The trees pressed in so tightly it felt like the road was being swallowed behind us—whrrr—tires humming over cracked pavement, branches scraping the car like fingers—scrape… scrape—trying to pull us back.
I couldn't stop replaying the message.
Ask yourself who told you to leave.
My chest felt hollow, like something essential had been scooped out and replaced with dread.
Serafin broke the silence. "You didn't run on a whim."
"No," I said. "I remember deciding to go. I remember packing."
"But do you remember why that moment?" he asked.
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
"I remember fear," I said slowly. "Urgency. Like if I stayed another night, something worse would happen."
"To you?" he asked.
I swallowed. "Or because of me."
The road curved sharply—hiss—and Serafin slowed, scanning ahead. A faded sign appeared through the trees.
MOTEL — VACANCY
Two words. One promise.
"We need somewhere to think," he said.
The motel looked abandoned enough to be forgotten but intact enough to function. One-story. Flickering sign—fzzzt—half the letters burned out. A few cars scattered around like they'd been left behind in a hurry.
"This place feels wrong," I muttered.
"Everything feels wrong," Serafin replied, pulling in—crunch—gravel shifting under the tires.
The air smelled like damp pine and old cigarettes. Somewhere, a door slammed—BANG—followed by muffled voices.
We stepped inside the office—ding—a bell announcing us. The clerk looked up slowly, eyes flat, expression bored.
"ID," he said.
Serafin handed it over. The clerk barely glanced at me.
"One night," Serafin said.
The clerk slid a key across the counter—scrape—metal tag heavy, numbered 7.
"No noise," the clerk added. "No trouble."
"We won't," I said, though my voice sounded like a lie.
The door to the room shut behind us—THUD—and the silence that followed felt oppressive. The curtains were drawn. The air stale. The bed untouched.
I sat on the edge, suddenly exhausted. "What if I was told to leave?"
Serafin leaned against the dresser. "By who?"
"That's the question," I said. "What if someone I trusted convinced me it was my idea?"
"You think you were manipulated," he said carefully.
"I think I was protected," I replied. "And that's worse."
My phone buzzed—bzzzzt—once, then again. Unknown Caller.
I laughed bitterly. "Of course."
I answered. "What now?"
The voice came through calm, almost pleased. "You're closer than you realize."
"Did you tell me to leave?" I demanded.
A pause. Then: "You asked for help."
My stomach dropped. "That's not an answer."
"You were breaking," the voice continued. "You couldn't carry it. So you asked for a way out."
"I don't believe you," I said.
"You don't remember," the voice corrected. "There's a difference."
Serafin stepped closer. "You coerced her."
"No," the voice replied. "We gave her options."
"What were they?" I asked, heart pounding.
"Forget," the voice said. "Or be destroyed."
I stood abruptly. "That's not a choice."
"It was the only one that kept you alive," they replied.
The call ended—click.
I stared at the phone, shaking. "They're saying I consented."
Serafin's jaw clenched. "Under duress."
"Still consent," I whispered. "Still my name on the decision."
The room felt smaller suddenly, walls closing in. The air thick.
"What if I asked them to help me forget?" I said. "What if I chose silence?"
Serafin didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was steady. "Then you made the best decision you could with the information you had."
"That doesn't make it right," I said.
"No," he agreed. "But it makes you human."
My phone buzzed again—bzzzzt—this time a message.
You can still choose quiet.
Another followed.
Walk away again. We'll clean up the rest.
I laughed, hysterical this time. "They're offering to erase everything."
Serafin crossed the room. "And if you refuse?"
I stared at the screen.
Then the truth won't just hurt you.
A knock echoed suddenly—KNOCK. KNOCK.—sharp and unexpected.
I froze. "We didn't tell anyone we were here."
Serafin moved in front of me. "Stay back."
Another knock—KNOCK.—harder.
"Housekeeping," a voice called.
Serafin glanced through the peephole. His expression darkened. "It's not housekeeping."
My phone buzzed one last time—bzzzzt.
Time's up.
The knock came again—BANG BANG—angrier now.
Serafin reached for the door chain. "Whatever you choose next—"
"I know," I said, heart pounding. "It changes everything."
The door handle rattled—CLACK CLACK—someone testing it.
I looked at the phone in my hand, then at Serafin.
Silence or truth.
Forgetting or fighting.
And as the door began to open—creeeeeak—
I realized the worst part wasn't choosing to remember.
It was knowing I might have to choose who pays for it.