Brian wakes up, just for a moment. This isn’t his room, this isn’t his bed. But Sarah is next to him and he remembers they’re in a hotel, in Pasadena for the conference. He wonders what woke him up. Outside the night is dead silent. There’s a tiny light on the other side of the room: as he watches, it changes from green to red. Or maybe it doesn’t, maybe it was always red and it was just that he moved his head a little and is still basically asleep that made him imagine it was ever green. It’s just the power-light on the television, he understands. Reassured, he falls back asleep.
          In the back room of the manager’s office, Dale’s heart is pounding. He’d turned the camera on to see if they would go at it again. They’re pretty young, and horny as hell, and he’d watched earlier while the guy fucked her brains out as an old episode of NCIS played muted on the TV. He jerked it and it was great. But this time they were asleep, or at least they were at first. Then the guy opened his eyes and turned to look at the camera. Dale shut it off at once, and there probably isn’t anything to worry about, but he sits there quietly for several minutes, listening at the window to hear if anyone comes out of their bungalow.
          No angry young man shows up to kill him. Within the hour he’s put his panic behind him and is idly browsing the other cams. He won’t tune into the young couple again, at least until they start watching TV. Maybe they’ll fuck during the morning talk shows. But goddammit, he thinks—Raul, the Mexican guy on the day shift, he’ll get to see that one. Enjoy your white people fucking, thinks Dale. This is the best job you’re ever gonna get.
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