
Cottage Terrace Inn, Room 205
You cover the child's ear with your hand. You repeat to yourself that whoever it is at the door, they don't know you, they don't know who you are, they don't know what you've done.
You tell yourself that the person at the door will certainly leave eventually.
There is another knock. Minutes later, there is another knock. You look fearfully from the sleeping boy to the motel door.
You take quick but unsteady steps toward the door. You practically tiptoe, not wanting to make a sound. You peer out of the peephole.
You have trouble seeing the person out there, a small person in dark colors. Maybe a woman.
"That's just what they want to do," you whisper to yourself. "Trick me into opening the door for someone like that--"
"Can I come in?" the person outside the door days.
It sounds like a woman and somehow strange. You cover your mouth with your hands.
"Can I come in?" the person repeats.
You decide to:
or
.
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