The Pleasure of Dying

Getting on my bike, I think about how the sun doesn’t seem to sit right in the sky anymore. I remember how everyone was so disappointed when I quit football. Unfortunately, they didn’t know that I only quit so I could get a part-time job to help my mom.

They didn’t know she cried out for me on her deathbed. They only know my shortcomings. I also think about how she could have easily gotten an abortion. Yet, she lived each day with a constant reminder of her innocence lost.“Are you ok?” Caleb says as he pulls up beside me outside of the motel.

Cops surround it to make sure what is left of Virginia’s tourists feel safe.

Rounders has just become a boardwalk of debauchery and sin. Let’s face it, though, sex and drugs are what attract most to Rounders. Many things change, but sex will always be a high seller. “Look locals,” a woman yells, pointing at us. Her teeth are a deep yellow, and her skin appears orange.

A camera appears, and I scowl at it. “We’re locals?” I whisper, turning to Caleb. He shrugs and just heads towards the motel. I think about breaking the camera, but that would only draw more attention to ourselves.

One of the valet boys nearly runs me over on his way to the parking lot. Sometimes I wonder if the simpler times really did exist. Like when children respected their elders. I barely remember when iPods could fit on your pinky finger.

They just started using hover buses as a major transport in China. It would make more sense for someone to expand the land over there. Instead, the people with the money want to spend it all on private Islands.

A chill runs down my spine as we hit the cold air of the lobby. I pause, taking in the sights and smells of the hotel. I want to walk over and just take over the computer. Humans work so much slower than the rest of us.

Then I remember why we’re here and I smile. One less human in the world won’t hurt me at all. We already look out of place in all black, all we would need is to draw attention to ourselves. I watch as a few guests pass us by, trying to appear normal.

A mother holds the hand of each of her sons. Their twins---blond hair and freckles are a little too ‘children of the corn’ for my taste. I try to look at it as a fun vacation, but they’re in Rounders. Nothing in Rounders is a normal family vacation. Tourists come to Rounders to get a glimpse of the supernatural, like me.

“I’m looking for Jack Wiget,” Caleb says to the nearest hotel attendant.

“Don’t know the name.” She continues to type in the computer in front of her. She seems flustered by us, but I can tell that she’s hiding something.

She’s an unattractive, pasty, overweight girl who’s probably known more pain than pleasure in her life. I can see the lack of a man’s touch embedded in her brown eyes. She has a piggish nose, and it just emphasizes her shape.

Yet, I can also tell by those big brown eyes that she knows exactly who Jack Wiget is. The sad thing is, Caleb is going about getting the information in the wrong way. Honey would charm her faster than it would a bee. If a man were to share only a minute of real decent flirting with her, she would be a tell-all book.

“You know, Jack,” Caleb says forcefully. He has on black sunglasses, and that’s putting space between them. She needs to see his eyes to trust him. She needs to see some form of sex appeal. Just removing the glasses would give us a better shot.

“I don’t know him. Can you please order a room or move on? I don’t want to rush you, but I have other guests to serve,” She murmurs, looking past us at an empty line.

“Other customers that I am sure you will service well,” I say slyly, coming up past Caleb. She becomes speechless. I give a huge smile, and she can’t take her eyes off me, “There is no one behind us.”

I don’t find it at all odd that she’s attracted to me. I’m a handsome man, and I look like a man. Not at all like some of the guys that get manicures and tans. I have eyes the exact hue of clover, and they are very wolf-like. Also, I have a lot of wavy black hair, which tentacles in thick curls.

She watches me run a finger through my hair, and she almost reaches out to touch the sweat from my brow. I do sympathize with her needs. She needs to experience something, everyone else around her seems to take for granted.  Now, darling, where’s Jack?” I smile. It settles in the cleft in my chin.

She sees me as some old Hollywood movie star. “Room 502,” She says it almost like a robot. I’ve never been this good before, but I don’t feel bad about it. We have a job to do and we’re getting it done. We don’t even pause to see if she realizes we’re gone.

We just head towards the elevator. It’s covered in velvet and there are mirrors everywhere. It is very retro and probably an appeal to the tourists.

When the elevator door opens, we’re faced with a long, empty hallway on both sides. I pull my gun from my shoulder holster because something doesn’t feel right. I have learned to trust my intuition. On a job like this, that’s one of the few things you have going for you.