Fan Fiction ❯ The Last Tear ❯ Part Four ( Chapter 4 )

Malcolm opened the door to his downtown motel room and stood back to let a freezing cold and dripping wet Amarette get inside first. As soon as she was in, he followed, shutting the door and heading for the bathroom.

Out of courtesy, Amarette stood near the entrance so she wouldn't get water on the floor or furniture. Really what she wanted to do was sink down onto the living room sofa. Shivering, Amarette began to remember fondly the hot shower she had had earlier that day.

Malcolm came out of the bathroom with a few towels and a set of jeans and a t-shirt. "Here," he said, handing them to her in an almost embarrassed manner. "You should get out of those wet clothes soon, or you'll get pneumonia. Sorry if these are too big, they're the smallest set of clothes I could find in my bag."

Not really listening to Malcolm's babbling, Amarette grabbed the things he handed her and mumbled, "Thanks," as she shuffled to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Looking in the mirror, she nearly laughed at the sight of herself.

She looked like a rat that had been drown, saved, then drown again. Her skin was so white with cold that it had a frosty blue tinge to it, making her dark blue eyes look black. The blue skin underneath the clinging wet black shirt and silver necklaces made her look comically gothic. Amarette began to giggle, until she started sneezing uncontrollably. She went over to the shower and turned on the hot water.

Malcolm quickly tidied the motel room while Amarette battled with death by cold in the shower. Unlike Amarette's squeaky-clean apartment, Malcolm's motel room was kind of thrashed. There were miscellaneous motorcycle and dirty magazines in the bedroom, empty soda cans in the living room, and clothes everywhere.

He was just finishing the front room when he heard the bathroom door open. Turning, he saw Amarette standing in the doorway holding her wet clothes.

"What do I do with these?" she asked, hitching up the ridiculously large pair of jeans that kept threatening to fall from her hips.

"Uh...over there," Malcolm responded, gesturing to a poll that sat in front of a heating vent.

Amarette hung her clothes on the poll, holding Malcolm's jeans up as she walked. "Do you have a belt I could use?" she asked.

"Why?" he asked cluelessly. Amarette just pulled up the jeans' waist to her chest for explanation. Malcolm laughed. "Oh. Oops. Sorry, I don't think I have a belt with me. I never had need of one," he said, still chuckling.

Amarette frowned, finding less humor in the situation than he apparently did. Hitching up the pants again, she asked, "Rope? Twine? Floss even?"

Laughing even harder, Malcolm went into his bedroom and came back out with a length of chain. "This is all I could find."

Amarette's eyes widened as she took the cold metal links in her hands. "I'm not even going to ask what you're doing with this," she said.

"It's not what you think!" Malcolm almost choked. "I wear it when I'm working."

"What do you do? Strip at the gay bar we passed on the way here?" she asked as she looped the chain around her slim waist three times, hanging the excess foot from her hip. Looking at herself in full, she made a semi-repulsed face. "I look like one of those tomboy punks that sell drugs."

"You don't look that bad," Malcolm laughed. "Help me clean up so we can leave early tomorrow."

Nodding, Amarette began to pick up the papers that were scattered all over the front room. Towards the end of her cleaning, something caught her eye. It was a thick black Bible that seemed to be very old. Its leather bindings were cracked from being read so many times, and the pages were yellowed with use and age.

Amarette reached out to pick it up, when Malcolm's hands beat her to it. Looking up, Amarette got the distinct feeling that he wanted to yell, "Don't touch that," or something of the like.

She shrugged and stood up, observing the room. The Bible had been the last thing to get put away. It was almost a surprise to discover that the motel room had furniture.

"Are you very religious?" Amarette asked as she padded over to the heater to check her clothes.

"That's kind of a personal question, don't you think?" he responded as he went into the bathroom to change.

Shrugging, Amarette turned away from her still sodden clothes. "I suppose. However it looks like I'm going to be hanging around with you, at least for a while. We might as well get to know each other," she said while absently flipping through a motorcycle magazine.

"Oh yeah," he started; coming out of the bathroom in a dry duplicate of the clothes he had just removed. "Why were those guys after you? Are you, like, a fugitive or something?" he asked as he hung his clothes next to hers.

Sighing, Amarette tossed the magazine onto the table. "Or something. I'm a runaway. My dad is richer than Bill Gates and has been paying large sums of money to anyone and everyone he can to try and track me down," she explained.

"Wow. Sounds like he cares about you very much," Malcolm commented thoughtfully.

Amarette let a bitter chuckle pass her lips before saying, "More like he cares about his reputation. If he doesn't seem like a good and loving father, it's very bad PR."

"So it's like that huh?" Malcolm asked, taking a seat next to Amarette on the couch.

As soon as he was seated, Amarette got up to wonder absently away from him and the couch. "Pretty much," then she turned to him. "Your turn. Are you very religious?"

Looking up at the ceiling with thought-clouded eyes, Malcolm's response was, "Sometimes there is nothing to my life but God."

"What about you?" he asked, tilting his head so that his bright green eyes locked onto Amarette, reminding her of a hawk.

"What about me what?" she deftly avoided the question.

"Are you very religious?" Malcolm persisted, his emerald eyes following her movements around the room.

"No," she said simply, checking her clothes again.

Malcolm's eyes narrowed. "But you do believe in God, don't you?" he tried again; gesturing to the various crosses she wore around her neck.

Looking down at he silver ornaments that she always wore, Amarette thought carefully on her answer. "It depends," she said finally.

"On what?" questioned Malcolm, watching Amarette with intent expectancy.

Amarette raised her head and looked Malcolm straight in the eye. "On whether or not God believes in me."

Turning away, Malcolm's eyes darkened. His only response was "Oh."

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