The Inn Between (7 page)

Quinn walks briskly. The maples and oaks lining the street are bare. Their branches stretch across the sky like cracks in a mirror. She thinks she hears footsteps behind her. The fine hairs on her neck prickle. She shouldn't be walking home alone. She breaks into a light jog, but when she glances over her shoulder, she relaxes. There's no one there.

Halfway to her house, Quinn passes the park. The swings hang silent and still. The play structure is a dark and empty shell. She doesn't notice the splash of bright orange lying on the ground next to the slide.

The front door is locked. The lights are out. Quinn rings the doorbell again and again. No one answers.

“Emma! Let me in!”

With each second that passes Quinn gets more and more frustrated. Emma's goofing around. She's trying to bug Quinn. She'll probably jump out and yell Boo! Quinn is in no mood for games.

She makes a fist and pounds as hard as she can. The old door rattles. “Emma! Come on! It's cold out here.”

In the distance, headlights approach. The hum of an engine grows loud. Tires turn into the driveway, and for a moment Quinn's caught in the lights. They illuminate her briefly, then slide past and shine on the garage. They switch off.

Now Emma's done it. Mom's home. Quinn has nowhere to hide. She's caught. Her mother will find out everything and tell her father. She'll be grounded for sure. Emma should have let her in. If Quinn had made it inside even with seconds to spare, her parents would never have known she'd been late—never have known she'd been cheating on an assignment.

Quinn pounds frantically on the door, even though she knows it's too late. Her mother is already out of the car. Quinn stares at the walkway like a prisoner awaiting her executioner.

Emma is so going to pay for this. It's all her fault. Quinn will take back the purple hoodie she gave Emma—the one Emma begged her for all last year. Plus, she won't let Emma come with her and Kara to the movies on Friday—that is, if she's still allowed to go.

“What are you doing out here?” says her mother, lugging her purse and briefcase. “Why do you have your backpack? Where's Em?”

Exactly. Where is Emma?

Quinn stutters and stammers, trying to find an excuse. “I-I was … It's just … we were … I…”

The pressure is too great. The dam Quinn built to hold back her emotions bursts. Tears gush down her cheeks, and in choked sobs she tells her mother about the copied assignment. About having to stay late. “I-I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

Her mother frowns. “You're in big trouble, Quinn. And so is Emma. Why didn't she wait for you? She's not supposed to walk alone. Neither are you, especially in the dark.”

Quinn drags a sleeve across her face. She has something to say. She wants to tell her mother—she should tell her—but instead Quinn's jaw clenches and her eyes narrow. She wants Emma to get in trouble. It will be payback for not opening the door. Payback for being so perfect.

Quinn's mother continues her lecture as she fishes for the key and opens the door. “How could you? I've always taught you to be honest. Why didn't you just ask for more time?”

The house is dark. Quinn's mother switches on the light and calls for Emma but there's no answer. She tells Quinn to go upstairs and look for her sister—maybe she's in the bathroom. Maybe she's listening to music with her headphones and can't hear.

Quinn lets her backpack drop. She kicks off her shoes and marches up the stairs. She wants to find Emma first—to tell her off. She is happy Emma's going to get in trouble. She wants to be the one to tell her.

Quinn doesn't find Emma. Not in the room they share. Not in the bathroom. She checks the basement. And the yard. Emma's coat is missing. So is her backpack. Emma never made it home.

 

11

T
HE STAIRCASE LED TO A NARROW BALCONY
overlooking the lower lobby. To the right, a set of French doors opened onto a terrace. A plaque above the doors read
Pool
. In the opposite corner was the gift shop. Quinn stepped inside.

The space was tight and dark, more like an oversize closet. She was sure it had been nothing more than a storage room at some point.

An odd collection of junk cluttered tall shelves. Aside from the usual things you might expect to find—gum, chocolate, Band-Aids, T-shirts, earplugs, batteries—there were also candles, ceramic toads, dragons and three-headed dogs, swords, arrows, chunks of crystal, paper butterflies, dream catchers, and bathing suits.

“I am not wearing this,” said Josh, holding out baby-blue shorts with white fluffy clouds and pink sheep.

“You don't have much choice,” said Kara, dangling a white tankini with red polka dots. “At least you won't look like you have the measles.”

The only thing in Quinn's size was a neon-green one-piece with a frilly skirt attached—the kind grandmas with varicose veins and saggy skin wore. She was surprised it didn't come with a matching bathing cap covered in rubber tulips. “I think I'd rather have the measles,” she sighed.

An elderly man sat behind a small counter. Kara handed him the room key. He made note of the number and the items on a pad of yellowing paper.

“Where should we change?” Quinn asked Kara.

The man pointed a bony finger. “Change rooms by the pool. Towels are complimentary. Refreshments, too.”

“I love complimentary!” said Josh.

Kara frowned. “Maybe we should go to the room. Maybe Mom and Dad are back.”

“We were just at the front desk. Phony would have told us,” said Quinn.

Kara looked puzzled. “Phony?”

“The clerk—Persephone. She's so fake.”

Kara leaned in close as though sharing a secret. “They're all a bit weird around here.”

Quinn grinned. “You noticed?”

They left the tiny shop and followed the balustrade toward the open doors. The terrace was blindingly bright—a huge contrast to the dimly lit hotel. Quinn had to shield her eyes until they adjusted. The searing heat hit her at the same time and she realized just how comfortable it had been in the cool hotel.

The pool was an enormous rectangle in the middle of a cobblestone courtyard filled with chairs and chaise lounges. A few were occupied. Most were empty.

For the first time Quinn got a better sense of the structure of the hotel. It rose up on all sides surrounding the pool. There were more floors than she'd thought. Five. Maybe seven. Every time she tried she'd lose count, and it was tough looking up into the bright sunlight. Though she'd seen the front of the hotel that one time—and it was late and dark and they had all been exhausted—its size still shocked her.

To the right was the women's cabana. Quinn grabbed two fluffy white towels from a trolley as she entered.

She slipped into the neon-green one-piece and grimaced. She'd have died a thousand deaths if she were caught in one of these back home. She told herself it didn't matter who saw her here. She'd never see any of these people again.

Kara looked slightly better in her measly suit. They pointed at each other and laughed. Quinn stopped short when she saw the bruises.

“What happened?” she asked, pointing to Kara's arms and legs.

Kara seemed as amazed as Quinn to see the purple blotches. She touched a spot on her upper arm and winced. “I don't know. I guess I bumped into something.”

“You should be more careful,” said Quinn. Kara smiled and nodded.

Earlier that morning Quinn had felt stiff and sore. As she slathered on sunscreen, she moved her arms, her neck—the soreness was fading. Hopefully Kara's bruises would heal as quickly.

When both were ready, they stepped outside. Josh had organized a group of chaise lounges under a large umbrella. “Ha!” he said when they got near. “You guys look hilarious.”

“Baa, baa, black sheep,”
sang Kara, tossing her towel onto a chair.

Josh's grin fell. “Very funny,” he grumbled. Then he perked up. “Hey, listen—we can have lunch here. They've got hot dogs and fries.” He pointed to a kiosk at the far end of the pool.

Quinn rolled her eyes and sank into a chaise. “I swear, there's something wrong with you.”

Josh left his towel and clothes on his own chaise and headed for the water. Kara followed. They hobbled over hot cobblestones. Josh jumped into the water first, making a huge splash. Kara slipped in after him.

“Hot, eh?” said a gravelly voice.

Startled, Quinn looked up to see the guy with the faux-hawk hovering over her. She took a deep breath, relieved it wasn't the man with the ball cap.

He sat down in the empty chaise beside her. He wore a light blue bathing suit with yellow umbrellas. He must have gotten it from the gift shop. It seemed out of place on a body with so many tattoos. He held a tall glass of water with a lemon wedge stuck on the rim. “Nice place. Relaxing.”

Quinn smiled and nodded.

“They could use some cooler bathing suits, though.” He chuckled.

“Yeah.” Quinn laughed nervously, smoothing down her neon-green skirt.

He took a long-drawn sip through a pink straw. “Name's Rico. What's yours?”

“Quinn.”

He took his lemon slice, squeezed it, and plopped it into his glass. “So, Quinn. Who sent you?”

She wrinkled her brow. “Sent me?”

“To this hotel. For rest. That's why you came, isn't it?”

“Nobody sent us,” she said. “We just stopped here. On our way.”

Rico glanced around at the building and the pool. “Funny thing. I was at this party. I guess things got out of hand. Next thing I knew, I was here and they were telling me to relax. Enjoy myself.”

Quinn kept silent as Rico told her about how he'd been in trouble a few times, but that this time his parents had probably had enough and sent him to this place to get straightened out.

“Quinn!” called Kara. “Come on!”

Quinn scrambled to her feet, relieved to get away from the awkward conversation.

Rico got up as well. “See you around.”

She fanned her fingers. “Sure.”

Quinn took a few steps and the soles of her feet were on fire. She raised her toes and walked on her heels all the way to the pool. Lowering herself onto the cement edge, she dipped her feet into the cool water.

The pool shimmered like a great blue jewel. The water was clean and fresh. No sharp smell of chlorine bit her nostrils like it did at other public pools. Perhaps it was salt water.

“Who was that?” asked Kara.

“Some guy,” said Quinn, glancing over her shoulder. Rico was halfway to the hotel doors.

Sunlight danced on the tips of waves as they lapped and swashed gently against her shins. She gripped the pool's edge with both hands, pushed off, sinking beneath the glassy surface.

The world around her disappeared. Silence closed in on her as she sank deeper and deeper. For a moment Quinn forgot where she was. For a moment everything washed away—her fear, her worry, the constant pain of not knowing. And for a moment—just a moment—she thought she heard Emma's voice.

Quinn opened her eyes.

Light rippled downward from the surface, casting distorted shadows into the depths. Kara's body was high above. Quinn could see her legs gently paddling. Below, the water was dark. Bottomless.

Quinn's gaze ran the length of the pool. At the far end, a shadow rose. It seemed to have a human form, but it cut through the water sleek and fast like nothing human could.

Panic pressed the oxygen from Quinn's lungs. Bubbles exploded from her nostrils. The shadow torpedoed toward her. Whatever it was, it was after her.

Quinn thrust her body upward. She made it halfway to the surface when an icy hand grabbed her left ankle. She kicked and flailed but the grip only tightened.

Quinn's chest throbbed. She needed air. Soon she'd have to take a breath. If she didn't make it to the surface, she'd be sucking in water. She twisted and writhed, desperate to free herself, searching frantically for Kara, but everything was lost in the rippling shadows of the water that now seemed murky and green. Whatever had her leg began dragging her down.

Quinn flapped her arms harder. Her lungs were screaming for air. She'd have to open her mouth. She couldn't wait any longer. Then with a final burst of strength she kicked wildly and furiously with her right foot. Her heel struck something hard and she was suddenly free.

She propelled upward, her arms and legs pumping and pushing against the water as heavy as cement. Her body ached under the strain, but she managed to break through the surface, sputtering and gasping for air. She didn't stop until she found the pool's edge.

Placing her palms flat on the stone, Quinn hoisted herself out of the water and onto her knees. She sat sucking in great gulps of air, searching over her shoulder for the shadowy figure. All she saw was clear blue water and lacy patterns of flickering light.

Kara swam toward the edge. “What's up?”

“You're not going to make us leave the pool like you did the restaurant, are you?” Josh sighed.

Quinn searched the water. She couldn't understand it. She'd seen that shadow. She'd felt its icy grip. It had tried to drown her. She desperately wanted to tell Kara what she'd seen—what she'd felt—but what could she say? The glassy blue water was calm and serene. There was no shadowy figure lurking there now. Kara and Josh were the only people in it. Quinn wasn't sure she'd believe her own story.

“What's wrong?” asked Kara.

“I-I don't know,” she stammered. “I just needed air. I must have gone too deep.”

Kara glanced at Josh. She put her hands on the pool's edge and then slung her arms over it. “But,” she said softly, gingerly, as if Quinn were a glass figurine, easily broken, “the pool's only six feet deep.”