B&B, Page 2

  Her voice trails off.

  “You get the idea,” she mumbles. “There are biscuits too.”

  “Is that the bathroom?” I ask, spotting a glass-paneled door behind her.

  She turns and looks at it for a moment, before turning back to me and nodding. Again, her bandages rustle.

  “Okay, thanks,” I continue, forcing another smile. I wait a moment, hoping she'll take the cue and go back downstairs, but finally I realize she seems content to simply stand out there on the landing and watch me. “Goodnight, then,” I add, before gently swinging the door shut.

  I wait.

  Silence.

  Thank God that's over, although after a moment I realize I haven't heard her move anywhere, which means she might actually still be out there, just staring at my door. This is quite possibly the weirdest situation I've ever been in, in my whole life. I don't want to pull the door open again and check, so I stay completely still and listen, hoping against hope that I'll hear her walking away. The thought of her eyes still fixed on the door, staring out from behind her bandages, makes me feel extremely uneasy. Finally, figuring that I can't just go to bed without making sure she's gone, I crouch down and peer through the keyhole.

  She's there.

  Of course she is.

  After a moment, however, she turns and hurries away, and I hear her rushing back down the stairs. A few seconds later, I hear a door slamming shut on the ground floor, which I guess means she must have retired to her little office to sleep or be weird or do whatever else she does in that room of hers.

  I wait, and now the B&B is silent again.

  In fact, it's so quiet, I could almost believe there are no other guests.

  Stepping back from the door, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is what I needed. Tonight's the night I finally make a decision. I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of money, and I count the notes as I head over to the bed. Slipping out of my jacket, I unzip the pockets on either side and take out the main wads, and I spend a couple of minutes making absolutely sure that I've kept track of my spending today. Once that nightly ritual is done and dusted, I divide the wads into their standard piles and put them where they belong, and then I unzip the suitcase and pull the lid open.

  After moving my neatly-folded clothes aside, I check that the rest of the money is still sealed inside the Tesco bags, and then I take out the cloth satchel and unbutton it at one end. Sure enough, the rest of the money is still in its little bundles, completely untouched. I could count it again, of course, but I force myself to accept that everything's fine. I still have more than 95% of the cash, and so far I've used even less each day than I expected. I'm beating my budget. Then again, I know I shouldn't let myself get too comfortable. This can't last forever and I need a better plan.

  And I need it by the time I wake up in the morning. Hopefully I can sleep on things and come up with something. I have to.

  As I zip the suitcase shut again, I feel as if I just want to get my aching bones into bed. I've been waiting all day for this moment, and now the crisp white sheets are ready for me. I've been promising myself that tonight I'll figure out what to do, and that tomorrow morning I'll have a whole new plan. All I have to do is get undressed, climb into bed, and figure it all out.

  I stand completely still, staring at the sheets.

  What am I waiting for?

  Sniffing the air, I suddenly realize that I'm pretty sweaty. In fact, I think I can actually smell my armpits, and I'd kinda like to get clean before I slide into these fresh sheets. I can get into bed after I've showered and there'll be plenty of time to come up with a plan. I just need to shower first. Even though I'm exhausted, I reach back into the suitcase and retrieve my toiletry bag, and then I grab the towels that have been left folded neatly on the bottom of the bed. I'll just go use the bathroom and take a quick shower, and then I can climb into this big clean bed and try to think of a plan, and then I can get some sleep.

  And in the morning, I'll have a plan. And then -

  Wait, am I just delaying?

  I'm delaying.

  I should get into bed and come up with a new plan.

  Then again, it does make sense to take a shower first.

  For a moment, I feel a flurry of panic in my chest. Real fear.

  No, I'm not delaying.

  I'm just gonna have a shower, and then I'll come up with a new plan. That makes total sense.

  After making sure that I've got the key with me, I carry my stuff out to the empty landing. The light is off in the bathroom, so I figure I won't be disturbed. Turning, I pull the door shut and make doubly sure that it's locked, and then I head over toward the bathroom.

  Stopping suddenly, I see that the bathroom light is now on. Not only that, but there's a woman standing outside the door, wearing a thick white dressing gown and holding a rolled-up towel in her hands. Turning to look at me, she stares for a moment before a big grin spreads across her lips.

  “Well there you are, honey!” she says, patting a patch of floral wallpaper next to her. “Come on, quick! Get in line!”

  Two

  “I'm sorry,” I stammer, trying not to look too startled, “I thought...”

  Before I can finish, I hear the sound of someone splashing in the bath. I'm not entirely sure how, but in the blink of an eye it seems that not only is the bathroom occupied, but there's also someone waiting to go in next. Still, at least now I know there are other guests here at the B&B tonight.

  “I can do this in the morning,” I continue, “I just -”

  “Nonsense,” the woman says, as her smile grows. She's older than me, maybe in her late thirties or even early forties, but her smile seems very genuine and she has that kinda happy-go-lucky look about her that I've always envied in other people. She looks like she smiles without having to think about it first. “Come on,” she adds, “don't fret, I won't be long in there. And trust me, I've been staying here long enough by now to know that there's never not a queue. If you wanna get into that bathroom any time in the next twenty-four hours, you'd better get your butt over here and stake your spot. Otherwise, you'll just have to stink!”

  I open my mouth to reply, but I'm honestly not quite sure what to say.

  “Oh, look at you,” she laughs. “Like a deer in the headlights. It's okay, I won't bite. I just came out to freshen up before bed, while my husband dozes in our room. I don't mean to complain, but I think it's just a little bad that there are twelve bedrooms in this place but only one bathroom. You should see the rush in the mornings. Everyone's in a hurry, trying to get in and pee and brush their teeth.” She lets out a long, rather theatrical sigh. “Still, I guess that's progress for you. Back in the day, this place was run much better, it was all -”

  She pauses, and then she smiles.

  “Well, I don't want to badmouth anyone,” she adds, “but between you and me, this B&B has rather gone downhill since the old days. I mean, look at the place, it's not exactly looking its best!” She slaps the wall. “Now come over here and claim your spot before somebody else comes and jumps in ahead of you. My name's Jude, by the way. I didn't catch yours.”

  She waits expectantly, and I quickly realize that I can't just shrink away.

  “Bobbie,” I say cautiously. “Roberta, but... People call me Bobbie.”

  “Well come on then, Bobbie,” she continues, tapping the wall again. “We're British. Let's queue!”

  I really just want to go back into my room, but I also need to use the toilet and I guess I should probably get in line. Heading across the landing, with my towels and toiletry bag clutched in my hands, I force a smile as I realize that this Jude woman seems to be watching my every move. I guess I'm just letting my usual unease get the better of me, so I lean back against the wall and try to act normal. After a moment, I find myself staring at the window on the far side of the landing, and watching as snow falls harder than ever.

  “Are you okay there, honey?” Jude asks finally.

  I turn to h
er.

  “Oh, your face,” she continues, evidently finding me pretty amusing. “What's up? First time away from home by yourself?”

  “No,” I reply quickly. Maybe too quickly. “I mean -”

  “Are you all alone tonight,” she continues, “or are you with your parents? Or do you have a hunky boyfriend hidden away in your room?”

  “I'm alone,” I stammer, although I quickly look down at my feet as I realize I might be about to blush. I hate the way I blush so easily.

  In the bathroom, someone is still splashing about in the bath, and maybe even humming very quietly.

  “Well, I envy you,” Jude continues. “Sorta. Kinda. It must be nice to be free.”

  I take a deep breath. If only she knew.

  “Then again,” she adds, “I wouldn't trade my husband in for anyone else in the world. He's the kinda guy you can rely on, you know? Ever had a boyfriend like that?”

  I shake my head.

  “There's a lot to be said for dependability,” she mutters. “You want a solid man, not someone who fades away at important moments. Plus, with the world the way it is, a woman can't really afford to be out alone. Especially not here. Especially not now. Canterbury's such a lovely city, but you wouldn't catch me walking the streets after dark, not by myself. It's just not safe.”

  I turn to her, confident now that any blushing is over.

  “It seems nice to me,” I tell her, feeling slightly proud of myself for managing to sustain a normal conversation.

  “Are you insane?” she asks.

  I swallow hard. That didn't go well.

  “Did you hear that?” she asks suddenly, turning and looking toward the window.

  I listen, but all I hear is the sound of someone still splashing about in the bath.

  “You heard it, right?” she continues, with a hint of fear in her voice. “Footsteps!”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Maybe I'm going crazy,” she mutters, “but -”

  She stops again, and this time I think maybe I did hear someone outside.

  “You heard them that time, right?” Jude asks. “Come on, you're not deaf. I know you heard what I heard.”

  She steps past me and heads over to the window, where she stops for a moment and looks out at the snow.

  Whoever's in the bathroom, their humming is a little louder now.

  “Don't let the pretty cathedral fool you,” Jude says finally as she looks out at the street. “I know it's fashionable for young women these days to wanna prove themselves, to act all tough, but take my advice. Don't risk it. All the stories you've heard about this place are true. All of them. Maybe there's been some exaggeration in the media. Maybe. But I've been here long enough to overhear a lot of talk, and from what I hear the basics of it all are true. This really is a city you don't wanna go wandering around in, especially late at night in the dark. Especially when it's snowing.”

  “I kind of like the snow,” I tell her.

  “Sure. Until you bleed all over it. Until you get your throat slit open.”

  I pause, convinced that I must have heard her wrong. “I beg your pardon?” I ask finally.

  She turns to me. “You do know about it all, right?” she asks cautiously. “Please, tell me you know the story about what's going on here. About why you shouldn't go out at night. I mean, come on, it might look like a picture postcard out there but...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “Well, stone the crows,” she adds after a moment, “you really don't know, do you?”

  “This is my first time in Canterbury,” I tell her. “I just got off the train here because...”

  Now it's my turn to fall silent. I can't possibly explain my thought process. This woman seems nice, but she'd hate me if she knew what I'd done.

  “And you haven't been watching the news?”

  “Not really,” I reply.

  In fact, I've been specifically avoiding the news. The last thing I want to see is my own face being broadcast.

  “Oh, honey.” She rolls her eyes. “It's him, you know? The guy with the weather fixation.”

  I wait for her to continue. “I'm sorry,” I say finally, “but I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  She smiles as she turns and looks back out the window.

  “They call him the Snowman,” she says after a moment.

  “The Snowman?”

  “On account of how he only kills when it's snowing outside.”

  I stare at her for a moment, wondering whether she's serious.

  “It's all true,” she continues. “No-one knows who he is or why he does it, but the stories are definitely true. He doesn't seem to ever kill any other time, but whenever it snows in this city, he goes out and takes himself another victim. Regular as clockwork.”

  I watch as snow drifts past the window, and after a moment I look down toward the dark alley below.

  “Some people think it's because of a psychological problem,” she adds. “Like, maybe something bad happened to him one year when it was snowing, and now he's tortured by the memory of it all. Other people think maybe he uses the snow somehow, like it's part of a ritual.” She pauses. “But that's not what it is. Oh no. He just can't stand all the white.”

  I wait for her to continue, but after a few seconds I realize that maybe she thinks she's explained enough.

  “All the white?” I ask cautiously.

  “Look at it,” she continues. “All that snow, all settled everywhere. I think when he sees everything all white, he feels this urge to splatter it with red.” She sniffs, almost as if she's smelling something strong and powerful. “I think every time there's a blanket of snow on the city, he's compelled to go out there and paint on that big, white canvas. I think he likes the way blood splatters on snow, and the way it soaks into the little ice crystals. To be perfectly honest with you, I actually kinda understand his point of view. The desire to take all that white and make it dirty somehow. To spill blood and watch as it sinks into the cold, wet snow, melting it a little before the snow eventually makes the blood freeze.” She shudders. “Poor boy. I definitely understand his need. Don't you?”

  I stare at the snow for a moment longer, before realizing that she's turning to look at me.

  I turn to her.

  “I'm not sure about that,” I stammer cautiously. “It sounds kinda nuts.”

  She eyes me with a certain hint of disdain. “Well that's a matter of opinion,” she points out finally.

  I nod. “It sure is.”

  Turning, I look out the window again. The alley behind the B&B certainly looks dark and imposing, even with a thick blanket of snow. There's a radiator next to my feet, filling the landing with warm air, but when I lean closer to the window I realize the glass is ice-cold. For a moment, I'm mesmerized by the sight of the dark alley, and by the thought that anyone could want to disturb such a beautiful scene by doing something violent and horrific.

  “Maybe there was no-one there,” Jude continues after a moment. “I guess we're all a little jumpy, right? I mean, it's not like we could be lucky enough to see the Snowman walk past just as we happen to be looking out. That'd be crazy.”

  “Lucky?” I ask, surprised by her choice of words.

  “You know what I mean. Coincidental.”

  “I guess not.”

  The alley certainly looks dark right now, and there's no sign of any footprints in the snow. In fact, it's hard to believe that anyone has been out there for quite some time.

  “Imagine living your life,” Jude continues, “and just trying to be an ordinary citizen. Trying to be a good boy. And then you glance outside and see that it's snowing, and you realize you're gonna have to kill again. He's murdered several people over the past thirty years, all of them on snowy days. Imagine the weather doing that to you. It's almost like he has no control, except obviously he does have control. That must be what makes it so tantalizing.”

  I force a smile, even though I'm not entirely sure I agree with
her.

  “Is that mud?”

  I flinch as I feel her finger against the side of my neck. Pulling away, I see that she's scraped some mud from behind my ear.

  “Sorry,” she adds, wiping the mud on her towel. “I just saw it, that's all. How did it get there?”

  “Long day,” I reply.

  “Well,” she continues with a grin, “I guess you really do need a wash. Maybe more than I do.”

  She pauses, eyeing me with a hint of caution, as if she's lost in thought. She's still smiling, but it's a forgotten smile, one that has been left on her face long after the impulse has passed.

  “I tell you what I'm gonna do,” she says finally, taking a step back. “I'm gonna let you have the bathroom.”

  “Oh, no, really that's -”

  “I've already decided!” she adds, before biting her bottom lip for a moment. “You're clearly in more need than I am, and it's a long night. I can come back out at two, three, even four in the morning and perform all my ablutions. I couldn't, in all good conscience, enjoy myself if I knew you were out here all caked in mud and dirty. Besides, sometimes I find the bathroom a little sad. I don't wanna be in there right now.”

  “I'm not really caked in mud,” I point out, reaching up and checking that there's no more behind my ear. I don't even know where the first spot came from.

  “Have fun,” she says, unlocking the door to room three and stepping inside. “I'm sure we can all enjoy the bathroom, so long as we just cooperate. There's no need for anyone to be pushing and shoving. Just promise you won't complain if you hear me singing in the bath during the night. I can get a little loud sometimes, but that's just my way. If you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best. Am I right, or am I right?”

  She smiles, before glancing at the window. The snow seems to make her sad, and I swear there are tears in her eyes now.

  “Poor boy,” she adds finally. “Out there, compelled to kill just because of the weather. Poor, poor boy.”

  With that, she swings the door shut, leaving me standing all alone on the landing.