The highway ended where the ocean began.
By the time I reached Myrtle Beach, the sun was high and very bright. It reflected off the front of my car like a mirror. The town was busy and loud. There were neon signs, big restaurants, and shops selling seashells and colorful t-shirts.
But I drove past all the noise. I went to a quiet part of the beach to find what I was looking for.
The Seaview Inn.
The blue-green paint on the sign was peeling, just like in the photo. The wooden boardwalk looked old and tired. As I pulled into the gravel parking lot, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt this way because everything looked exactly like I remembered it.
And yet, I had no memory of ever being there.
The building looked exhausted. The wooden beams were bent from years of salty air. A flag moved in the wind on the roof. The lobby doors were open. It looked like the hotel was welcoming people, but the welcome felt fake.
I parked the car. I put the backpack with the photos over my shoulder. I forced myself to walk inside.
The air inside smelled like pool chemicals and sunscreen. It was a sour smell that seemed to live in the walls. A woman with gray hair and glasses sat behind the desk. She looked up and gave me a quick smile.
"Checking in?" she asked.
Her voice sounded kind, but her eyes were different. For a second, they looked sharp. She looked at me like she knew exactly who I was.
I froze. "Yes," I said. "Just for a few nights."
She typed something on her computer. "Name?"
I hesitated. "Lena."
Her fingers stopped moving. When she looked up again, her smile was gone. "Of course. Room 17. Second floor, at the end of the hall."
My stomach turned. I had not told her my last name. I had not even shown her my ID card. But she slid the room key across the counter as if she had been waiting for me to arrive.
I took the key with shaking fingers. "Thanks," I whispered.
The hallway smelled like carpet cleaner and salt. My footsteps made loud thudding sounds on the old floor. The sounds lasted longer than they should have. At the very end of the hall, I found Room 17. The gold number on the door was dull because so many people had touched it.
The key turned easily in the lock. It felt like someone had oiled it because they knew I was coming.
Inside, the room looked normal. It had tan walls, a flowery blanket on the bed, and a lamp that flickered when I touched it. But I didn't care about the furniture. My heart stopped because of a picture on the wall.
It was a framed photo of the beach.
It was the same photo from the Polaroid I found in the box.
I walked closer to it. In the frame, a younger version of me was laughing in the sun. My head was thrown back and my hair was messy from the wind. Next to me was my ex-boyfriend. He was holding a drink.
I touched the glass. It felt cool. This was too real.
Someone had taken my memory and hung it on the wall like art.
I pulled the frame off the wall. The nail made a scratching sound against the paint. I dropped the frame onto the bed. The glass cracked, but it did not break.
This was not just someone watching me. This was planned. Everything was arranged. It was like a museum of a life I could not remember.
The air in the room felt heavy and thick. I started to walk backward toward the door. Then I stopped.
A Polaroid photo was sitting on the small table by the bed.
It wasn't hidden. It was just sitting there, waiting for me to see it.
My fingers shook as I picked it up.
The image showed me. I was standing in the room exactly where I was standing right then. In the photo, I was holding a Polaroid in my hand.
I turned it over. The date on the back said: Today.
My legs felt weak. I sat on the edge of the bed. My hands were trembling so much the photo shook. Whoever was doing this was not just nearby. They were inside the building. They were watching me at this very moment.
Suddenly, I heard the floor creak outside my door.
I looked at the door. My heart was beating like a drum.
I heard another creak. It was closer this time.
I shoved the photo into my pocket and turned off the lamp. The room became very dark. I pressed my back against the wall and tried not to breathe.
The doorknob started to turn.
It moved slowly. Very slowly.
The door opened just one inch. Then it stopped. It felt like the person outside wanted me to know they could come in whenever they wanted. Then, slowly, the door clicked shut again.
I did not move for a long time. My chest hurt because I was holding my breath. When I finally breathed out, I was shaking so hard I almost dropped my bag.
I had to leave. I had to leave right now.
I grabbed my bag and ran out of the room. The hallway felt like it was getting longer. Every light that flickered felt like a spotlight on me. My footsteps were as loud as gunshots.
When I reached the lobby, the gray-haired woman looked up. She was smiling again, but her eyes looked empty.
"Is everything okay, Ms. Hart?" she asked.
Hart. That is my last name. She should not know that.
I stopped. "How do you know my name?"
She tilted her head to the side. "We have breakfast at seven o'clock. We will see you then."
She spoke politely, but she sounded like she was giving me an order. She was telling me I wasn't allowed to leave.
I ran out into the sunlight. I was breathing hard, like I had been underwater. My car was still in the parking lot. I reached for my keys, but my hands were sweaty and I couldn't grab them.
Before I could unlock the car door, I saw it.
There was another Polaroid photo. It was tucked under the windshield wiper of my car.
I pulled it out. My fingers felt numb.
The photo showed me at the front desk of the hotel. In the picture, I was leaning over the counter and talking to the gray-haired woman.
I turned it over. The date on the back said: Tomorrow.
I stood still in the parking lot. The sun was hot on my skin. The salty air burned my throat.
They didn't just know where I was. They knew where I was going to be tomorrow.
I realized that no matter how fast I ran, I was already caught in their plan.
