answers before in the alley, so start talking. How about telling me where you went last night--and what you did--to start out?"

Ray closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel tightly. "It's not that simple, Drew--"

"I don't care. From the looks of things right now, we've got a lot of quality time together to burn. Give me the long story," she requested.

"If I tell you anything, and I mean anything, you can't ever tell anyone," he said somberly.

"Okay, that's cool, I can do that," she agreed. "I promise." 

He turned and looked her squarely in the eye. "This isn't some first grade, pinkie swear kind of secret. It's not one of those things where you can cross your heart and hope to die."

"I didn't think it was."

"Drew, if I tell you this, I'm not going to be the same person to you," he cautioned with weary eyes.

"For God's sake, I barely even know you now. I know you're a priest. I know you're Danny's cousin. From what I've heard, and all my past conversations about you, you seem to be a fairly nice guy."

Ray sighed, his eyes softening. "You want to know where I went last night?"

"I think that's pretty obvious," she said. Her breath caught in her throat in anticipation.

"I went to get rid of the gun," he explained.

"Well, that's not so bad," she said, relieved. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes sleepily.

"I took it to the same pawnshop where I took the gun that I killed Danny's father with," he continued, the words torn from his lips.

Part 3

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