Ice: Redemption
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5. Room Seven, The Hammlet Motel, EastMill.
Bed?
Shower?
Were the two thoughts going through Philips head as he put the key in the room door and opened it. Other thoughts were trying to claim dominance, the details of last night’s activities.
A dead guy named Lance?
The SUV?
The two dead guys(?) inside of the SUV?
The girl who still had his gun?
“No.” Philips said out loud and looked at the bathroom, then collapsed onto the bed. He fell asleep almost instantly. But it was not a sound sleep. His thoughts continued as dreams. His mind saw the Toyota racing awkwardly down the woods road , no headlights, swerving and sliding in the darkness. He felt the crunching sound as the tiny car scraped across his own car.
1986 Toyota Corolla, 4 door, bucket seats, Motor had a 87 bhp, transmission T50, 6-bolt flywheel, has a higher resale value then other cars of the era because it was featured in many classic Anime series and the “Fast and the Furious” Films.
Dreamtime fast-forwards to the black SUV racing down the same dirt road,
Philips still cannot see who’s inside as the probably illegal tinted glass blocks the occupants. The license plate is also illegal and fake, it looks real enough. Like a government plate, but no real designation on it. Only a low digit number in black digits. 472. The SUV itself was a:
2016 Ford Expedition EL, good solid vehicle. Also had a high resale value but that was because it was a good solid vehicle. But this one did have a leak in the gas tank, maybe from a bullet hole. Which would explain why it exploded so quickly.
Dreamtime jumps again and in his sleep Philips winces as he relives the kick in the nuts. Why does it hurt in the real world when you get kicked in the balls in the dream world? Like falling in the dream world and allegedly dying the real world, or pissing the bed when some jokester pours water on you. Philips didn’t know if either of these things were true but he definitely relived the poke to the nuts. Then something else hit him, mentally: How she was holding his gun, with her left hand supporting the grip with her right.
Philips sat up in the bed, wide awake, “She’s a Cop!” He was covered in several layers of sweat. Looking around the tiny motel room, it took a few seconds to realize where he was. He looked at the clock by the bed: 1:14, it was still light out so he didn’t sleep all day and night.
He shed the rest of his clothes and tried to call Marge’s cousin again. 25 rings before he made it to the shower.
Marge, you steered me wrong….
He welcomed the hot, almost scalding on his skin. The hot stream hit his face and instantly went back to dreamtime, this time he was still awake:
On his back, a damp cloth stretched across his face, several people standing him. His arms were bound, he could not move as they poured a large bucket of water over his face and into his mouth. He could not breathe, he was drowning but he wasn’t. He wanted to die again. The water stopped and they sat him up, he struggled to catch his breath. The room was spinning, he tried see who was doing to him, but it was dark and they kept moving. A man appeared out of the shadows. He saw his own face on the man.
He awoke laying naked at the bottom of the shower, hot water was still hitting him almost scalding him again. The pounding in his head was being matched by a pounding on the motel room door, someone was shouting outside of it. Philips couldn’t make out the words or who it was. He felt like he had dreamed 1,000 dreams ...all at the same time. He had trouble adjusting to the reality, that was this tiny motel room in Northern Maine. He wrapped a towel around himself and approached the door. He could tell it was Jerry now, doing the pounding and the yelling.
“MR….” the door opening cut him off, “...Philips!” Jerry looked down, “Oh, what was you in the shower?”
“What give you that clue?”
“Yeah, well, Marge’s cousin is here… with your rental car.”
“ I didn’t even talk to him” Philips was perplexed.
“Yeah, Marge probably did. He probably brought it down, cause there’s a big storm, coming… 10 or 12 inches….they said.”
“Ok, I’ll be right down. Thanks”
Jerry leaned in the doorway and whispered, “Don’t give him too much money….he’ll just…” and then he made universal sign for Drinking with his thumb pointed towards his mouth and pinky extended,
Philips nodded that he got the message and closed the door.
As he got dressed, he called his wife’s cell number. On the first ring it went to voicemail, “Hello this is Cynthia Maxwell, please leave a----”
He threw the phone on the bed, yet another kick in the nuts, she had already went back to her maiden name.
By the time, Philips got back to the parking lot, the snow was steadily increasing, it appeared a storm was indeed on it’s way. You could feel it in the air. Jerry had followed from the motel lobby and smiled at him when they were looking at the vehicle Marge’s cousin had brought down.
“What? This can’t be it…”
Jerry still smiling at him: “Yeah, it’s a El Camino.”
“I know what is.” Philips spared Jerry what was going through his head:
1970 Chevy El Camino, 2 door 50 horsepower and 500 pound-feet of torque. The biggest flaw in the El Camino especially in a place like Maine is RUST. It’s unique design seemed to hide a lot rust places. But if you got that covered the El Camino has very high resale value because of its unique design.
“How can I drive it like this?” The vehicle was jacked up in the back and chains were wrapped around the two rear tires.
“PeePee says this baby will go anywhere! But don’t go over 50 with those chains on the wheels and I’d stay off the interstate if I was you.”
“Who? What?” Philips was still make sense of Jerry’s words.
“Marge’s cousin, we call him ‘PeePee’ because…”
“Jerry listen to me, I can’t drive this car and I don’t really care why you call him that. Where is he?”
“Ahhhh… He had to get back to his garage or some stupid shit. He said he’d settle up with ya at the end of the week.”
Philip’s headache was not getting any better. He rubbed his forehead and groaned.
“Mr. Philips, you gonna need a vehicle like this. This storm is gonna be a cocka!”
Bed?
Shower?
Were the two thoughts going through Philips head as he put the key in the room door and opened it. Other thoughts were trying to claim dominance, the details of last night’s activities.
A dead guy named Lance?
The SUV?
The two dead guys(?) inside of the SUV?
The girl who still had his gun?
“No.” Philips said out loud and looked at the bathroom, then collapsed onto the bed. He fell asleep almost instantly. But it was not a sound sleep. His thoughts continued as dreams. His mind saw the Toyota racing awkwardly down the woods road , no headlights, swerving and sliding in the darkness. He felt the crunching sound as the tiny car scraped across his own car.
1986 Toyota Corolla, 4 door, bucket seats, Motor had a 87 bhp, transmission T50, 6-bolt flywheel, has a higher resale value then other cars of the era because it was featured in many classic Anime series and the “Fast and the Furious” Films.
Dreamtime fast-forwards to the black SUV racing down the same dirt road,
Philips still cannot see who’s inside as the probably illegal tinted glass blocks the occupants. The license plate is also illegal and fake, it looks real enough. Like a government plate, but no real designation on it. Only a low digit number in black digits. 472. The SUV itself was a:
2016 Ford Expedition EL, good solid vehicle. Also had a high resale value but that was because it was a good solid vehicle. But this one did have a leak in the gas tank, maybe from a bullet hole. Which would explain why it exploded so quickly.
Dreamtime jumps again and in his sleep Philips winces as he relives the kick in the nuts. Why does it hurt in the real world when you get kicked in the balls in the dream world? Like falling in the dream world and allegedly dying the real world, or pissing the bed when some jokester pours water on you. Philips didn’t know if either of these things were true but he definitely relived the poke to the nuts. Then something else hit him, mentally: How she was holding his gun, with her left hand supporting the grip with her right.
Philips sat up in the bed, wide awake, “She’s a Cop!” He was covered in several layers of sweat. Looking around the tiny motel room, it took a few seconds to realize where he was. He looked at the clock by the bed: 1:14, it was still light out so he didn’t sleep all day and night.
He shed the rest of his clothes and tried to call Marge’s cousin again. 25 rings before he made it to the shower.
Marge, you steered me wrong….
He welcomed the hot, almost scalding on his skin. The hot stream hit his face and instantly went back to dreamtime, this time he was still awake:
On his back, a damp cloth stretched across his face, several people standing him. His arms were bound, he could not move as they poured a large bucket of water over his face and into his mouth. He could not breathe, he was drowning but he wasn’t. He wanted to die again. The water stopped and they sat him up, he struggled to catch his breath. The room was spinning, he tried see who was doing to him, but it was dark and they kept moving. A man appeared out of the shadows. He saw his own face on the man.
He awoke laying naked at the bottom of the shower, hot water was still hitting him almost scalding him again. The pounding in his head was being matched by a pounding on the motel room door, someone was shouting outside of it. Philips couldn’t make out the words or who it was. He felt like he had dreamed 1,000 dreams ...all at the same time. He had trouble adjusting to the reality, that was this tiny motel room in Northern Maine. He wrapped a towel around himself and approached the door. He could tell it was Jerry now, doing the pounding and the yelling.
“MR….” the door opening cut him off, “...Philips!” Jerry looked down, “Oh, what was you in the shower?”
“What give you that clue?”
“Yeah, well, Marge’s cousin is here… with your rental car.”
“ I didn’t even talk to him” Philips was perplexed.
“Yeah, Marge probably did. He probably brought it down, cause there’s a big storm, coming… 10 or 12 inches….they said.”
“Ok, I’ll be right down. Thanks”
Jerry leaned in the doorway and whispered, “Don’t give him too much money….he’ll just…” and then he made universal sign for Drinking with his thumb pointed towards his mouth and pinky extended,
Philips nodded that he got the message and closed the door.
As he got dressed, he called his wife’s cell number. On the first ring it went to voicemail, “Hello this is Cynthia Maxwell, please leave a----”
He threw the phone on the bed, yet another kick in the nuts, she had already went back to her maiden name.
By the time, Philips got back to the parking lot, the snow was steadily increasing, it appeared a storm was indeed on it’s way. You could feel it in the air. Jerry had followed from the motel lobby and smiled at him when they were looking at the vehicle Marge’s cousin had brought down.
“What? This can’t be it…”
Jerry still smiling at him: “Yeah, it’s a El Camino.”
“I know what is.” Philips spared Jerry what was going through his head:
1970 Chevy El Camino, 2 door 50 horsepower and 500 pound-feet of torque. The biggest flaw in the El Camino especially in a place like Maine is RUST. It’s unique design seemed to hide a lot rust places. But if you got that covered the El Camino has very high resale value because of its unique design.
“How can I drive it like this?” The vehicle was jacked up in the back and chains were wrapped around the two rear tires.
“PeePee says this baby will go anywhere! But don’t go over 50 with those chains on the wheels and I’d stay off the interstate if I was you.”
“Who? What?” Philips was still make sense of Jerry’s words.
“Marge’s cousin, we call him ‘PeePee’ because…”
“Jerry listen to me, I can’t drive this car and I don’t really care why you call him that. Where is he?”
“Ahhhh… He had to get back to his garage or some stupid shit. He said he’d settle up with ya at the end of the week.”
Philip’s headache was not getting any better. He rubbed his forehead and groaned.
“Mr. Philips, you gonna need a vehicle like this. This storm is gonna be a cocka!”
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© 2019 ldk
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, Back-yard Mechanics, Vehicle makers, Torturers, brands, Motion Pictures, places, events, dreams, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's questionable imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. It was all just a dream.....