It all started innocently enough. I was driving along the highway at about eleven at night, eastern pacific time of course, trying to make my way home from a business conference in Toronto. I had to drive home, since the idiots at airline security made a huge deal about a pair of nail clippers in my bag and I. . . well, I could've handled it better. But that's another story entirely.

This particular highway was located in a town that wasn't in the precise middle of nowhere, but a bit off center to the right, and was totally deserted. Except for a rather large deer, which was not to remain in the realm of the living for long. After I hit the deer, I kinda panicked- as evidenced by the scene created at the airport, I was not great under pressure. I swerved off the road, my windsheild now splattered with deer entrails, and before I knew it I had come face to face with my airbag. And this time I'm not referring to my mother in law. Know what I'm saying? The married guys get it, you guys know. . . no? Not working? You try it. Jerk.

Anyway, so there I am, plodding down this highway dragging my suitcase covered in deer guts and baby vomit (again, another story I won't be indulging in at the moment) looking for any sign of civilization other than the numerous dear crossing signs lining the road which, in retrospect, I should have paid a bit more attention to. Well to make a pointlessly long story slightly shorter, eventually I found a motel. It was the kinda motel you'd expect to be stabbed in the shower at, but hey, I wasn't in a situation to be choosy. I check in, put in a wake up call for six thirty and ask for a brochure to a towing service. The guy, obviously not particularly pleased with the career path he's chosen for himself but still not having nearly as bad a day as me, gives me my room key and says I'm in 13 B.

Room 13 B, a non smoking room, but smelling strongly like that little policy wasn't strictly adhered to. An ordinary enough room, tiny bed, second rate TV on a dresser which smells of air freshener, standup lamp in one corner, large window overlooking the parking lot in which I have failed to park my car with a gigantic air conditioning unit under it. The only thing in the entire décor that really clashed was the corpse in the middle of the floor.

That one took me a minute to process. In fact, I'd already kicked my shoes off, plopped down on the bed and begun eying the channel guide before I even took a good look at it. He was an average built guy, brown hair, couldn't see his face because he was lying on his stomach. Looked fairly well dressed. On one side of his head- or rather, both- was a gunshot wound, and on the opposite wall his blood was splattered. I blinked a few times at this sight, soundless and completely motionless.

"No," I told myself, "No, I've had far too long a day for this," and returned to my channel guide.