Randi’s GPS went quiet as she turned into the cracked asphalt lot of the Suburban Lodge.
A tired blue neon sign hummed against the September sky.
Christian’s sedan waited near the far corner.
She parked beside him and drew a steadying breath.
When he stepped out with a shy smile and a bouquet of daisies, relief loosened the knot in her chest.
He was only a few inches taller than she was, but his shoulders were so broad they seemed almost rude, she thought. stretching the seams of his gray hoodie.
“Randi?” he said.
“Christian.”
Months of late-night calls and messages became flesh as they embraced—tentative at first, then lingering. He smelled of cedar and a long drive.
Settling In
The lobby smelled faintly of chlorine. A quiet desk clerk slid a brass key across the counter.
Room 217.
Inside, the room felt unexpectedly warm and private: a whirlpool tub in one corner, a fireplace with black tiles, a desk with a heavy leather guest book and a brass pen.
No odd scents, only the neutral tang of carpet cleaner.
Christian set the flowers in a plastic cup. “Not bad for a halfway point.”
“It’s perfect,” Randi said, and meant it.
They sat on the bed, shoulders brushing, talking about everything the screen had never captured—family quirks, road-trip disasters, the little worries that never made it into texts.
“You really drove the whole way without stopping?” she asked.
“Coffee and loud music,” he said. “Kept picturing this moment.”
She laughed softly. “My mom was nervous about me meeting a stranger in a hotel.”
Christian squeezed her hand. “But we aren’t strangers anymore. We haven’t been in a while.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said, smiling.
He hesitated, then brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Been waiting to do this for months.”
They kissed, slow and exploratory, then simply held each other, breathing the same air.
Wine and First Shadows
Christian opened the bottle of red he’d brought, the cork giving a soft sigh.
They clinked plastic cups, trading stories about favorite movies and terrible first dates.
The bedside lamp flickered—once, twice—throwing brief shadows across the walls.
Before they could react, the television clicked on by itself. An older, male news anchor is at the desk on the screen.
“Police are still baffled by a string of mysterious murders. The gruesome crime scenes of the victims so far are not something we can show here, but the part to remember folks is to keep your doors locked and windows tightly shut. Whoever or whatever it is, please be-“
Randi grabbed the remote and switched it off.
“No negativity tonight for us,” she said firmly.
Christian only shrugged and grinned. “Works for me.”
Early Pages
While he fetched ice, she wandered to the desk and opened the guest book.
April 22 2023 – Brian & Lena
The hot tub is heaven. May all who stay here find their forever person.
July 4 2023 – Tess & Jamie
Someday we’ll bring our kids back and show them where it began.
October 15 2023 – M & D
We made plans for a whole life tonight. May yours be just as bright.
Sweet, ordinary. She closed the book, warmed by other people’s happiness.
Christian returned with rattling cubes and another grin.
They poured more wine and stretched across the bed, voices soft with the comfort of new closeness.
Dinner
When hunger interrupted, they ordered room service.
Christian chose a bacon cheeseburger and fries.
Randi opted for rosemary chicken and vegetables.
“Eat bad,” he teased. “It’s our first night together.”
The food arrived steaming. She asked, “Need salt?”
His “No” came too sharp.
She blinked.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m good.”
She offered a bite of chicken anyway.
He chewed, then coughed violently, face draining as he begins to spasms.
“Oh my god, Christian, are you ok?” Randi gasped.
Christian stood up straight, was able to resume control of his breathing, allowing color to return to his face.
“Guess rosemary doesn’t like me anymore,” he said hoarsely.
“And salt, apparently,” she teased, though a small unease flickered and went out.
Second Reading
While Christian rinsed the plates and ran water in the bathroom, Randi drifted back to the guest book.
December 3 2024 – E.H.
The TV turns itself on and off. The tile near the fireplace pops when darkness falls. The faucet runs without warning. Maybe old pipes, but it feels like more.
A faint chill slid along her spine.
Christian reappeared with a towel over his shoulder, smiling. “Shower?”
Steam and Soft Plans
The shower filled with steam as they kissed beneath the hot spray, skin slick and warm.
When they finally stepped out, they wrapped themselves in towels and lay back on the bed, bodies still damp.
“Tomorrow,” Christian murmured, “I’m taking you to the Philly Zoo. Can’t wait to show you the big cats.”
“I’d love that,” she said, resting her head on his chest.
They talked about the city, about the late-night calls that had built this moment, until his breathing slowed and deepened. Sleep found him quickly.
11 P.M.
A hiss woke her.
From the bathroom came the unmistakable rush of water.
Randi slipped from the bed and found the faucet running full force.
She shut it off, heart quickening.
In the mirror her own reflection met her with a nervous smile.
“You’re really doing this,” she whispered to herself.
A sudden yell cut through the quiet.
She darted back into the room. Christian jerked upright, eyes wide.
“Christian! Wake up.”
He blinked, disoriented. “I—” He swallowed hard. “I was dreaming… the hotel was on fire. I couldn’t find you. There were children—screaming. But there was something else in the building. Something chasing us, chasing me. It was terrifying.”
Randi smoothed his arm. “It was just a dream.”
He exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Just a dream.”
They lay back down together, his breathing eventually steadying against hers.
1 A.M.
A creak pulled Randi awake again.
Christian stood at the window, moonlight sketching his silhouette.
His eyes were open, fixed on nothing.
She slid from the bed and touched his arm. “Christian?” A look of fear and concern covered her face. He continued to stare blindly out the window into the darkness. “Christian! Answer me. You’re scaring me…”
Suddenly, he blinked, startled. “More wine?”
“It’s one a.m.,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“Never a bad time.” He poured two cups from the half-empty bottle as she turned to go the bathroom.
When she ducked into the bathroom, a strange tang filled the air—burning candle wax and something metallic. When she returned the taste of iron coated her tongue.
She sipped her cup, laughing softly about how far they’d come just to meet in person, about the adventures waiting for them. “A whole new journey,” Christian said, eyes bright.
When at last he drifted back to sleep, the room quieted except for the faint hiss of the faucet.
Final Pages
Randi turned again to the guest book.
March 18 2025 – Ella & R
He was so sweet with the flowers.
May 9 2025 – K.T.
We ordered room service and made love in the shower. Perfect night.
August 18 2025 – Jorie & Tam
He had such a menacing demeanor. Those broad shoulders should have their own zip code.
Her heart pounded.
She looked at Christian’s sleeping form—shoulders massive beneath the sheet.
Fear returned to face. Shock even. She went to leave the bed, to grab her bags, but, when she went to touch the floor with her foot, she couldn’t feel it. That’s odd she thought. Then she realized her fingers were going numb and her head felt light as a feather. She began to feel dizzy. Oh God, the wine, he –
Her legs went watery. Her fingertips tingled.
A dizzy, floating sensation washed over her.
She tried to stand but the floor tilted; darkness closed in.
3 A.M.
Randi jerked awake to find her wrists and ankles bound to the bedframe with the hotel’s spare sheets.
The room was hushed but for the low hum of the heater.
Christian sat in the chair by the window, elbows on his knees, a shadow among shadows.
Her voice was a rasp. “Christian… what is this? Why am I tied up?”
He didn’t answer at first. He stared out the window again. The moon now trying to peek in and capture what’s going on.
“Christian, talk to me.” She fought to keep her tone calm. “You don’t have to do this. We can just… go back to bed. Pretend this never happened.”
He looked up, eyes unreadable. “You almost got me with the rosemary. Not sure how you managed that one. But the salt?” A dry laugh. “I told you about my high blood pressure. You should’ve remembered.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Please, just untie me.”
He leaned forward until the moonlight edged his face. “I like you, Randi. I really do. Tonight was… better than I expected. I’m not perfect by any means. I mean, our shower time was great even though I shouldn’t have, but I have to deal with that on my own…” His voice softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again. “But I know what I have to do. After all those people just… slaughtered”
“You don’t have to do anything,” she said quickly. “I don’t know what you mean. Come back to bed. We’ll drive to the zoo tomorrow, like you said. We’ll laugh about this, okay? Just come back.”
Christian’s expression flickered—something like regret. “Part of me wishes that could work,” he admitted. “But I knew you before you knew you. Girl, I’m not new to this.”
Randi tried to smile through the panic. “Then you know I’m not what you think. I’m just me. Randi. From the phone calls. From the late nights.”
He tilted his head, studying her as if weighing the words. “It was all so romantic, I know. All so fateful like how could it have happened… like I said I am not new to this.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Just untie me. We can talk, honey. Like we always do.”
Christian’s mouth curved in a sad half-smile. “Talk? Sure. But you and I both know what you really are.”
He stood, the floorboard groaning beneath his weight. With deliberate slowness he drew the cross pendant from beneath his shirt. Moonlight flashed across the silver.
Randi recoiled, a low hiss escaping her throat before she could stop it. She folded inward, chin to chest, as though the sight seared her. The air around her grew artic, chilling her fake tears.
Christian’s brief look of empathy vanished. He straightened, eyes cold now.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I thought.”
He reached into his duffle bag, pulled out a worn Bible, and held it against the cross.
“Care for some light reading, darling?” His voice was almost gentle.
Epilogue
Morning crept pale through the curtains.
Christian walked quietly to the front counter, duffle bag in hand.
“She’s resting now. I untied her. Once she wakes up—”
The clerk cut him off with a knowing nod. “Yeah, yeah. Just like the others. I know how to handle it. She’ll be fine.”
Christian tightened his grip on the bag, the cross pendant flashing once in the lobby’s light, and left without another word—
as if he had never been there at all.
