A Short Story

Who else might turn up in a hotel like this one? And what would their story be? Stories in under 500 words. 

Taylor felt sorry for the man. He’d turned up at 9.45 looking haggard, worn and like he’d been through hell and back. He’d joked that his motel wasn’t an emergency room – maybe he ought to try a mile down the road. Obviously not the right thing to say. Not a joker. He mumbled something intelligible. Taylor put the key on the counter. There was only one reason people came here. Need. It wasn’t a bad place, but it wasn’t the sort of place you had to have ID. “Down the hall, third left.” The guy didn’t look up. Taylor sighed and got off his stool. “Follow me.” There was no point in trying to attempt conversation. The man followed like a child. Taylor wasn’t interested – the man would be gone by tomorrow. He showed him along the dark corridor and into his room. “Bed. Bath. £45 cash.” The man took a leather, monogrammed wallet out of his suit pocket and gave him the cash. Money, or lack of it, was obviously not the reason he was here.

He held the key out to him. “Out by 10.” His glimpse into the man’s life through his wallet made him take a second look. Leather soled shoes, grey pinstripe 3 piece suit, no tie, clean shaven, neat hair. Not the average punter. He backed out of the room but the man didn’t notice. Just stood there staring at his over-polished black leather shoes. The door shut between them and Taylor immediately felt the air change. He paused against the door frame. The man oozed with despair and it was contaminating everything. He needed some fresh air. He stomped back downstairs and went out the back for a fag.

***

Julian registered the door closing with a jerk. He’d registered taking 50 quid out of his wallet for this shit hole of a room. He’d registered the neon sign advertising rooms in its fluorescent flashing blue. He could have gone to his apartment or a decent hotel at least but huge warning signs had flashed up in his head. He needed to distance himself. He couldn’t go where anyone would find him. This had seemed like the perfect option. He’d walked as far as his leather shoes could take him. The tie had been the first thing to go. He’d put it in his pocket. It might come in handy later. The décor lived up to the neon sign’s promise. It was a vacant room. No character. No colour. That was what he was looking for. He’d stepped away from the most colourful day of his life for this? The answer was a resounding yes. He was free. 

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