|Am I selfish for living? |

~***~

We enter the hotel parking lot by dusk. The bright lights of the boardwalk behind the hotel illuminates the outer silhouette of the building. There are various odd lights on in the tower in front of us, and I put my bag over my shoulder before looking over at Clyde.

"You ready for this?"

"Not quite," he leans over me and opens his glove department. As it opens, I catch a glimpse of the handcuffs, and the black wallet he used earlier today. He shoves those over, and I see a collection of tapes - one of them being 'Leanne's Mix'. Clyde moves the tapes out of the way, and my jaw drops as he pulls out a pistol and a glasses case. He closes the glove department and opens the glasses case to reveal bullets. Clyde starts putting the bullets into his handgun one at a time with intense focus.

"Holy s***, Clyde. Your glove department's like a f***ing clown car with the amount of surprising s*** you have in there," I stare at the gun in his hand with an aghast expression. Clyde flicks the barrel before clicking it back into place.

Clyde looks over at me and lifts an eyebrow, "I could easily say the same thing about your bag."

"Touchè," I reply, deciding to take off my bag and leave it here, since it may get in the way.

Clyde tucks the gun into the back of his jeans and puts his dull-brown jacket on. He stares at me, not moving from his seat, and I just stare back at him, wondering why the f*** he's just staring at me. Then it hits me, and I pull my gun out and check it for bullets; full barrel. I tuck it in the back of my jean shorts and pull my oversized flannel over it with a stern nod. We both exit the truck and close our doors in sync. It feels like we're in an action movie, but the consequences to come are much more life-threatening. This isn't a movie; this is real life. Everything feels so real and surreal at the same time. I want to look over at Clyde and review all of his features one last time, but I resist the urge.

"Do you know the room number?"

"Four-oh-seven," I reply under my breath as we casually enter the hotel. It smells like chlorine, and it's over air-conditioned. My legs are covered in goosebumps almost immediately after walking in. We walk through the foyer and pass by a fountain big enough to be a kiddie pool in a splash pad water park. We pass the concierge and little shops set up, and head straight to the hotel elevator. Clyde presses the button with the up arrow, and I stare at the bright red light that illuminates from it. I glance over my shoulder while tapping my foot, but my foot stills the moment I see a large group of people entering the hotel. Before I can see who they are, the elevator dings, and we enter it quickly. Clyde presses the level four button and holds the close door button immediately after. The doors close, and we stand still, surprisingly keeping our casual facade going strong.

I watch the numbers change in dread. Two; what could happen up there? Three; somebody could possibly die, and it'd be all my fault. Four; I should be the one who dies. The elevator dings again, and the doors open to the hallway of the fourth floor. We walk out and turn left, following the sign leading us to rooms 400-420. I scan the doors, trying to keep my confidence as if I know what I'm doing. I never truly know what I'm doing. I just go through the motions, hoping I'll make it in the end. It's not too difficult to find room 407, but when we approach it, we both hesitate. The key is in the keyhole, with the door left ajar.

Clyde reaches behind him and pulls out his gun, and I quickly follow suit before nodding to him; encouraging him to open the door. He pushes the door open and eases into the room with his gun aimed and ready to shoot. This isn't his first time holding a gun since his form is perfect. In fact, it's so perfect that I consciously adjust my own form to mirror his, realizing I'd have more control holding it that way. I wonder if Donna taught him how to shoot, or if he learned some other way.

Clyde checks the bathroom to our left, and I continue forward cautiously, my finger ready at the trigger. I look around the bedroom and slowly lower my gun at the vacant view in front of me. Someone was here recently, since the window is left open, and the television is on. I put my gun away while walking around the mattress and eyeing a note on the bed labelled "Desdemona". Clyde walks into the room, and he lowers his gun when he sees me leaning over to pick up the note. I open the folded paper and scan over the familiar handwriting.

"What does it say?" Clyde continues to search the room, holding his gun low, but having it out and ready nonetheless.

"Dear Desdemona, If you're reading this, it means we had to flee last minute. If you follow these clues, you'll be able to find where we'll be going to next," I sit down on the queen bed, "as a child, you'd sing and dance," Clyde stops searching the room and looks over to me, "but at this place you became an adult - you were recruited into the family," I sigh, lowering the paper.

"Is that it?" Clyde tucks his gun into the back of his jeans under his jacket.

I lower my eyes to the paper and continue reading aloud, "come to this place, and you'll find the answers you desire. Love, your mother, Carolyn," I fold the paper up again and flicked my eyes up to the window.

"Your mother's name is Carolyn?" Clyde asks with a confused look.

"Yeah, why?" I look up at him as I tuck the note into my back pocket.

Clyde seems to pivot in his spot, completely uneasy about something, "no reason. It's not important," he runs his hand through his hair, "so, where is this place?"

I sigh, "It's not too far. It's a restaurant here in Hollywood," I reply while standing up slowly. I walk over to the window to close it, but I freeze when I see the parking lot. I gulp the sudden flood of saliva in my mouth as I mechanically close the window and curtains.

"Clyde, no need for alarm, but you may want to look outside right now..." I mumble in a deadpan tone as I walk away from the window; a cold sweat trickling down my spine. Clyde opens the curtains, and the colour in his face vanishes as he sees it.

"F***, we have company," he mutters as he closes the curtains and looks over at me.

"What do we do?" my voice trembles, and I quickly cough it out.

"We, uh," he starts to pace back and forth, lost in thought. Clyde scratches his chin anxiously while his other hand rests on his hip, and his eyes are glued to the carpet. His thoughts are soon interrupted when we hear a ding followed by a stampede of footsteps marching down the halls.

"Sh!t," I hiss under my breath as I rush to the door and grab the key. I glance down the hall and notice a swat team searching the rooms, and then I see him; Agent Benedict. I quickly and quietly close the door and lock it from the inside. I back away from the door and toss the keys on the bed. Clyde turns the tv off and shuts off the lamp to leave us in the dark. I look around frantically as I hear the FBI slowly approaching closer to our room. I suddenly hear them next door, and my eyes stop at the window. I run and open the window, but Clyde pulls me back before I can do anything else.

"Are you crazy‽" he harshly whispers.

I grin, "I thought we've established that already, Clyde," and I peek out the window. "There's a small ledge," I look up at him.

"There's no way in hell --" there's banging on our door, and we look over with our hearts skipping a beat, "on second thought --" I cut him off again by climbing out the window and holding tightly to the windowsill. I lean back ever so slightly and determine that the distance from our window to the next is a few feet. Clyde grabs the collar of my shirt as I start leaning too much, and feel my stomach fall the couple hundred feet below me as I fall into Clyde's grasp. I turn my face to his ear, and feel my cheeks heat up as my nose is brushing against his stubble; I'm not sure if it has to do with our close proximity or pure embarrassment. Maybe both.

"Thanks," I mutter with a weak voice that's almost inaudible under the loud banging. Clyde turns his head, but he cranes his neck back when he suddenly realizes how close our faces are. He clears his throat and nods firmly, allowing me to back away and start sliding along the edge of the building. His hand releases from my back once I'm too far from his reach, and I carefully lean my head to see inside the window next door. The room was empty, and the people are standing in the hall with the door left slightly open. I pray to Judas' God that the window is unlocked as I pathetically reach my left arm out to pull open the window. The window slides open, and the amount of relief I feel eases me enough to crawl through it without thinking about the dangerous free fall under me.

I awkwardly roll into the room head first, hitting the bedside table in the process. I grab the lamp, keeping it from wobbling as I look at the door. Nothing. I somehow managed to get inside completely unnoticed.

I stand up and stare at the front door to double-check that nobody noticed me, before leaning my head out the window. I wave at Clyde to come over, but he furiously shakes his head, silently waving me to go on without him. I shake my head in response, but he gives me the most convincing puppy-dog eyes that get me to roll mine and close the window. I lock it for good measure and quickly look around the room. I decide to tip-toe to the bathroom, but I freeze when I see an agent peeing in the toilet. I grit my teeth animatedly as I take a step back and press myself against the wall as he flushes the toilet. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he doesn't see me. He walks out of the hotel room, and I watch with the most dumbfounded face as I nonchalantly slide into the bathroom. I had on the other side of the door and cover myself with the hanging house coat for extra security. I hold absolutely still as I listen to the conversation in the hallway.

"Is this room clear?" I hear Benedict's voice ask the man who probably just walked out of the bathroom. I inwardly groan, realizing he never washed his hands after using the toilet.

"Yeah, boss."

"Are the windows locked?"

"Hold on," the man enters the room, and I feel my muscles freeze, even though I was already still. He stomps through the room, stops, then stomps back to the hallway, "windows locked, sir."

"Good, let's move on to the next room over --"

"This room's clear," someone farther down the hallway says abruptly.

"Did you check it yourself, Agent?"

"Yes I did," the man replies. I swear his voice sounds familiar, but he's too far away for me to really tell. Maybe it's someone who just sounds like an actor or something. That must be it.

I hear footsteps outside of the room move down the hall, and I grip the housecoat, praying to Judas that they don't catch Clyde. I stand there forever it seems, waiting for the action in this part of the hallway to taper down until it's virtually quiet. I carefully walk out of the bathroom and peek out into the hallway. I notice a clear footing straight to the stairwell since the agents down the hall have their backs to me. I let out a sturdy breath, and make a break for the staircase, mentally apologizing to Clyde for ditching him as I carefully close the door to remain unheard. I quickly hurry down the stairs, and I'm so focused on my feet to not trip that I run right into a man.

F***ing mother of god, why did that happen?

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