•Illumoria•

CHAPTER TWO

Waterford

-PARKERS POV-

We finally rolled into Waterford after driving all night. My back ached, my tailbone protested, and I was one bad cup of coffee away from committing a crime. But hey—we made it with thirty minutes to spare.

I pulled into the cracked, weed-choked parking lot of a run-down motel that practically had "disease-ridden sheets" written into the Yelp reviews. I glanced at Olivia, who'd been snoring for the last hour, slumped against the door with her arms crossed and her seatbelt unbuckled. Rookie move.

Quietly I managed to slide out of my seat wincing when the door made a soft popping noise as it creaked open. Sneaking over to the passenger side I gently grabbed the door handle before quickly yanking the door open causing Olivia to fall straight back, unable to react, and catch herself. "Parker?!" she shrieked, her face flushing scarlet. "What the actual fuck!" A groan escaped her mouth as she slammed into the pavement.

I doubled over, laughter tearing out of me in wheezing bursts. "Oh my God—your face—" I managed between gasps.

Olivia groaned, smacking my leg as she sat up.

"You're such a child."

"Yeah, but a fun child," I snorted, wiping tears from my eyes. "Anyway, since you're already on the ground, you can grab the bags. I'll get the room."

She shot me a look that could curdle milk. "You're lucky murder's illegal."
"Debatable," I tossed over my shoulder as I made my way toward the motel office.
The flickering vacancy sign above the door buzzed faintly, casting everything in a sickly red glow. It didn't say "Welcome," it said, "Enter to be murdered."

A bell chimed overhead when I stepped inside, but instead of a cheerful ding, it sounded more like a fork scraping a chalkboard. The air reeked of mold, stale cigarettes, and bad decisions.
I'd smelled worse. Hell, I'd touched worse.

"Welcome to the Waterford Motel." AN obviously underpaid and bored teen called out, his back to me, his eyes glued to the rustic looking tv that rested in the corner.

"Welcome to the Waterford Motel," came a flat voice from behind the counter. The source: a teenage boy slouched in his chair, curly blond hair slicked in a way that suggested he'd discovered grease before shampoo. His eyes were glued to a flickering TV in the corner.

I stood there, waiting. And waiting.
Finally, I leaned forward. "Uh, can I just get a room with two beds?" My voice carried enough annoyance to peel paint.

He grunted, reached under the counter, and slapped two slightly sticky keys onto the desk. Sticky. I didn't want to know why."Right. Thanks," I muttered, sliding cash across the counter before spinning on my heel and heading for the door.

Olivia was still standing by the car with the bags. "So... how's our palace?" she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, you know. Luxury accommodations, spa treatments, and sticky keys that double as a biohazard," I said, holding them up like they were evidence in a crime. "Try not to lick them."
Olivia slung both duffel bags over her shoulders like a reluctant pack mule and trudged toward me.

"Room number?" she grunted.

"Four. Ground floor. Right next to the dumpster, so we'll have a great view of raccoon date night," I said, leading the way.

She shot me a glare. "Romantic."

"Nothing says romance like rabies," I deadpanned. Olivia snorted, before making a quick jab. "That's why you dated Axel right?"
We reached the door, and I shoved one of the sticky keys into the lock. It resisted, like even the door didn't want us here. When it finally gave, the smell hit—mildew, air freshener from the early 90s, and something I could only describe as regret.