Episode 4: Centrellus, Chapters 8-9

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Episode 4: Centrellus, Chapters 8-9

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Chapter 8: The DepartureOneIn the few hours of true sleep she had managed, Hannah’s dreams had been nothing but a replay of sensation from her visit to David—the rough texture of his hands, the solid weight of him, the intoxicating way he had looked at her, the whispered promise of me and you. She had fallen asleep knowing in her heart that she had done the right thing. She knew it from the moment he had opened the door and she crossed the threshold into his room to kiss him. When she eventually gave him one last kiss good night, leaving wasn’t easy, but it was essential. Carter was a small town, and the motel an even smaller section of Carter. But upon returning to her room, exhaustion captured her and dragged her down into sleep.The knock didn’t start as a sound. It started as a vibration in the floorboards, a tremor that traveled up the bed frame and into her bones. Then it resolved into a sharp, percussive bang-bang-bang against the flimsy motel door, tearing through the fragile peace like a gunshot.Her eyes flew open. The room was still dark, the pre-dawn light a weak gray smear at the edges of the blinds. For one disoriented second, she thought it was David. That he needed to see her again. She smiled at the idea.Then a voice, sharp and imperious, sliced through the wood. “Hannah. Open up. Now.”Edgar.The warmth vanished, sucked out of the room by a sudden, arctic vacuum. The pleasant ache in her muscles turned to a cold dread. Her heart, so full and quiet moments before, began to slam against her ribs. She fumbled for the bedside lamp, her fingers clumsy with sleep and shock. The light that bloomed was harsh, clinical, exposing the rumpled sheets, her engagement ring sitting alone on the night stand.“Hannah!” The knock came again, harder this time, the door rattling in its frame.She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold linoleum. She grabbed her robe, tying it with shaking hands as she moved to the door. She didn’t open it. He knew.It was impossible, but somehow, Edgar knew that Hannah had cheated on him with David only a few hours ago.You’re being paranoid, she told herself. Edgar had no way of knowing such a thing. Right?She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, then with a sigh, undid the security chain and opened it.Edgar stood there, his face tight, his eyes darting nervously around the deserted motel parking lot. The faint, metallic tang of dew hung in the cool morning air. “We need to leave. Now,” he said, his voice a low, urgent rasp.Hannah blinked, her mouth dry. “What? Where?”“No time to explain. Just pack a bag. Everything you need. Now.” His hand hovered near her arm, a silent prod.The urgency in his voice sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. She could hear the distant rumble of a delivery truck on the highway—a sound that usually lulled her back to sleep—now a sharp, unsettling intrusion. Her breath hitched. “But… my dad, David…”S**t. Did she just say David? But Edgar didn’t notice.“No time,” Edgar repeated, his gaze fixed on something beyond her shoulder. “We’re already pushing it.” He turned slightly, the faint rustle of his jacket cutting through the stillness. “Grab what you can, and let’s go. You can call your Dad from the car.”Hannah’s mind raced, a whirlwind of unanswered questions and a growing sense of dread. The air felt charged, thick with an unspoken threat. She grabbed her backpack, the worn canvas rough against her fingers, and a light jacket. As she stepped out of the room, she followed Edgar to the car, the gravel crunching under her feet.As they pulled onto the highway, the rising sun cast long, distorted shadows across the empty landscape. Hannah stared out the window, her gaze fixed on the receding motel. The sense of unease settled deep in her stomach, a cold, hard knot. She didn’t turn to Edgar, instead focusing on the blurry landscape. Why was he so nervous? What was he hiding? She resolved to discover the truth, no matter the cost.TwoThree hours after Edgar had briskly ushered Hannah from the motel, David woke. Unaware of what occurred while he slept, he stretched. A low groan of contentment escaped his lips, the lingering scent of Hannah clinging to the rough motel sheets. The night before replayed in his mind, a vivid tapestry of sensations: Hannah’s soft touch, the warmth of her kiss, the way her eyes, a deep, shimmering blue, had met his with such tender intensity.The memory of their kiss sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, the phantom feeling of her lips still tingling against his. The air had been thick with unspoken emotions, the only sound the soft rustle of the thin motel curtains and their hushed whispers. He could almost feel the delicate pressure of her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the soft, floral scent of her hair filling his senses. The way she had whispered his name, a breathy, almost reverent sound, echoed in his ears. The softness of her skin ...

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