I drove twice around the foundry, looking for signs of some erstwhile Ormond Beach presence. I drove past the row houses. They were set on a steep hill, narrow-fronted frame houses, a climbing line of pitched roofs. It took a while to find the hotel, a multiple story building across from the Halifax River. It was called the Ormond Hotel.
Transient pleasures, drastic measures.
I decided to take Babette and the children to the Ormond Hotel as a getaway from the chaos of the men in the Mylex suits and the toxic event. The children were filled with excitement going to this unknown place but known place to me. This is where Mr. Gray resides when he is on the down low and not selling the Dylar. Once we arrived, I studied the scene. The hotel was fit for more than 600 guests but thanks to Winnie, the room in which he stayed was revealed.
We check into the hotel and it was big, grand, and white. As the children and Babette awed at the hotel, I rehearse my plan. Here is my plan. I will find Mr. Gray’s room 25, locate Mr. Gray under his real name, shoot him three times for maximum pain, take the .25 Zumwalt with me, make sure his wounds are sufficient enough so he will face death right in the face, take his Dylar pills, grab the children and Babette, drive the station wagon, head down Halifax Dr. and towards International Blvd., thus merging onto Interstate-4, and watch the sun set as we head west to really get a sunset view like I promised Babette.
Our rooms at the Ormond Hotel are quite extravagant. Freshly made beds with all white and satin sheets and a window view of the Halifax with the burgundy curtains spread apart. The room was actually two in one. The children would share one room, as mine and Babette’s room connected through the other side with a door. We unpack and settle in and eventually order room service. I ask the woman on the phone if they serve any German food, but she replied sarcastically and then said no. I was disappointed.
Babette and I made love tonight. Whatever happens to us after I commit this crime and victimize Mr. Gray, or whatever his real name is, I want to make sure if one of us dies before the other at least we made love like no other the night before. We fell asleep shortly after making love. The television remained on and the last thing I remember before falling asleep was: “Technology, is it bettering us or destroying us? Stayed tuned.”
A message through the night ran through my skin as this madness of killing Mr. Gray keeps growing. Tonight was the night. Here is my plan. I rise out of bed, put on my dark shades and robe to make sure no one recognized me, walk down to the first floor and find room 25 where Mr. Gray is located, open the door to discover this unruly man, shoot him three times for maximum pain, take the .25 Zumwalt filled with three bullets with me, make sure his wounds are sufficient enough so he will face death right in the face, take his Dylar pills, grab the children and Babette, grab the station wagon, head down Halifax Dr. and towards International Blvd., thus merging onto Interstate-4, and watching the sun set as we head west to really get a view of sunsets like I promised Babette.
I stroll down the wooden staircase with a firm grip on the gun in my pocket, ready to finally accomplish what I drove all this way for: to end Mr. Gray. I arrive at room 25 and open the surprisingly unlocked door, the television was on, and a man slumps in his chair with pills scattered amongst the floor and some in his hand. I start to gather the saucer shaped pills and enclose them in the white medicine container. I wonder if Babette has noticed my absence yet.
Once a majority of the capsules are together, I shove the Zumwalt into Mr. Gray’s shoulder with force. Immediately, he awakens and speaks first but gazes at the television screen. “May I help you?”
“You’re Mr. Gray. You’re Mink. What kind of name is that?” I questioned.
“Just like any other. How can I help you?”
“I’m taking your Dylar pills and you’re going to answer to me now. I know what you have done with the woman in the ski mask.”
“Oh. Her. How would you know her? Who are you anyways? Why are you in my bedroom?” He begins to fill with fear and I liked it as if the hole in my heart disappeared by the second. He should be. I tightened my grip on the gun in my pocket. I have to be precise about this moment. There was white noise everywhere.
“The woman you’re talking about is my wife and now you will be able to face your fear death right in this moment,” I said to him as I shoot the gun right in his chest. I shoot it twice more not caring where the bullets followed and I flee the room at once.
The clock on the wall read 3:30 AM and I began to stroll back to the room to hopefully not awaken Baba. The silence of the early morning shocks me as no one rushes by me to figure out why there were gunshots just moments ago. Did I even shoot the gun? Of course, I did. What was I thinking?
I reach my room and climb back into bed but I see Denise in the hallway. “I know what you did. We better leave tomorrow.” And with that she leaves and goes back to her room.
Her presence startles me and I don’t know if it’s even real. I shower before crawling into bed with Babette. She smells like lavender and I curl next to her right before I fell back asleep.
The following morning, I wake up next to Baba who looks so beautiful while she’s asleep. I kiss her forehead. I get up from the bed to see if there is any sign of Mink’s murder but there was nothing. The television from the children’s room spoke: “Grocery product prices keep rising, what will rise next? Gas.”
I awaken the children and Babette and tell them to pack their belongings. While they were packing, I walk to the bathroom with the robe that concealed the gun and lock the door. Why hadn’t there been any news of Mink? I check the rounds of the gun. Three bullets remain in the gun.
After we leave the Ormond Hotel, we head towards Tampa to watch real sunsets like I promised Babette. The children enjoyed the sand and Heinrich contemplated the make-up of this foreign substance to him. The sunsets were quite beautiful with the array of pinks, oranges, and blues. I wondered if the rise of grocery prices really would lead to higher gas prices as well.