The Night Manager

It was dusk when Will Thompson spotted the sign that advertised lodging off US Highway 285 north of Pecos, Texas. The last several hours were still a blank as he struggled with the damaged power steering of his classic red, ’83 Cadillac Eldorado with the huge 6.0-liter V-8 engine.

What he does remember is getting off I-20 at Pecos and heading north in search of gas and something to eat. Somewhere along the way he literally ran into the largest livestock hauler he’d ever seen. Actually, was the other way around. The tractor not only obliterated his view but, catching the Eldorado’s left from bumper as it passed, the hauler’s tractor spun his car around and flung it into the ditch on the opposite side of the road.

When he woke—and he has no memory of when that might have been—it took Will more than an hour to get his car back on the road. At the time he couldn’t believe no one had stopped to help him. But then, he couldn’t remember even seeing another person or vehicle north of the junction with Texas RM Highway 652 aside from the truck that hit him.

With the Sun setting, and given the damage his car had sustained, including severe body damage to the left front side, finding a place for the night was imperative. The Eldorado lurched forward as Will anxiously pressed his foot to the metal. The faint odor of gasoline told him he had bigger problems than a damaged power steering system. At this point, he had few options but to push on. It was late fall, and any possibility of meeting people out here, say, who were on vacation, were slim. Slim to none, he joked to himself with just a touch of gallows humor.

Encroaching darkness only elevated his concern until there it was, off in the distance! On the right! Is that a sign for lodging? he thought, rubbing his eyes. As he got closer, a weathered neon sign, with half the letters blinking a message of “VACANCY”. Pulling the Eldorado off the highway and onto the broken asphalt to the area reserved for parking, Will noticed his was the only vehicle on the lot. No matter. What he needed now was a good night’s sleep and help with the car. Surely both of those should be possible. He had attempted to use his cell phone, but alas, there was no coverage, not even one bar, and regardless, his battery was dead.

The night manager, a congenial man on some years, welcomed him to the establishment. To Wills dismay and disappointment, however, the old man was unable to make a call for assistance. “Our patrons have little need for telephone service,” he explained. “We’ll just have to wait until morning and see what we can do to sort things out for you.”

Will looked at him incredulously. How does a place like this get by without a telephone? he thought, signing the register. “Is it always this quiet around here?” Will asked as he set the pen down on the counter. “Is anyone else staying here tonight?”

“Difficult to say,” said the night manager. “Everyone who was here last night left late this afternoon on the 5:57 p.m. Greyhound bus heading north. Big MC-9 bus, it was, held 43 souls. Full to the max, including four children who had been here with their parents overnight.”

“Hmmm,” said Will. “This place doesn’t look that big from the highway.”

“Oh, finding room isn’t a problem,” said the night manager. “We’re always open and can find room for as many people as needed.”

Will nodded as if he truly understood what the night manager was talking about. How 43 people had stayed there the previous night seemed a bit of stretch to him, given he didn’t see any signs of housekeeping, a dining room, and the usual support staff such as bellhops a place like this would be expected to have.

“Do you really think we’ll be able to get some assistance for my car tomorrow?” Will asked anxiously, massaging the back of his neck.

“Please, my friend, try not to be so impatient; life was too short to worry about everything getting done this minute. I’m sure we’ll be able to fix your vehicle in good time.”

Will nodded as the night manager turned, stepped into the back room, and, upon his return, handed Will a cold glass of water.

“Doesn’t it get lonely out here in the off-season,” Will asked, taking a sip.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we have an off-season, my friend. Life goes on—or not—pretty much all the time. Why just yesterday, at dawn, the Texas Rangers brought in nine people, including four children. I knew the families . . . they were good God-fearing people. Pretty banged up, though. The Rangers said something about a three-car crash at the 285/652 junction. Sweet little kids. Three girls and a boy. Heading to a birthday party, I think. They all left on the bus this afternoon.”

Will cocked his head. This made no sense. Why would the Texas Rangers bring those involved in a serious accident here? Weren’t they treated? And they all left on a Greyhound bus? Give me a break!

“You look confused,” said the night manager, taking the glass from Will’s hand and placing it on a coaster in front of him. He told Will that everything would be clear in due time, and, citing Thessalonians 4:17, recalled that those who are alive, who were left, would be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so, would always be with Him.

Will started to back away from the counter. None of this made sense. None of it! Further, he didn’t like what he was hearing. Those who are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord.” What does that mean?

Will stared at the night manager but was able to discern nothing.

The night manager sensed his unease. “My son, be not afraid. Believers will be with the Lord forever after this meeting.” Then, to reassure him, the night manager motioned for Will to look out the front window.

Will couldn’t believe what he saw. There, in the light from the hotel’s lobby, parked in the first spot by the front door, was his prized ’83 Eldorado, gleaming as if it had come off the dealer’s showroom floor only moments before. Gone was the frontend damage, the scraped paint, the lost trim. The whitewall tires shone brightly, and the chrome trim was dazzling. The car had been reborn to relive its glory days.

Tears streamed down Will’s face. He raced outside to the car, running from side to side, not believing what he was seeing. He never imagined something like this was possible, much less that it could happen to him.

Soon he was joined by the night manager. “I presume you’d like to drive it away right now,” he said. “However, there’s only one way to go . . . north, to where the Greyhound bus that left earlier this evening was headed.”