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Actually, there's been a development so if you're free. Sam's mind whirred, trying to figure out what he meant by 'development' but at the moment, Becky's car indicated, then drifted left onto a slip road towards a motel set back off the road. Sorry Steve, got to go, I'll call you back in an hour or so, Sam said, hanging up as she glanced in her rear-view mirror and slowed down. At the end of a short slip road was an ordinary-looking Travelodge, a rectangular, two-storey redbrick motel set back from the A-road and shielded by a row of tall, slender birch trees.
It was around fifteen miles from Fentonbridge and Sam realised she must have driven past this place hundreds of times without noticing it.
Perhaps the Spirit warned me by the unconscious nagging at my conscious, but I didn't notice. or wouldn't notice. Perhaps I willingly followed her down the path to destruction. On the other hand, perhaps she saved me from the death sentence I had imposed on myself in my promise to mortify my own flesh.