Chapter 14 - THE MOTEL 8 REALITY
The neon sign of a rundown roadside motel buzzed and flickered in the encroaching autumn darkness.
Mark unlocked the dented metal door of room 114, the damp smell of old carpet and bleach hitting his nose instantly.
The room featured a sagging double bed with a stained floral quilt and a tiny cathode-ray tube television on a plastic stand.
Elena sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress, burying her face in her hands as she wept openly.
"How did we fall this low, Mark? Just yesterday we lived in a five-million-dollar estate in Winnetka," Elena sobbed.
Mark paced across the sticky linoleum floor, running his hands through his short brown hair in sheer frustration.
"Because Clara isn't who she pretended to be. She played the long game, and we walked right into her trap," Mark spat bitterly.
"We need to beg her for forgiveness. It's our only way back into the house," Elena suggested through her tears.
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"Beg her? After what she did to us? I'd rather rot in prison!" Mark shouted, kicking a stray plastic chair across the room.
The TV screen crackled to life automatically, tuned to a local evening news broadcast covering breaking financial headlines.
