Mad World // Stiles Stilinksi [1/2]

30

The bus stopped near a motel. Lucy studied the building. "Stiles? What motel is this? I don't feel like trying to read it."

"It's the Glen Capri," he answered.

Coach's booming voice caught their attention. "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!"

Lydia stared at the hotel with a blank expression. "Lydia?" Allison questioned.

She shook her head. "I don't like this place."

Lucy sighed. "I'm guessing the people who own this place don't like it either. We shouldn't have stayed here."

Allison glanced at them. "It's only for a night."

Lydia met her eyes. "A lot can happen in one night."

Stiles and Scott headed to their room while Lydia, Allison, and Lucy headed to theirs.

They walked into their room and Lucy instantly recoiled at the strong scent of nicotine. She sniffed the towels and recoiled a second time. "I'm getting new towels. Lydia? Come with?"

The two of them headed to the front office while Allison took a shower. Lucy walked up to the front desk. "Excuse me? The card on the dresser in our room claims it's a non-smoking room, but all of our towels reek of nicotine."

The receptionist turned around. It was a gray-haired woman in a floral dress and red cardigan. The voice box on her neck caught Lucy's attention.

She gave Lucy a smile. "Sorry about that, sweetheart."

Lydia pointed to a set of numbers on the wall. "What's that? That number?"

The receptionist followed Lydia's hand. "It's a kind of inside thing for the motel. My husband insists on keeping it up."

Lucy frowned. "What are you getting at?"

She chuckled softly. "It's a little morbid, to be honest. You sure you two want to know?"

"Lady, I live and breathe morbidity."

Lydia nodded. "Tell us."

The receptionist met their eyes. "We're not gonna make the top of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction."

"Obviously."

"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?" Lydia inquired.

The receptionist nodded. "And counting."

They made their way back to their room and since Allison was out of the shower, Lucy said, "According to the receptionist, there have been 198 suicides here."

"198?" Allison repeated.

Lydia nodded. "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?"

"All suicides?" Allison questioned.

Lydia nodded again. "Yes. Hanging, throat-cutting, pill-popping, both-barrels-of-a-shotgun-in-the-mouth suicides. I don't know about you, but me, I..."

Lydia's voice stopped and she turned to them a moment later. "Did you hear that?"

"Lydia?" Allison asked.