Page 104 of We Already Dug the Grave

“Fight like a hellcat,” Bunny said as she accelerated into a curve. “Got it.”

“If things get noisy, are you sure no one will call the police?” I asked, not for the first or second time. I figured if it was okay for Ruth to ask to hear the plan yet again, then it was okay for me to fish for reassurance. Last thing we needed were cops. Not out here.

“Babe,” Bunny said. “Nobody in this place is gonna hear a damn thing. You can trust that.”

Two turns later, and we rolled into the parking lot.

The desolate motel was made up of cement blocks painted a sickly pale yellow, with a door to what I assumed was the office. Next to it, ten faded red doors—each with their own dents and holes—stretched out in a row.

The nearly empty parking lot was littered with potholes like chickenpox on a sick kid, and there was a squat sign that had seen better days. It was the kind with removeable letters and said simply, B DGET RO MS.

“B-d-get Roms,” I said. “Nice.”

Bunny and Ruth ignored me.

During my years on my own, I’d lived in some sketchy places, but nothing as bad as this. As we rolled across the lot, despair seemed to rise up from the concrete like steam after a summer rain. But as ugly and scary as this motel was, it suited our needs perfectly. I tried to imagine Burt’s shiny, put-together version of my sister stepping foot in a place like this and couldn’t. To be fair, I couldn’t imagine anyone willingly staying here.

The idea of actually breaking down and having to walk to somewhere like this was chilling, but Bunny seemed unbothered as she pulled behind the building and shifted to park.

“Bun.” I unclicked my seatbelt. “How do you know about this place?”

Bunny fluffed her blond hair, then leveled a serious look at me. “You ain’t the only one who had a tough time in their youth, Milly.”

“Easy,” Ruth said, her hand lightly landing on Bunny’s arm. “It was only a question.”

Silence lingered until, finally, Bunny nodded. “I’m going to get our keys. I called last night. We’re in room seven. Wait here.”

When Bunny was out of the car, Ruth turned in her seat. “Coming back to a place like this… It ain’t easy for her.”

I waited for Ruth to say more, but the conversation dropped away. When Bunny reappeared from around the side of the building, we grabbed the leather purse holding the drugs and booze and poison and hurried inside, locking the door behind us.

We got to work in the tiny room that smelled like piss and something else I didn’t want to think too much about. The walls were the same sad almost-yellow as the outside of the motel and clashed with the burnt orange blanket that covered the lumpy bed. The thick curtains blocked the sunlight and kept prying eyes at bay as Bunny sat out the tiny bottles of booze and hid the drugs in the nightstand.

I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, and a roach fell from the top of it, landing on my wrist. I screamed as it scurried up my arm, then took flight.

“Well,” Bunny said. “Guess that’s a good way to check and make sure I was right about nobody hearing anything.”

“Sorry.” I rubbed where the roach had touched my skin.

Bunny shrugged.

We worked in silence, ignoring the bugs (spiders nesting in corners and silverfish in the sink) as well as the stains. The worst was the rust-hued flecks that fanned over the ceiling above the bed. I assured myself it was from a leak, but the heavy twist in my gut told me I was lying to myself. Being here to end a life didn’t mean I wanted reminders that it was likely this room had known death before.

I’d finished coating the drinking glass with poison when Ruth said, “Let’s run through it again.”

“There’s no reason,” I said. “You know what to do.” I poured poison on a rag and handed it to her carefully.

“I’d feel better if—”

There was a knock at the door.

We froze. Listened.

Another knock.

We looked at each other. Was it time already? It seemed too early.

Unless Burt had caught an earlier flight, enraged after the Instagram post.