INFECTION 2.0

~ FOUR ~

Most of the people in the club went about enjoying their evening without paying any notice, or even being aware of the commotion outside. It was commonplace. On any given night, where the hope for romance and easy availability of liquor were combined, there was a good chance that something would happen. Bickering, squabbling, brawling, and out and out free for all fighting was frequent. What Carly knew was, the police car that showed up was there for business, and to her, that meant the fun was about to be sucked from the party.

She disappeared into the restroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She used her fingers to softly pick her tightly curled hair. Grinning as she did so and thinking that the style looked hot on her. From her handbag, she produced a small bottle of body spray and put little sprits on her chest just above the cloth of her tank top.

Carly beamed at Frank as she found him at the end of the bar, but the look he gave her was far less enthusiastic.

He smiled weakly at her, “I don’t know if I have a little jet lag or just if I just shouldn’t have had that last beer, but I’m suddenly not feeling too, well.”

“That’s okay, baby,” her voice was silky and she spoke, “I was going to suggest that we go anyway.”

“You know I want nothing more, but I’m afraid I may not be very much fun.”

“Shhh,” she let her finger press lightly on his lips, “you just let me take care of you tonight.”

She wrapped her arm around his and together they went to his vehicle.

Frank was quiet as they drove. The woman didn’t fail to notice his skin had gone pale. While stopped at a traffic light she reached over and brushed at the sweat that beaded near his temple. He felt cool and clammy.

Less than fifteen minutes from the roadhouse they pulled into the parking lot of a hotel.

“This is home, huh?” Carly asked with an arched eyebrow.

The soldier chuckled, “To cliché? Home is a little soybean farm about two hours away. So, I’m staying here tonight and will go on to see the folks tomorrow.”

The reasons really didn’t matter to Carly. In fact, she found some comfort in being at a hotel rather than an anonymous house or apartment. Here there was no threat of a bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, dishes that hadn’t been washed in days, or bed sheets that had never seen a washing machine. And yes, Carly had gone home with guys that lived in places like that. At least one guy that appeared to have all three.

Together they went through the lobby, up the elevator to the third floor then about halfway down the hall. He stopped long enough to get a plastic card from his wallet and then opened the door. The room was no different than that of thousands of other hotel rooms across the nation. Next to the door was the bathroom. The main room had two double beds, both covered in matching flowery bedspreads that probably no one would buy for their house. There was a dresser along one wall with a TV sitting on top, a small table in the far corner with two padded chairs, and a nightstand between the beds. Simple, clean, perfect.