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"I'VE SEEN WORSE." Scott comments as the teens step off the bus making their way towards the old run down motel.
"Where have you seen worse?" Stiles asks.
Before Scott can reply Couch cuts him off. "Listen up. The meet's been pushed till tomorrow. This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and least amount of good judgment when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves. You'll be pairing up. Choose wisely. And I'll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants. Got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!" Couch yells.
Everyone starts to pair up and make their way towards the building, but Lydia and Sabrina stand still.
"Lydia? Sabrina?" Allison questions.
"I don't like this place." Lydia says.
"I don't think the people who own this place like this place. It's just for a night." Allison tells the twins.
"A lot can happen in one night." Sabrina states, a horrible feeling falling upon her. Something wasn't right here. Something felt... wrong.
-
"Excuse me? The card on the dresser says we have a non-smoking room, but somehow all of our towels reek of nicotine." Sabrina says rudely since Lydia had dragged her sister on her trip to the front counter. All Sabrina wanted to do was be alone and cry about Derek, but Lydia wouldn't let her.
"Sorry about that." The receptionist says. Lydia and Sabrina look around the front counter waiting for some new towels when Lydia notices a number hanging on the wall.
"What's that? That number?" Lydia asks.
"It's a kind of inside thing for the motel. My husband insists on keeping it up." The woman chuckles.
"What do you mean?" Sabrina questions.
"It's a little bit morbid, to be honest. You sure you want to know?"
"Tell us." Lydia and Sabrina say at the same time.
The woman sighs. "Well might as well, we're not gonna make the top of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction."
"Obviously." Lydia states.
"But we are number one in California when it comes to one disturbing little detail. Since opening, more than any other motel in California, we have the most guest suicides."
"Oh, fun." Sabrina mutters.
"198?" Lydia asks.
"And counting."
-
"198?" Allison asks.
"Yes, and we're talking 40 years. On average, that's... 4.95 a year, which is... actually expected. But who commemorates that with a framed number? Who does that? Who?" Sabrina explains pacing around their room absolutely freaked out by the whole thing.
