Who: Devon Close & Elaine Bishop What: Shh, be very very quiet, I'm hunting wolves. When: Monday Afternoon Where: Next Express Motel Status: Closed, incomplete
It had been a few days since Devon had come across a ghost of his past. He had been happy to see Violet at Jack Quinn’s, but hadn’t intended on the reunion quite as it had happened. Even though he had promised to keep in touch with her, he hadn’t thought on further of it. She had a pack she was a part of and he, he was fine without one.
He had been staying at the motel for some time, getting used to the late night drunks and noises that always seemed to surround the dilapidated business. They would come banging on his door at the peak hours of the morning and would only stop after he’d growled at them. The motel’s locks were never secure enough, but he figured if he got robbed, it wasn’t any skin off his nose. His possessions were buried elsewhere and he lived too frugally to care if he needed to replace some thing or not. No one questioned his comings and goings and because of the cheap rent, he had been saving enough for the future, in case he did run into any pack trouble.
Coming from a job where he had to first bring in flowers from the local florist, a woman he had had small talk with for a number of weeks now, and plant them along the outer ridge of the historic society’s garden, he was set to pass out for the day. Crossing the parking lot where a speckle of cars had been parked, he walked to a halt several feet in front of his door. His mouth twitched and he dropped down to re-lace his work boots. A car parked several yards off to his left had seemed familiar and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being washed. Taking his time with his boots, he finally straightened up and fished for his keys in his pocket. He used the time to try to hear any thing unusual but found it clear. Still, some thing felt wrong. Slipping the card into the cardlock, he waited for the green light to clear him in. Once lit, he turned the handle and walked in. A small spring sounded to the left of him and twine snapped apart as he stared at an aerosol can directly in front of him. The boobytrapped level pulled against the trigger and sprayed his face with cold liquid. Stunned at first, Devon stood infront of his door until the burning sensations enveloped him and he held his palms at bay in case he rubbed it. He yelled out. Squinting and unable to tolerate it, he groped for the bathroom and the facet. Turning it on, he splashed the cool water across his face, willing himself to open his eyes.