“Sarah, listen to me explain…” Mark yelled, looking around the room with a sharp gaze.
“Explain what, Mark? About those ‘dip-hiding’ times at the center? Or about the secret apartment in the suburbs that you paid for with Lily’s savings?” Sarah’s voice cut him off. “Do you think I’m some naive housewife? I’m the financial manager for your entire office!”
He made a mark on the floor. He realized he had fallen into a trap that had been meticulously laid for months. Chloe wasn’t a situational pawn. She was part of the plan.
“Where is she? Where’s Chloe?”
“Chloe’s with me, Mark. We’re having a very interesting conversation about loyalty. She’s really cheap, Mark. For a large enough sum, she’s willing to take you anywhere I want.”
The flashlights in the room suddenly went out. Only the red light from the neon sign outside the door shone through the gap.
“Look at your example, Mark. Be careful, be careful.”
Mark nervously opened the back of his leather. He pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was his life insurance policy. The beneficiary section had been changed. His signature was prominently displayed at the bottom – a perfectly forged signature Chloe had tricked him into signing on the toilet paper last week.
“You’ve been legally dead for an hour now, Mark,” Sarah’s voice rang out, this time closer, right behind the bathroom door. “A car crash on the highway… Your sedan lost control and burst into flames. A murder alert will find a disfigured person with your wallet in their pocket. A husband who, except for nightmares, committed suicide. What a sad story.”
The bathroom door swung open. A plume of white smoke from the dry ice spread across the floor. Sarah emerged, wearing the elegant black dress she’d worn on her wedding day. She held neither a knife nor a gun. Instead, she held a remote control.
“Goodbye, Mark. Your romantic night is over.”
Sarah pressed a button. A loud ‘click’ echoed from beneath the bed. Mark looked down in horror. Underneath were industrial gas cylinders, their valves already opened. The pungent smell of gas assaulted his nostrils.
“Sarah! Don’t!”
But Sarah had already stepped onto the balcony and jumped onto the lawn below, where another car was waiting.
Mark rushed to the door, but the doorknob had been dislodged from the outside. He punched the window pane, but it was tempered glass, unbreakable.
Outside, the “Sunset Motel” sign flickered one last time before going dark. In the darkness, Mark saw the paper stub in his wallet once more. The red ink now ran out under the moonlight: “DON’T COME BACK.”
A small spark was detected from the short-circuited electrical outlet that Sarah had prepared.
Boom.
The Nebraska night returned to its butterfly-like stillness, leaving only the burning fire and the scent of vanilla mixed with the fragrance of betrayal.
