In that moment, a great, powerful gust of wind picked up from behind the fiddler and threw him into the motel room. The door slammed shut and locked behind him. For four solid seconds, there was complete darkness.
Then there was light.
Burning, bright, and harsh, the light came from three circular light fixtures on the ceiling. The room's walls were all a stark white, and the carpet, though once wet and red, was suddenly clean. The smell was gone, along with any signs of its existence apart from the bloodstains on their shoes.
Kazimir's ears started ringing, and his groaned and pinched his eyes shut as the sudden light blinded him. He opened them slowly, as slits, but his eyes started to tear up. He'd adjusted to the darkness, and the dim light of the outdoors. But this? This was a painful contrast, and his eyes were not ready for it.
He didn't make out what the rectangle on the wall was through his bleary, barely-opened eyes, but he swore he saw the flicker of the shadow man appear and disappear.
Kazimir squinted, stumbling forward towards the dark space on the white wall to try and figure out what it was. It was the only thing in this room now, apart from the blood, that was gone. It had to be important. It had to have significance.
His eyes finally started to focus.
As soon as he touched it, he realized it was neither a T.V., nor a frame.
It was a bulletin board.
Pinned all across it were pictures. Pictures of everyone in the room. There were pictures of himself with Megan. Him holding Bo, as a baby. Him with Marcus and Bo, watching Bo open a present.
Pictures he hadn't seen in years. Moments he'd forgotten.
All of that, mixed in with everyone else's memories.
His eyes had already been teary from the light, but the pictures didn't help.
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