old film.
Before long he was outside the hotel. There was a police car parked at the curb. Robert’s heart began to stammer, punching against the inside of his chest.
He entered the hotel and saw Sarah standing in the lobby, biting her nails and talking with a uniformed police officer he had not seen before. He wondered where Sergeant McMahon was, and if he knew what was going on here.
“Rob!” Sarah ran to him, reaching out and then pulling back her arms at the last minute. Her momentum carried her forward, and she almost collided with him. It was clumsy and a little embarrassing, but she managed to save face by putting a hand on his chest. “Where have you been?”
He hoped he didn’t smell of sex. “I…slept on a bench somewhere. Had too much to drink after we fought. I’m sorry. What’s happening?” He could not maintain eye contact with her.
Sarah leaned into him, more, he felt, for show than out of any kind of real affection. “It’s Molly. She was out all night.”
Robert staggered backward; the world seemed to hitch, like a roundabout getting stuck on its bearings. “Where is she now?”
“It’s okay. It’s fine. This officer found her about an hour ago, walking the streets and pinching a milk bottle from someone’s doorstep. Molly’s upstairs, asleep. We can talk to her later, when she wakes up.” Robert suddenly realized Sarah’s odd behavior was probably due to the intense relief she felt at having both her daughter and husband back. He felt guilty for missing it all, ashamed for allowing himself to be drawn into that absurd and vaguely nightmarish situation last night. And what about that anyway; was it even real, or had he dreamed it all? Right now, under the harsh hotel lights, it seemed he might have imagined the whole thing.
He certainly wished he had.
“I’ll leave you to talk,” said the officer, putting away his notebook and skulking out of the lobby, toward the door. “Call if you need anything.”
“Where’s McMahon? Has he been here?” Robert rubbed at his head and scratched his scalp.
Sarah looked at him askance; there was something odd about her expression, and it made him feel uncomfortable. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said. “I mentioned McMahon to that young officer, and he looked at me as if I was mad. He said there was no such person as Sergeant McMahon in the Battle constabulary.” Her face was hanging loose from her bones; the skin was slipping like the wallpaper in the hotel stairwell.
“I’ve had enough of this,” Robert said, backing away. He pulled at his hair, trying to connect himself to the pain, to inhabit the moment entirely. Strangely, it did not hurt a bit. “This is insane, all of it. It makes no sense.” Everything was spinning out of his grasp—his wife, his children, his very existence. “Where was Molly? Has she said anything?”
Sarah took a single step toward him and then halted. She raised her hands, an attempt at a placatory gesture that seemed somehow forced, as if she were trying to make it happen rather than let their reconciliation take its natural course. “She said she was with a boy—a local. Nothing happened, she promised me. They just walked around all night, talking.”
“That’s not like her. It’s not Molly. She doesn’t do things like that.” He started for the stairs. Things were slipping out of control. “Where’s Connor?”
“He’s in the bar, finishing his breakfast.”
Robert changed direction and headed for the bar, feeling the rage building inside him. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down; he knew shouting at everyone would achieve nothing. By the time he entered the room and saw the boy sitting at the table, he had just about managed to bring down his blood pressure.
He sat down opposite his son. “How are you doing?”
Connor looked up from his toast. There were crumbs on his chin. His eyes were ringed with black; clearly he had not slept much at all. “I
Before long he was outside the hotel. There was a police car parked at the curb. Robert’s heart began to stammer, punching against the inside of his chest.
He entered the hotel and saw Sarah standing in the lobby, biting her nails and talking with a uniformed police officer he had not seen before. He wondered where Sergeant McMahon was, and if he knew what was going on here.
“Rob!” Sarah ran to him, reaching out and then pulling back her arms at the last minute. Her momentum carried her forward, and she almost collided with him. It was clumsy and a little embarrassing, but she managed to save face by putting a hand on his chest. “Where have you been?”
He hoped he didn’t smell of sex. “I…slept on a bench somewhere. Had too much to drink after we fought. I’m sorry. What’s happening?” He could not maintain eye contact with her.
Sarah leaned into him, more, he felt, for show than out of any kind of real affection. “It’s Molly. She was out all night.”
Robert staggered backward; the world seemed to hitch, like a roundabout getting stuck on its bearings. “Where is she now?”
“It’s okay. It’s fine. This officer found her about an hour ago, walking the streets and pinching a milk bottle from someone’s doorstep. Molly’s upstairs, asleep. We can talk to her later, when she wakes up.” Robert suddenly realized Sarah’s odd behavior was probably due to the intense relief she felt at having both her daughter and husband back. He felt guilty for missing it all, ashamed for allowing himself to be drawn into that absurd and vaguely nightmarish situation last night. And what about that anyway; was it even real, or had he dreamed it all? Right now, under the harsh hotel lights, it seemed he might have imagined the whole thing.
He certainly wished he had.
“I’ll leave you to talk,” said the officer, putting away his notebook and skulking out of the lobby, toward the door. “Call if you need anything.”
“Where’s McMahon? Has he been here?” Robert rubbed at his head and scratched his scalp.
Sarah looked at him askance; there was something odd about her expression, and it made him feel uncomfortable. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said. “I mentioned McMahon to that young officer, and he looked at me as if I was mad. He said there was no such person as Sergeant McMahon in the Battle constabulary.” Her face was hanging loose from her bones; the skin was slipping like the wallpaper in the hotel stairwell.
“I’ve had enough of this,” Robert said, backing away. He pulled at his hair, trying to connect himself to the pain, to inhabit the moment entirely. Strangely, it did not hurt a bit. “This is insane, all of it. It makes no sense.” Everything was spinning out of his grasp—his wife, his children, his very existence. “Where was Molly? Has she said anything?”
Sarah took a single step toward him and then halted. She raised her hands, an attempt at a placatory gesture that seemed somehow forced, as if she were trying to make it happen rather than let their reconciliation take its natural course. “She said she was with a boy—a local. Nothing happened, she promised me. They just walked around all night, talking.”
“That’s not like her. It’s not Molly. She doesn’t do things like that.” He started for the stairs. Things were slipping out of control. “Where’s Connor?”
“He’s in the bar, finishing his breakfast.”
Robert changed direction and headed for the bar, feeling the rage building inside him. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down; he knew shouting at everyone would achieve nothing. By the time he entered the room and saw the boy sitting at the table, he had just about managed to bring down his blood pressure.
He sat down opposite his son. “How are you doing?”
Connor looked up from his toast. There were crumbs on his chin. His eyes were ringed with black; clearly he had not slept much at all. “I
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