Motel 69

From an outsider's point of view, it would look like nothing is amiss. Two young people, heads close together in a deep conversation, huddling together in an attempt to beat the cold. Behind them is a fireplace, the logs sizzling and cackling every now and again. In front of them sat two mugs of room temperature coffee, long forgotten from the amount of time they had spent there. One had hair nearly the same shade of the falling snow; the other, a mop of dark curls were concealed by a wool beanie. Had you not known them, they might look like friends. Closer than friends, maybe. Lovers, even.

You would think he was leaning closer to whisper sweet things in her ear. Words as sweet as sugar and soothing as a lullaby. Loaded words, packed with a promise. And her voice, normally the sound of roaring waves crashing on the sand, was lowered. And he smiled at her. It was a smile so gentle, so private, onlookers would look away. Whether it was a smile of a predator knowing it was about to catch it's pray, you wouldn't know. Not at first glance, anyway. And maybe she had enclosed her hand over his for the simple reason of being closer. For tangible proof that even in this cruel world, they were not alone.

But nothing is as it seems, is it?