I'm pretty sure the Talket County Police Department is tired of seeing my face by now.
Here's why.
Since our planned run-in with Miranda didn't end so smoothly (and, admittedly, now, I guess I should have seen that coming... I mean, 'pinky promise you won't hold a grudge and try to stab me to death with a pair of scissors if I destroy your all-powerful skinny jeans... I mean jeggings, and not hand over your cash prize for holding me hostage in an unmarked Wisconsin woods for a night'... Maybe I should have brushed up Stella's original plan for her.), I decided to skip out on school the next morning (by telling my already anxious father that I was feeling a little under the weather; he's assuming I contracted pneumonia from laying naked in a car trunk with vomit in my hair for half of a five-degree winter night and is assuring me he will take me to the emergency room of the next town over's hospital as soon as he gets home from work... I'll take care of that trip later, though) and called the police department's number. I told them that I wanted to issue a restraining order against someone to protect my personal safety; they told me to go to the courthouse to take care of it. I told them this was urgent and that my suspected abuser might have been lurking outside my bedroom window at that very moment and that I didn't exactly have a car or driver's license (yes, I know, I am seventeen years old... but I'm working on that, okay?) or any means to get myself there; they told me they'd send an officer to pick me up and help me out and that they 'weren't busy anyway'.
Twenty minutes and a change from llama pajamas to suitable blue jeans later, a policeman showed up on my doorstep and, low and behold... it was the exact same one that had found Stella and I in the car trunk the other night.
"Why, look who it is!" he greeted. "You poor luckless lil' lady... how much trouble you gon' get into?"
Well, I convinced him that 'hopefully not much more' if I got as far away as possible from a certain Miranda Lively, and he agreed to take me back to the station and get things sorted out there, and, on the way, I made sure I informed him that I had specific evidence of her both physically and verbally threatening my life. At the station, then, I made sure I showed him and a few other officers the video Stella had captured and sent to my phone of Miranda herself attacking me and yelling 'I'll kill you, Emma Lenford! I'll kill you, bitch!'
And then, get this, one other male officer identified Miranda as some wanted fugitive that supposedly was the leader of a band of older boys that actually robbed the Chase bank of Monheeti County, just seventy miles north, by the sheer underwear she was wearing. Apparently, he swore she had the 'same bottom half' as the woman they caught on a shaky security camera when the incident occurred five months ago, one in which she was wearing nothing but a ski mask, a cropped tee shirt, black gloves, knee-high brown boots, and a pair of panties that were just about identical to these.
Yes, it does sound very outlandish at first, but the police proceeded to pull up the old footage on a computer and played a clip of the video in which the masked lady stormed into the bank with a butcher knife, yelled out 'Ronnie', snapped her fingers as five tall, also masked, men barged in behind her, and then whipped around to reveal a long, chestnut-colored ponytail hanging down underneath her hat.
I don't know what exactly it was, but all of that information together made for a pretty convincing match to Miranda Lively herself.
And, apparently, the policemen thought so, too.
So, here's the best part.
The cops had a gut instinct that Miranda was at school in that moment, as did I, and I also kind of wanted to take that Spanish test by the end of the work day, so they offered me a ride there in exchange for assistance in locating and capturing Miranda.
Oh, and locate and capture the witch we did.
I strolled through the front doors, one male and one female police officer behind me on either side. After that, I barged right through the door leading to the front office, glided up to the front desk, and leaned in to speak to the front red-headed secretary.
"I think we're going to need to use that," I declared, pointing at the intercom microphone in front of her.
She glared at me, and then shifted her gaze to the cops standing behind me.
"Oh..." she merely mumbled, then stood and scampered her hands to give it to me.
I cleared my throat as I took it from her, and then smashed my thumb against the button on its base.
"Would Miranda Lively please report to the front office, please? I repeat, Miranda Lively to the front office... immediately and with what's left of your dignity." I paused and flickered my eyes back up to the wide-eyed secretary in front of me. "Thank you."
I spent a few long moments of quiet fidgeting before I took a seat and awaited her arrival, but, when she came, I hoped right up to see the scene play out before me.
"Hands where we can see them, Lively," the female cop commanded as her partner revealed a pair of shiny silver handcuffs.
Miranda froze up in the doorway in front of us, and then threw her hands out by her sides. Her eyes slid over to me, then, as the male policeman proceeded toward her.
"Emma," I watched her mouth.
I clasped my hands in front of my waist and serenely stared as her wrists became fastened behind her own.
"Please come with us," the female cop said as Miranda was directed toward the office exit.
As she passed my side, then, I returned her deathly glare and mumbled into her direction.
"It'll be a little hard to kill me from where you're going," I whispered.
And then she let out a little 'arg!' and attempted to lunge at me. However, she was quickly restrained by her new captors, and then escorted out, though the female guiding her remained behind for a moment to deeply thank me for my insight on the case. She also offered me a small cash reward for my help, but I declined and assured her that locking Miranda up was reward enough for me and that I don't take money that I don't feel really belongs to me... much like she does.
Now, I can only really hope that she doesn't cast another curse on me from prison. I mean, I did take those pants from Stella and toss them in the nearest dumpster, so I think I'm probably safe.
Anyway, fast forward a week, and it's actually spring break for all Talket County Schools. Even though there's still five inches of snow on the ground outside my bedroom window.
However, my overly loving father, god bless his old, anxiety-ridden soul, figured it would actually be safest for him to take me away from our crime-stricken neighborhood for a few days and cruise away on a sweet, stress-free vacation.
At the Wisconsin Dells.
Yes, the dream destination of every low-income, upper-midwestern family, and the last-minute getaway place of choice for both my father and myself for the past seventeen years.
So, there I was, twenty minutes after check-in to the forty bucks a night, completely non-religious themed 'Holy Day Inn', staring down a fifty square inch painting of a saucer-shaped spaceship laser-ing a picture of an American football into a field of corn stalks while laying sprawled out on a stone-stuffed mattress, listening to my father as he read a card that apparently said, 'free WiFi with network username have-a-blessed-day and password have-a-blessed-stay.'
And I guess you can probably guess by now that something's about to go down, so this is our stop.
"Oh, isn't that just..." my dad began, staring down at the laminated but never probably cleaned index card in his hands. "Clever..."
I sat up on the edge of the bed as he stepped over to the shaded windows across the room.
"And, oh, Emma," he went on as he grabbed one side of the curtains, and then whipped them back to reveal a fantastic view of both the part of a roof and a part of the car parking lot below. "Look at this!"
He spun around and threw his hands out by his sides.
"I got you just about the best darn motel room on this side of the street!" he exclaimed, shaking his rusty brown mop of hair as he did so.
"It's very..." I paused, and then nodded at him. "Luxurious, thank you."
"Two-star extravagance, baby," he agreed, and then made his way toward the bathroom behind me. "And what's in here?"
He stepped through the doorway, flipped a light switch on, and then turned out of sight.
"Oh, boy," his voice echoed out. "Someone left a floater..."
I heard a loud flush followed by a small bang, and then witnessed his return.
"Don't worry, girlfriend…" He snapped his fingers, and then pointed handgun gestures at me. "I got your back"
I smiled a little.
"Thanks... dad," I said.
"Now," he picked back up, making his way over to the queen-sized bed parallel to mine. "What do you wanna do first?" He flopped down on his back. "Remember, this is only a forty-eight hour accommodation experience, so choose your choices carefully... there's some..." He paused and picked up a bundle of pamphlets next to himself. "Horses and buggies that the Amish loaned the hotel for the weekend for pricy rides, or... a magic sorcery show put on by some guy in a fedora and tights, or... there's a Johnny Depp impersonator signing forged autographs tomorrow morning."
"Pirate Johnny Depp or vampire Johnny Depp?" I turned to him to question.
"Mad Hatter Johnny Depp," he glanced back and answered.
"Ick," I grumbled, and then looked down to my lap. "Can't we just, like, watch TV or something instead?"
I gazed back up as my dad sat up.
"That's my gal," he smiled. "You must share some genes with me or something."
He twisted around and reached for the television remote on the night stand between us.
"Just twenty-three chromosomes," I spoke.
"Give or take," he added, and then turned the tiny flat screen TV across the way on. I glanced toward it as the screen flickered into illumination, revealing a picture of Meg Ryan sitting at a desk behind a bulky black laptop.
"Oh, Emma, look," dad began. "We get HBO; we really are on vacation!"
"Oh, wow," I commented. "A two-day subscription for the low price of just eighty bucks."
I looked back over at my father and smirked; he slouched back on a pillow and pointed back at me.
"Be a good kid," he said. "Santa's always watching."
He moved his pointer finger from me to the television, and then gradually glanced back to it. I followed his gaze, and then watched as the screen flipped from another picture of Tom Hanks at his own bulky computer monitor to one of Meg Ryan, once again, sitting in a coffee shop. After that, it showed the two sitting across from each other, and I listened in as my father turned the volume up.
"It sounds to me like... he's... married," Tom Hanks said.
I nodded, took a breath, and then pushed myself up from the bed.
"Just going to the bathroom," I announced as I rounded the end of the mattress. "No need to pause it." I stopped, and then spun back around. "Oh, wait... this isn't the DVD version you've played over twenty-six times, so you couldn't anyway."
I shrugged as my dad sluggishly glanced at me.
"Coal comes to kids who despise rom-coms," he declared, and then looked back at the TV. "Just remember that."
I nodded, and then turned back around to make my way completely into the bathroom. Once there, I slid the thin wood door shut behind me, flipped the blindingly bright ceiling light on, and then found the porcelain throne resting by the left wall. I stepped over to it, turned around, and then... you know what comes next.
I rested my chin in my hands for a few seconds, though, halfway through urination, and some intriguing loud sounds piped up from the opposite side of the wall beside me.
"It... seems... to me... like," a feminine-esque voice breathlessly panted out. "You're... not... married... anymore!"
I raised a brow as I listened for more.
"Yeah, well," a more manly voice began, though not exactly out of breath itself. "My wife died eight years ago..."
"Yikes," I mumbled.
"Oh!" the female exclaimed. "I'm... so... sorry... about... your... loss..."
"It's okay," the male picked back up, his voice still unaffected by any... outside factors. "I think she'd be proud of me for not cheating."
"Y—Yes... she... w—would," the woman replied... before she began to yell excessively. "Oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... oh!"
"Well, then," I mumbled, and then stood and turned to flush the toilet behind me.
"Oh... oh... Billy," the female continued. "I... think... there's... someone... over... there..."
I froze as I heard a quick two knocks on the wall between us.
"Hey... you," she went on, her voice a tad louder and clearer than previously. "Want... to ... play... with… us? "
I pursed my lips and turned toward the thin sheet of drywall beside me.
"Um," I began, raising my voice gradually as I did so. "No, thank you."
"Oh..." the female responded. " 'Kay!"
I paused as the two of them fell quiet, and then spun around to exit the bathroom. Once out, I glanced across the room to see my father slumped down in his bed, eyes closed and droll running down his chin.
I twisted toward my 'Talket Middle School Turnovers' duffel bag, and then stepped over to it, snatched a couple of fresh garments from inside, and returned to the bathroom. I threw the lavender colored bikini top and bottoms as well as the black tank top and cutoff jean shorts I had grabbed onto the counter, and then closed the door behind me.
"You're... doing... it... wrong!" the wonderfully friendly female across the wall yelled out.
I proceeded to slip off my current bottoms as her counterpart replied to her.
"But I thought you said there was no wrong answer..." the man stated.
I pulled on my clean bathing suit bottoms and short cutoffs.
"No!" the woman yelped. "Where’s… my… inhaler…"
I slipped out of my top garments, and then reached for my new ones that lay out in front of me.
"No, stop!" the lady continued, seeming to now get her breaths suddenly under control. "Get it out!"
I slipped on my bikini top and tank before she finished.
“You can’t put two people in your car unless you land on a twins space!”
I raise a brow as I glanced up at the mirror in front of me to adjust the halter bathing suit strings around the back of my neck, and then pulled my matted dishwater-brown locks into a high ponytail. After that, I nodded at myself for my attempt at partial decency, then turned to leave the rest area once again.
I re-entered the main component of the hotel room, and then slipped on a pair of dirty, old black Converse sneakers over my bare feet. Once that task was complete, then, I walked over to my unconscious father as his throat echoed out a bubbly gargle of a sound, snatched up a pen from the end table beside him, tested its tip on the inside of my wrist, and then leaned forward to slowly trace the word 'pool' onto the top of the hand resting atop his slightly flabby belly. After that, I stepped back, observed it, and... turned my head to see that, from his direction, I had actually written 'lood' from his pinky to his thumb.
"Oops," I mouthed, and then drew a little arrow from the 'p' to the 'l'. And then another one pointing both up and down on the left of it all. And then an identical one on the right. And then I drew a line right through the middle of the word. And then another one. And another. And then I turned in place again, and then I rewrote 'pool' from his pinky to his thumb above where I had previously. And then I leaned back. And then I leaned forward. And then I wrote 'I'm at' above it. And then I leaned back, again. And then I leaned forward, again. And then I wrote 'the' in tiny letters in front of 'pool'. And then I leaned back, again. And then I leaned forward, again. And then I wrote '—Emma' on his wrist, underneath all of that. And then I leaned back. And then I leaned inward, yet again. And then I drew a smiley face next to my name. And then I leaned back, yet again. And then I turned to the side. And then... I sat the pen down.
I took a quick breath and whirled myself around. After that, I stepped past the TV showing a scene of Meg Ryan in a bookstore, grabbed both my cellphone and a room keycard from the desk beside it, made my way up to the front door, and guided myself to the burrito-scented hallway outside. It wasn't too long after I slid my personal items into my back pocket and began trotting down the corridor, however, that I encountered a young boy, circa age six, circling around himself in a black tee and orange basketball shorts.
I stopped for a moment to watch him rub his cheeks and look both to his left and right, and then spin around, groan, and throw his head into the wall between two tall doors.
"Um," I began, now stepping over to his side. "Are you okay?"
I stepped back as he turned, wiped his eyes, and glanced up at me.
"Are you lost, or..." I went on. "Do you need help, or... something?"
He nodded.
"My mom told me to go to hell," he blatantly answered me. "But... I can't find it!"
He threw his hands over his head and shrugged.
I paused for a long moment.
"Uh," I started. "She... said that... to you?"
He cocked his head to one side.
"Well," he said. "She told me to go to my dad, and she's always telling him to go to hell, so I think that's where I need to go in order to find him." He shook his curly dark hair. "And I can't find it."
"Oh," I responded, and then crouched down in front of him. "Well, that's good." I stopped and studied his mocha-colored cheeks. "I mean, not good, really, for your dad, but... I'll help you find him, okay?"
"We have to find hell, first," he said.
I nodded.
"Okay," I replied, and then wandered my eyes to the empty hall behind him. "You know, I think I just saw Satan go that way."
I stood back up, and then pointed straight ahead.
"That's my grandpa!" he yelled, and then spun around.
I paused and narrowed my eyebrows, for my own sake, right before he grabbed my hand and proceeded to pull me to the middle of the corridor, where it intersected with a shorter section that turned right. He stopped, then, let go of me, and peered down the other empty hallway.
"Nobody's there," he claimed.
"Yes, well," I started. "The devil's a pretty tricky fellow."
"That's my mom!" he shouted, and then spun around to face me.
I glanced up and around.
"Where?" I questioned.
"No," he grabbed my attention back. "The devil is my mom, Satan is my grandpa, and my dad is the spawn of Satan."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Uh huh," I began. "And... who are you?"
"I'm Ethan," he smiled and rocked back on his heels. "Who are you?"
I pursed my lips.
"I'm Emma," I answered. "And, today, it looks like I'm also your guardian angel."
His jaw dropped for a split second.
"Whoa..." he mumbled.
I smiled, and then crouched down once more in front of him.
"Yeah," I continued. "But, Ethan, tell me, do you remember... or know, even, where your room might be? Because that could actually make my job a little bit easier... and it could give me a clue as to where to send your service bill once we're done."
He shook his head.
"I don't live here," he proclaimed.
"Well," I went on. "Nobody actually lives in a hotel..." I paused. "Well, permanently, actually... I think..." I paused, again. "But, do you know where you and your parents are staying? The room number, maybe? Or, do you have one of these?"
I pulled out the room key I had from my pocket to showcase to him.
He looked from the key, to me, to the key, to me, to the key, to me once again.
"Nope," he said, popping his 'p' as he did so.
I searched his tiny relaxed features for a moment, then slid my card back into place and stood yet again.
"Well," I began. "That could be a problem."
I heard a tiny bang from the end of the hall, and then looked up to see a skinny pale woman in a very generic maid's uniform step out of a room with a cart full of towels and spray bottles.
I proceeded to rush over to her side.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I began as she glanced up at me, letting me take note of her extremely caked dark eyelashes and the wilting white flower in her jet-black bun. "Um..." I turned and pointed to Ethan, who turned around in the place he still stood. "This boy needs help..." I gazed back to her. "Finding his parents."
"Hm," she cocked her head to one side and batted her fake lashes. "That's just too bad." She shrugged as I heard, presumably, Ethan's quick steps come up behind me. "I don't get paid for that kind of work."
"Can you help me find hell?" Ethan suddenly chimed in from beside me.
"Oh, honey," the maid chuckled out, shaking her head down at him. "You're already in it."
She took a step back, pulling her cart along with herself.
"Um," I went on, watching her as she spun away from us.
"I am?" Ethan gasped out.
I refrained from continuing to speak to the woman, however, and let her roam hurriedly away.
"Never mind," I whispered, and then twisted back to Ethan.
"I'm in hell!" he shouted out, throwing his fists above his head.
"Okay, okay," I grumbled, grabbing his hands to spin him back to me. "Let's go find someone a little more accommodating in purgatory."
I nodded, and then turned to make my way all the way down the current hall, right hall, and then around the corner of the next left hall.
"Okay!" Ethan agreed as he trotted by my side the entire way to end of the last corridor, where two tall silver doors rested, one 'up' arrow and one 'down' arrow in between them.
"I got it!" Ethan shouted as he slammed both hands into both buttons... not once, not twice, not thrice... but eleven times; I counted.
"That's good, actually, thank you," I mumbled, reaching out to protect the buttons from his fists.
He stepped back, then, just as a quiet ding sounded off from my right.
"Oh, boy!" he screeched, and I turned my head just in time to see him physically leap through the elevator doors right as they opened.
I let out a puff of air as I followed him into the empty loading area.
"I got it!" he yelled, again, now proceeding to punch absolutely every single button on the front wall.
"Oh, um, actually," I began, stepping forward to grab at his hands before he could get to the top row, which included just numbers nine and ten. "It's okay, okay?"
I pulled him back as the doors closed but kept my hands on his shoulders as the lift lowered us down slightly. After a few short seconds, the doors opened again, and an elderly woman with a deep blue handbag and curling gray hair shuffled into the area. I forced a smile at her, and then let go of Ethan.
"Oh, hello there," she greeted, glancing at both him and me.
"Hi," I uttered as the doors closed once more.
It was then, though, that Ethan lunged forward and punched the remaining unlit buttons in front of us, including the five that we had just visited.
"Ethan," I grumbled, stepping forward to pull him back again.
The old woman giggled out beside us.
"Is he yours?" she questioned, after a moment.
I gazed over at her while the doors opened yet again.
"Um," I answered. "No, not really, no."
I shook my head as the doors admitted no one and closed back up.
"She's my guardian!" Ethan butted in, spinning around from my grip and hugging my legs.
"Oh!" the woman exclaimed.
I looked hurried from him to her.
"Well, actually," I started.
"God bless your soul, dear," the woman stopped me short. "The world could use more donors like you."
I paused and stared at her for a moment.
"And she's an angel!" Ethan shouted.
I looked from him to her, again.
"She certainly is, darling," the woman nodded at him.
I looked forward as Ethan released me and watched the elevator doors open and shut once more. And then again, with no other visitors, and then once more, when it was actually our stop.
"Well, it was nice meeting you," I urged out, right before rushing out the doorframe.
"Oh, you, too, dear," the woman parted. "You, too."
I grabbed Ethan's hand and dragged him close behind as I passed by a young couple holding hands as well as a few other small boys getting rowdy on the stained hallway carpet. I rounded a few corners in the process, but, before you know it, we had reached the front hotel lobby.
I stopped and glanced around to see a few empty sofas surrounding a fountain full of coins, a statue of a clearly-male bird-reptile hybrid-thing urinating distilled water onto them, the sliding front doors, though usually automatic, stuck in an open position, allowing a very cold breeze to abruptly blast me in the face, and the tall, wooden front desk, manned by a Caucasian male in his 30s wearing a Minnesota Vikings cap, an oversized puffy black coat, and a bright red scarf, a cheap neon sign originally reading 'Holy Day Inn Welcomes You!' hung on the wall behind him, though, unfortunately, both the 'ay' in the day and the full word 'welcomes' weren't lit as the rest of the bright blue phrase was.
I crossed my arms as another blow of cool air hit me and made my way over to the front of the desk. The man standing behind it instantly locked his eyes on me and shuddered as the wind stuck him as well.
"Sorry, I can't hand out extra towels right now, as there is a raccoon problem in the laundry room," he declared.
I stopped across from him and rubbed my shoulders.
"Uh, that's fine," I responded. "But, um..." I shot a glance over at the light drift of snow blowing in from outside. "Why is that door open?"
"Oh, because," he began. "The birds took a dump on the sidewalk again." He looked from the open doorway to me once more. "That messes with the sensors."
I nodded, slowly.
"Okay..." I began, and then looked over my shoulder to see Ethan ripping a number of large, fan-like leaves off of a plastic potted plant nearby; I rushed over to him, brushed the leaves out of his hands, and then returned to the front desk holding his hand.
"This boy," I went on, but then paused and glared down at the chest-high countertop in front of me for a moment before grabbing Ethan by his armpits and heaving him up above it. "This boy..." I stopped to drop him back to the floor and take a recovery breath. "I believe has lost his parents."
"Oh, dear," the man across from me muttered out.
"Though," I continued. "From the sounds of it, it may not be such a bad thing, but..." I glanced down at Ethan as he proceeded to lick the frontside of the wooden desk, then looked back up at the man and nodded. "You should probably find his parents."
"Right," he agreed, and then gazed down to the desktop between us as I grabbed my shoulders and shivered a bit again. "But I'm afraid the phone systems are down today due to an accident in the break room, so..." He glanced back up. "I'm not sure there's much I can do with him that you can't."
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