After finishing his inspection of the motel room, Ash gave Gwen and Heather an approving nod. There were no hidden cameras, damaged locks, or other signs that anyone had tampered with the room.
Heather immediately opened her suitcase. She glanced at the neatly folded underwear inside before looking at Ash with suspicion.
"You seem unusually experienced at folding women's underwear."
Gwen lay on her side across one of the beds and rested her face against her palm.
"He practiced with mine."
Heather gave Ash a sympathetic look.
"Have you been doing all the laundry since you were a kid?"
"Not exactly." Ash thought about it for a moment. "I started helping with chores once I could take care of myself. I was around ten by then."
Heather's teasing expression faded.
"You couldn't take care of yourself until you were ten?"
She had always known Ash suffered serious health problems as a child, but she had never realized how severe they had been. When Heather first met him after high school, his reactions were occasionally slow, yet he otherwise seemed like an ordinary teenager.
Gwen's gaze became distant as she remembered those years.
"He couldn't speak properly before he was six."
Ash had already suffered from unnatural sleepiness before their parents died. After the demonic attack when he was five, his condition became much worse. He often stared blankly into space, reacted slowly to voices, and lost almost all ability to speak.
For nearly a year, he could produce only meaningless sounds. His speech returned gradually after that, beginning with short sentences that rarely expressed what he truly wanted to say.
Ash did not fully recover from the aphasia until he was around ten. Once he could understand his surroundings and communicate clearly again, he stubbornly insisted on helping Beverly and Gwen around the house.
Ash suspected that his original lethargy came from his young body being unable to support an adult soul. His mind consumed too much energy and forced him to sleep frequently.
The later symptoms had another cause. The demon that attacked his family damaged his soul, erased his previous-life memories, and left behind years of physical and mental complications. The blow he received during Jigsaw's kidnapping had somehow restored what was lost.
"Once he started feeling better, he refused to sit around while Beverly and I did everything," Gwen said. "He was stubborn enough that we eventually gave him the easier chores."
Ash spread his hands.
"I wiped tables and folded small clothes. It wasn't exactly hard labor."
Heather collected her clean clothes before walking over and giving him a brief hug. She then pushed him backward onto the nearest bed.
"You're blocking the bathroom. Move."
Gwen quickly searched through her suitcase for pajamas.
"Your wound still hasn't healed. I'll help you shower and change the bandage."
Heather did not object. The two women entered the bathroom together while Ash arranged the bed closest to the door for himself.
Once he finished, he noticed the legal documents Heather had placed on the nightstand. Barry Farnsworth had given them to her earlier that day, and Verna Carson's sealed letter rested among the folders.
Ash picked up the envelope and gently squeezed it. Something small and hard had been placed inside with the letter.
He returned it to the nightstand without opening it. Whatever Verna left behind belonged to Heather, so they would examine it together once she finished bathing.
The motel walls were thin enough for Ash to hear the shower and water splashing inside the tub. He ignored the sounds and removed both shotguns from their luggage.
Ash placed the Remington, Winchester, and his father's silver greatsword beneath the bed where he could reach them quickly. After everything that happened during the past two weeks, sleeping without a weapon nearby seemed irresponsible.
Their ammunition supply had become dangerously low. Ash originally brought the firearms only as emergency protection, but they had already encountered the West Virginia cannibals and a demonically possessed Leatherface.
At dawn, he planned to find a gun store and purchase more shells.
Ash sat on the edge of the bed and raised one hand. Thin strands of black Demonic Power emerged from his palm and drifted through the air.
He still lacked experience controlling the energy, so he practiced whenever he had time. The black mist twisted into the shape of an S, dissolved, and then reformed into a B.
Ash guided it into increasingly complicated patterns. The energy responded to his thoughts, though maintaining precise shapes required concentration.
Fortunately, the curtains were closed. Anyone looking through the window and seeing black demonic energy floating around the room might have called the church across the street.
Ash doubted the local priest possessed real supernatural abilities. If he did, he should have sensed the demon imprisoned beneath the Carson estate long before Darryl released it.
The sound of running water gradually stopped. Rustling inside the bathroom warned Ash that the two women were almost finished.
With a thought, he recalled the Demonic Power. The black strands returned to his body like smoke being pulled into a vacuum, and the final trace of supernatural energy disappeared.
The bathroom lock clicked.
Warm steam rolled into the room as Gwen stepped outside. She wore soft beige cotton pajamas with long sleeves. The simple outfit followed her slender figure without revealing much.
Her damp honey-blond hair had been loosely gathered behind her head. Several wet strands rested against her neck, while the heat from the shower left a faint blush across her cheeks.
Gwen carried the warm and comforting presence of someone who could make any place feel like home.
Heather emerged behind her and created a completely different impression.
"Heather, your pajamas," Gwen warned from behind her.
Heather had already stepped into the room.
She wore only a dark bralette and matching underwear. The simple clothing revealed her athletic stomach, long legs, and the bandage still wrapped around her ribs.
Hot water had left her pale skin slightly pink. Her wet black hair clung to her cheeks and shoulders while droplets traveled down her neck before disappearing beneath the edge of the bralette.
Heather stood nearly as tall as Gwen. Years of exercise had given her a toned waist and strong legs, though her figure remained noticeably fuller.
The two women presented a striking contrast beneath the motel's soft lights. Gwen looked gentle and comfortable in her pajamas, while Heather appeared bold and completely unguarded.
Ash's gaze passed over her for a moment before he politely raised it to her face.
"Your ears turned red when you remembered I packed your underwear," he said. "Now you're walking around like this without any embarrassment."
Heather raised her chin.
"That's completely different."
"How?"
"Having a boy sort through underwear I left scattered across a bed is embarrassing. Just imagining it is bad enough."
She gestured toward herself with complete confidence.
"This is basically a swimsuit. People wear swimsuits in public all the time, so there's no reason I can't dress like this inside our room."
Heather became more convinced by her own argument as she continued.
"It isn't about how much clothing someone wears. It depends on the situation and how you think about it."
She stepped in front of the bed and struck a deliberate pose, proudly displaying her so-called swimsuit.
Ash stared at her in silence.
Gwen covered her face with one hand.