Dome → Isaac Lahey

2.6 : motel california

【This chapter is very important, try to remember it.】

Lydia grabs hold of my hand as soon as I walk off of the bus, which had stopped at some dingy motel. I assume it's just for comfort, so I didn't question it. Once everyone was off the bus, coach began yelling over the crowd.

"Listen up! The meet's been pushed 'till tomorrow." He shouts, "This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and the least amount of judgement when accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves. You'll be pairing up, choose wise."

"We can all share a room," Allison suggests, going to grab a key for us from coach. The bus drives off behind us, and as people begin to disperse into their own rooms, the three of us are the only ones left on the grounds.

"Come on, Lydia," I urge, tugging on her hand. "Let's go."

Her grip on me was like steel. For some reason, she wouldn't budge.

"Lydia, what's wrong?" Allison chimes, walking back to us.

"I don't like this place," She whispers, looking over it in a daze.

"I don't think the people who own this place like this place," I joke. "It's just for a night, Lyds."

She doesn't reply until long after we're up the stairs, nearing our room. "A lot can happen in one night."

I pull Lydia into my side and she snuggles into me as we walk into our room, setting our things down and looking around. It looked decent- A TV propped up at the front of the room, beds comfy, and the bathroom was clean. The only thing that bothered me was the smell. It didn't take a genius to figure out that someone had been smoking heavily in here.

"The smell is all over the towels too!" Allison shouts from the bathroom, coming out with a pile of them in her hands.

"I'll go exchange them," I volunteer, taking them from her hands, "Be back in a few minutes."

I grab the room key and balance the towels in my arms, stepping out of the door. Lydia was still by my side.

"Lydia?"

"Hm?"

"You don't have to go with me, you know that, right?"

She looks down at the ground, fiddling with her fingers. "I just don't want you going out there alone."

I give her a small smile in appreciation and we take off on our journey to the "front desk" room of the parking lot.

"Excuse me?" I say to the woman who had her back turned to us. "The sign on the door says no smoking but our towels smell oddly like nicotine . ."

"I'm sorry, dear," The woman croaks, turning towards us. A tracheostomy tube was connected to her neck, making it obvious this woman was a heavy smoker herself.

"What's that number?" Lydia suddenly blurts, looking past both of us. I follow her gaze until my eyes land on the numbers 198, propped up on a while.

"It's a kind of inside thing for the motel, my husband insists on keeping it up," She explains.

Lydia now has a permanent frown etched on her face in worry as she grabs on tightly to my hand. Why was she so freaked out by everything tonight? She was never like this.

"What do you mean?" She questions timidly.

"Tell us," I urge.

"We're not going to make the tops of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction-"

"Obviously," I mutter.

"But, we are #1 in California when it comes to one little disturbing detail. Since opening, more than any motel in California, we have the most guest suicides."