Jane was the one who made Ethan listened to things he would’ve otherwise ignored. Most of the times when he cussed was when she wasn't around. And if she had heard something and spoke to him about it the mass would've known---they would've noticed his calmness the day after, occasionally several days after. It was precisely why Ethan told her nothing about quitting school. But that last day she recalled an extra affection in his eyes, a warmer embrace that stayed tethered by the preservative sprinkles of tossed recollections.
Ethan had to leave, he just had to, that’s what he'd told himself over and over. But the hard part for him was the thought of telling Jane. Telling Jane would’ve changed everything. Jane would’ve told him to wipe that crap out of his mind. Then he would’ve had to insist. That would’ve started a series of questions. In Ethan’s mind, he could’ve seen Jane’s soft lips moving around the words: “Why do you really want to leave, Ethan. Why?”
She would’ve folded her arms, looked him in the eyes without blinking, with her straight eyelashes unmoved by the blowing wind which would’ve blown a hint of her sweet perfume in his nostrils. At that moment, her hair would’ve glistened from the light of the shining sun. It would’ve lit up her smooth, beautiful face. Ethan knew well, the truth would've choked him, he'd be forced to spit it all out. No way, he'd told himself, no way could Jane know the real reason for him leaving. It was worth hiding, even if it meant not seeing her ever again.
Larry was Ethan's best friend in high school. In those days, friends were folks with a lot in common. In 2017, as recent as the 6th of March, friends were folks with telepathy. Larry knew something was wrong when he heard the voice from the intercom. He sensed someone was at his door. He opened it, but no one was there. The brightness of the lights in the hall left no room for shadows. "Who's there?" someone in the room whispered behind him. It was Jane, but Larry didn't answer.
Room 19 down the hall used to be occupied by Freddy Augusta, a pianist. He had disappeared months ago. Now at 1:15 a.m. Larry could see the door was open. He took wondering steps towards it, a hand gliding against the wall, his head slanted so each step couldn't disrupt his line of sight to the dark portion of the open door. What was he doing? He was thinking. He reminded himself he was the overseer for the building. It was his job to check things out. All he had to do was sound the alarm if there was anything suspicious.
There was an alarm in room 62. It was at the top of the door. Larry had to pass it heading out. He wouldn't have been in this position had he activated it. It would've sent security forces all over the property within the minute. Why was Alas Cove Inn so heavily secured?
Stay Tuned For Chapter 4...