Chapter 7. Continuation 1
By the way, I'm not so scared anymore.
No, Winchester's still jarring, we get a signal, and the drivers of the neighboring cars are screaming in the lowered windows. But I don't have time to think about a possible death.
I sucked a litre of mineral water into my body this morning to get rid of the taste of the pasta in my mouth, so now my thoughts are centered around the beautiful white toilet, which is waiting for me to give me an unearthly pleasure. Of course, I'd be happy to have a brush, too, and I'm very happy to. But Scott taught me to dream high, even if you're content with little. I don't think he meant dreaming of a toilet instead of a bush, but it's my head and I'm free to interpret his words the way I want to.
Oh, my God, are we going somewhere else?
I don't care where I go. It's true.
Even if it was twice as far from Idaho as Buffalo, where we were the day before yesterday, in Salt Lake. It's a beautiful city, because there must be a lot of toilets there.
When we pass a beautiful sign that invites us to welcome you to Salt Lake City, I'm not surprised.
The road narrows, sprawling in different directions by branches, like the hair of Medusa Gorgon. The giant lorries that have been scaring me so much, are wrapping up on a detour track, and the traffic is getting much smaller.
The gas tank has been flashing red on the panel for an hour now, so Dean, as soon as he has the opportunity, rebuilds herself in a row at the side of the road, and a couple of miles we drive a little slower along it, looking for a gas station.
He doesn't even have time to brake to the end when I open the door, pop out, knock down a gas stationman who comes to us and rush to the toilet. To the toilet! Hallelujah!
The relief is that after I'm ready to kiss the chubby cashier, the tired tanker boy, and even Dean, who, when I come back, suddenly makes a dirty joke at my address and for the first time in a day smiles instead of my usual growls.
The city is really beautiful. I don't give a damn about buildings, they're just as common as anywhere else, but the white and blue peaks of the mountains, which seem to be within easy reach, are pushing me to fall in love with Salt Lake at first sight.
We drive up to the hotel. Not one of my usual cheap motels with cockroaches, holes in the wall, and a dripping crane, but a normal hotel with a porter and porters in burgundy black suits. Dean orders a room for three with two separate rooms and pays for it a lot of money. They have money problems, so why are they shushing like that?
We move things to the room, I try not to stare around and not to dwell on the idea that I've been in such hotels twice in my life, and after both visits my ass was mercilessly ill for at least a week. An interesting pattern: the richer the place where I was taken by the "customers", the more they tried to kick out of me overnight, sometimes rolling into such perversions that even I, who, it seems, saw all the dirt in this world, was getting scared. For my psyche, not for my skin. My body didn't care what they did to it anymore.
My brothers still don't talk, but now they don't feel a ten-foot concrete wall between them, unless it's a thin cardboard wall, but it's not so scary anymore. Sam finally breaks up and even notices with surprise where we are.
- Do you know Salt Lake City? - asks me, Junior Winchester, when I undress on my waist and splash in the deep sink of a huge black marble bathroom.
- No, - I said briefly. It's almost the first time Sam has opened his mouth at all in a day, so I'm just afraid to scare him back into a thoughtful silence.
- And I wasn't, - he says.
- Do you like it here, Michael? - Dean is interested. - It's a beautiful city, isn't it?
I blink and freeze with a piece of vanilla soap in my hand.
- Yes, I am.
- Would you like to take a little ride around the neighborhood, Michael? - Dean asks again. - To see the center, to stop by, to eat something, and then maybe to hang out at the lake they're talking about so much? Well, would you like to?
I smile a little and shake my head. It takes me a long time to understand.
- Yes, Dean, I'd like to, - I say firmly in the open door and watch Sam look at his brother with interest and take the jacket he dropped a minute ago from his armrest.
- Well, if you want to, Michael, then we should definitely take a walk," he says with a sudden glimpse of enthusiasm, leaving the room. Dean also walks away with a small bag and he looks happy, nods at my door and asks me to hurry up.
I pull my shirt right over the wet body and weave it over my head to catch up with them.
The Winchesters... I wonder how many other ways they can communicate with each other?