Kids in the Dark [S.S. Book One]

Thirty

I felt the bus jolt to a stop and Stiles gently shook my shoulder, even though I was already awake. I heard Coach say, "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 hands to your dirty little selves."

We got off the bus and like before in the music room, Lydia and I exchanged a look. "Lydia? Alyssa?" Allison asked.

The Glen Capri Motel. Something is going to happen before the night is over.

"I don't like this place," Lydia stated.

"Something is wrong," I added quietly.

Allison gave a small smile. "I don't think the people who own this place like this place. It's just for a night."

"A lot can happen in one night," Lydia muttered.

I grabbed our key from Coach, and the three of us walked to our room. I grimaced at the smell, and glanced to Allison. "I'm gonna see if getting new towels helps."

"I'll come with you," Lydia decided.

We left the room and walked to the front office. Lydia rang the bell on the desk and the receptionist appeared. "Excuse me? The card on the dresser says we have a non-smoking room, but somehow all of our towel reek of nicotine."

The receptionist smiled. "Sorry about that, sweetheart."

I saw random numbers, which seemed quite strange. "What's that? That number?"

The receptionist glanced behind her and gave a small smile. "It's kind of like an inside thing for the motel. My husband insists on keeping it up."

"Tell us," Lydia said.

"We're not gonna make the top of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction," the receptionist joked.

"Obviously," Lydia retorted.

"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?"

"198?" I asked as I stared at the number.

The receptionist nodded and said grimly, "And counting."

With this newfound information, we rushed back to our room. Allison was sitting on one of the beds and looked up at us as we ran in. Through my panting, I told her, "There's been 198 suicides in this hotel."

"198?" Allison repeated.

"Yes, and we're talking forty years," Lydia informed. "On average, that's... 4.95 a year, which is... actually expected. But who commemorates that with a framed number? Who does that? Who?"

I held Lydia's wrist as Allison asked, "All suicides?"

I closed my eyes for a second. "Yes. Hanging, throat-cutting, pill-popping, both-barrels-of-a-shotgun-in-the-mouth suicides. Now I'm not sure about you, but me, well..."

I was cut off as I heard a man say, "Which... which one do you want?"

I knew Lydia heard the same thing as she looked to Allison. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Allison asked as she raisds an eyebrow.

I froze in panic as the conversation continues, revealing a new voice. A feminine voice.

"I don't know. The smaller one, I guess."

"It's okay. Smaller's better. There's less kick. I'll chamber the round. All right, so..."