The Sadist's Bible by Nicole Cushing

tucked it in her back pocket.
    She wondered where the Gideons’ New Testament was, and didn’t find it until she
    had already packed, put on her shoes, and was ready to check out. It had somehow,
    during the course of her tossing and turnings, migrated under her pillow. She only
    discovered it when she examined the bedding for lost earrings. She could no longer
    remember if she’d worn earrings the day before or not. So she erred on the side of
    checking. She always erred on the side of checking.
    She replaced the Gideons’ New Testament in the nightstand, back where it belonged.
    She imagined the maid would appreciate things being returned where they belonged. But
    she decided to take the cigarettes and lighter with her. Smoking soothed her.
    She had a ritual whenever she left a hotel room. She would scour it, over and over, to
    make certain she’d left nothing behind. Jesse always hated when she did that. Told her
    she had OCD, and cited the fact that even she knew she never put clothes in a hotel’s chest of drawers, but always checked them anyway to be certain she hadn’t – for some odd reason – abandoned her practice of leaving all her clothes in her suitcase. And
    checking once wasn’t enough. She felt the need to do it three times. After all, she thought, when I leave this hotel room I’ll never, ever return. So I need to make certain I don’t lose anything.
    After all the checking was through, she picked up the receipt the hotel had slipped
    under her door during the night. Ninety-five dollars. It hardly seemed worth it.
    Then she rolled her bag to the door, to the elevator, to the front desk. The young man
    from the night before was no longer there. A heavy young woman with dyed-blonde hair
    stood where he had. The television in the lounge area played The Weather Channel. The
    young lady on the screen was reciting the temperature in Tucson. Her neckline was far
    too high to be pleasing, but Ellie could tell there was a bounty underneath the dress. The hemline stretched down to her knees. Too far, in Ellie’s estimation.

    But she wore makeup fit for a harlot, and that led Ellie to suspect the modesty was a
    charade. She daydreamed about ripping that dress off. Cutting it off with a knife, to be exact. Daydreamed about pulling her hair and forcing her to the ground. Forcing her to
    stay there. Making sure she could never, ever leave...
    “Ma’am? Ma’am?”
    “I’m checking out,” Ellie said.
    “Yes...you mentioned that. And I asked you...are the charges on your receipt
    correct?”
    “Huh? Oh...oh yeah.” Ellie tried to force a cordial smile, but felt her face resisting.
    “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
    “Oh...no.”
    “Then you can go.”
    She wheeled her bag out to the parking lot.
    There was something about being outdoors that felt uncomfortable, even disturbing.
    The temperature had plummeted overnight and the chill hadn’t yet been burned away by
    the sun, but that wasn’t it. Maybe it was that she could see the mountains now – yes, they were only foothills but they seemed like mountains, to her. They encircled her and the
    hotel and the small city. Their presence affirmed that she’d traveled so far the geography had changed. That she was really trying to pull this off. This secret sex. This suicide.
    She’d come all this way, had made this degree of commitment to the enterprise, and
    she still had no guarantee that Lori had done the same. She opened the Scion’s back
    hatch, heaved her bag up into it, and slammed it shut. Then she opened the driver’s side door, heaved herself up onto the seat, and slammed it shut. There were errands to attend to. Eating. Gassing up. Her car and her body were both machines that needed fuel.
    Cracker Barrel was the closest place, and she’d always liked their food. It wasn’t
    such a bad restaurant. The décor was familiar. But she was young and by herself and a
    sinner and everyone else there on that Wednesday morning was