Sundown Motel Book Novels & Stories

“We’ll rent a room, get a new car tomorrow. Then we go back to headquarters. There has to be something we missed.” As we walked, the sun sank behind us, its heat pressing into our backs like punishment. Sweat ran down my spine, but my mind burned hotter—plans, theories, doubts colliding over and over. Too many questions. Not enough answers. The motel sat at the edge of town, tired and forgotten. We checked in quickly, avoiding eye contact, instinctively keeping our heads down. Inside the room, the smell of old carpet and air freshener hit me, but it was better than the open road.

He deserved the chance to know, so when my child ask me about their father, I can tell them he was a douchebag and a failure without any guilt. Lydia drove me to a motel on the edge of town, a place called The Sunset Inn that had probably been nice in the seventies and has been slowly decaying ever since. The sign out front flickered on and off like it couldn't decide whether to commit to being lit. The parking lot was cracked and full of weeds, and a man in a stained undershirt sat on the balcony of a room, smoking a cigarette and watching us like we were the most interesting thing he'd seen all week. "You're really not going staying at my parents' house?" Lydia asked, turning off the engin

The car started moving fast. “Where are we going?” I asked quietly. Havisham looked out the window. “A private place. No interruptions this time. You have been busy with the Cross family and your neighbor. I need to remind you who you answer to.” The drive felt long. My mind raced with worries about Chloe, the children, and the USB drive hidden back at the cabin. Finally the car stopped at a small motel on the edge of town. It looked quiet and hidden. Havisham paid the man at the front desk with cash. We went to the last room at the end of the building.

“Liam and Adrian, check the bathroom and see if the water still works. Ava and I will search for a fire extinguisher.” The four of them scattered across the suite immediately. Winona opened cabinet after cabinet while smoke thickened around them. “Who designs a luxury hotel without visible safety equipment?” “Rich people love suffering aesthetically,” Ava coughed while searching near the wardrobe. “I loathe this place so much.” A loud crack echoed nearby as another section of the bookshelf caught fire. The countdown reached: 03:41 Then Ava suddenly froze. “Wait.” Winona turned immediately. “What?” “I think I found it.”

he said, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. The 'somewhere' turned out to be a small motel on the outskirts of town, the kind of place that rented rooms by the hour and didn't ask questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered weakly in the growing dusk, half the letters burned out so it read "Mo_el" in stuttering pink light. "This is depressing," I said as Ryder paid the desk clerk—a man who looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in years. "It's temporary," Ryder replied, pocketing the room key. "Just until we figure out our next move without reporters following us everywhere we go."

"Then let's finish what she started." We stood there in the quiet that followed, the kind not born from peace but preparation. War wasn't coming, it had already started. And the ghost we thought we buried? She was clawing her way back. * Alex Hamilton * We didn't wait till morning. The car's headlights cut through the fog like twin blades, slicing the darkness as we turned onto 47th. The motel looked exactly like it had in the photo—peeling paint, flickering neon, the air stale with cigarettes and secrets. Even the ice machine still hummed beside the rusted vending unit like it was stuck in time.

I just wished I knew why. “If she’s not better by morning,” I said, “then we’re going to a hospital.” “Agreed.” I didn’t like it. But I let it go. Eight minutes up the road, there was a motel set back from the highway behind a gas station and a sad-looking diner with a flickering sign. The motel itself looked like it hadn’t been renovated since before either of us were born. Two floors, exterior corridors, a parking lot with a couple of trucks and a minivan sitting in it. A bored-looking older woman at the front desk who barely looked up from her phone when Zane walked in.

I desperately need a bed to crash into. ‘Tomorrow, 8 a.m.,’ the old man at the reception says and hands over the keys. We go up the rickety stairs of the old motel and reach our room. Everything is falling apart—the stairs, the doors, the walls. It’s a motel where truck drivers spend their nights and hence it’s at a bare minimum.

Even if it breaks your heart into pieces. * * * We don't say more than a word to each other for the rest of the drive. Finally, sometime after nine o'clock and just outside of Washington D.C., Ward pulls us into a place called the Sunshine Motel. It's painted taupe. Definitely not what I think of when I hear the word "sunshine."

She pretty much zoned out after that until the car stopped in front of a crappy motel. The Sunshine motel, the name from which Gianna spotted from the faulty neon sign outside, which made her roll her eyes. The name was an irony. The people smoking outside was enough for Gianna to plead to her driver to take her elsewhere. The cab driver said he was going home because of the rain that is to fall. The receptionist was nothing close to sunshine, she barely looked at Gianna doing their transaction. She popped her gum loudly and threw the room key at Gianna when she paid.