Destinee Week 64: The Ghost at the Tracks

Destiny Cullen
Sunday


Picture 1

Picture 2


Destiny Cullen’s Choice: Picture 2


Title: The Ghost at the Tracks
There I was sitting in my usual spot on the train tracks as the sun started to set. Thinking about all my problems and how fucked up my life became once my dad made us move here to this stupid town. Not to mention in the middle of my senior year.

Over the past month, I’ve been letting my resentment get the best of me. I haven’t made any friends, to be honest I don’t think I’ve talked to anyone, even the teachers. All I remember of my days here are sitting at the railroad tracks felling....lost.

“I see you over there, and I’m not afraid of you!”

I turned to see a girl about my age cringing away from me, I could have sworn I saw her cross her fingers at me as we met gazes.

“Why would you be afraid of me? I come here everyday and mind my own business,” I said irritably.

“You mean you don’t know?” she said looking at me dumbly.

I rolled my eyes. “What don’t I know? Am I trespassing? I’ve been coming here for a month and no one has bothered me. That was before you though.”

She cocked her head to the side and I sighed getting fed up.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to annoy you, but I’m new around here and I was...dared to come to the haunted train tracks.”

I chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint but they aren’t haunted so there isn’t anything to be scared of.”

She laughed and I heard the crunch of the rocks as she came closer. Somehow she made me feel more relaxed and open as she laughed.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you? I don’t want to hurry back. They’ll think I didn’t come in looking for ghosts.”

“Sure, I wouldn’t want a ghost to get you as you run out.” I smiled.

“Hey in my defense, I thought ghosts were supposed to be scary.”

“Let me guess, with rattling chains and moaning?”

She stuck her tongue out at me before laughing. I started to feel more relaxed and more like my old self around her.

“Tell me the ghost story about this place. Does the ghost have a hook and scare off kids who have premarital sex?”

She laughed but looked sad. “It’s actually kind of tragic. This guy was fighting with his family and he came out here to get away.” She stopped and looked at me. “You mind if we walk? I feel kinda restless.”

I nodded and stood up holding my hand out to help her up. She took my hand hesitantly and shivered when they met. She looked away awkwardly and began walking.

“I don’t know if I should tell you the rest of the story.” She whispered of the crunching of our shoes.

“Why not? You’ve got my interest, and I promise not to cry.” I smiled at her and she smiled back but she still looked doubtful.

“It’s just that my Nana always told me that if I ever met someone like you I need to be careful of what I say.”

I pulled my eyebrows together in confusion. “Someone like me?”

Her eyes got wide as she searched for an answer, “Uh...yeah, you know. Um, handsome?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re telling me that your Nana warned you about telling ghost stories to ‘handsome’ guys?”

She glared at me as I used air quotes. “Fine,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’ll tell you but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I nodded, and she sighed before continuing the story. “They said this guy came here angry and depressed. He was walking along the tracks when he found a bottle of whiskey and put it to good use. After trying to cross the tracks his foot got caught and he fell. He was too drunk to pick himself up, so when a train came he-”

A horn blasted loudly in the night and I froze. Suddenly the girl was gone and I was floating above the train yard. I saw the man she was talking about. He looked familiar, a little too familiar. Then the realization hit. It was me.

I was the man laying on the railroad track. I remembered being so furious at my dad that I came here and I found the bottle. I was so plastered that I didn’t even feel the fall. I tried to get my spirit to move my body out of the tracks but the bright light blinded me and I shut my eyes seconds before impact.

“You’re back! You scared me for a second you completely disappeared.”

I opened my eyes to see the girl again. “Am I really dead?” I whispered.

She nodded. “But don’t be sad. You’ll be going home soon. You’ve been haunting this yard for thirty years I think its long over due.”

“Did you really come here on a dare?”

“Uh, about that... your Dad contacted my Nana and she sent me here to help you move on.”

“Is my Dad still alive? Can I go see him?” I was ready to run as fast as I could to the house.

“Hold on,” she put her hands up to stop me. “You’ll see him right now.” She smiled sadly, “I’m sure you’re ready to leave this life of sadness and anger. Plus you’ve kept your Dad waiting long enough, he really misses you.”

I felt a warm light envelope me and closed my eyes. I was starting to slipping away, but before I was completely gone, I whispered, “Thank you.”

Kimmydonn Week 64: Standards

Kimmydon
Wednesday


Picture 1

Picture 2


Kimmydon's Choice: Picture 1


Title: Standards

Lisa blinked her eyes open at the familiar sound of her alarm. Her mother had found her an old fashioned windup one that she could take anywhere. It hadn’t failed her yet.

“Mmm, don’t get up.” Lisa rolled away from the groggy man sharing her bed. Shaking her head to clear it, she wondered just what she had done the night before. “Really, honey, you’re gorgeous. Don’t they make you up? You can lay in bed a little longer.”

Lisa inspected the many tattoos on his arms and chest. How drunk was she? She didn’t usually go for guys like this. Pulling on her top, she recalled a welcoming party that her new co-star, Alex, had insisted she attend. This guy, she really couldn’t recall his name, had been her constant shadow. Well, it had been more than long enough since she’d been laid. Judging by the burn in her thighs, she’d enjoyed him a lot. She fought a groan as she pulled on her boy shorts and jeans.

“Look, you don’t have to rush out, but don’t be here when I get back, got it?” she said tersely. The last thing she wanted was a relationship with this guy. I mean, there was a good lay and there was a boyfriend. She knew the difference.

“Are you really Lisa Campbell?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and grinning, “cause my friends aren’t going to believe me.”

“Good,” she muttered, stepping into her flipflops and yanking open the door to her room. “Thank God, Ford,” she muttered, trotting up to her burly bodygaurd. “Why on earth did you let me bring him back here?”

Ford looked up from his coffee toward the door. “He seemed nice.” He sipped his coffee not smiling or meeting Lisa’s gaze.

Lisa crossed her arms and scowled. “Do you even know who he is?”

Ford snorted. “I know his social security number. I get paid for a reason, remember?”

Lisa chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, leaning over him in his chair. “I love you, Ford, but really, my taste in everything, especially boys, is terrible when I’m drunk. You can’t let me bring them home. It ruins the morning.”

He laughed louder. “I love you, too, which is why I let you see the error of your ways when it isn’t a risk.”

Lisa stuck her tongue out at him. “You know, this love thing is tough. How do you manage it?” She smirked.

“That’s what they pay me for.”

Lisa nearly sprayed her coffee. “That makes you sound like a gigolo.”

The night before wandered out of the room in just his pants. “Is it seriously six A.M.?” he asked.

“It seriously is, and as you pointed out, I need to be in makeup in thirty. Don’t steal anything,” she said with a sigh, rising and heading for the door. “Ford knows where you live.” She didn’t even look back, but Ford stepped up to the strange man, puffing out chest and paunch both. “Sixty-three Spruce Boulevard. I think your mom might be interested in what you were doing last night.”

Lisa clicked her tongue. “He lives at home? Seriously, Ford, be my standards, would you?”

Ford closed the door behind her. “I try. You really needed that,” he admitted, seeming out of sorts for the first time that morning.

Lisa sighed. “Apparently I did. You sure I can’t pay you for that, too?” she joked, hopping through the door Ford held open for her.

He swallowed and shifted himself before rounding the car to drive.

Muse Calliope Week 64: The River

Mod note: Sadly, SwedenSara has decided to leave us. Happily, in her place, we have Muse Calliope, ready to jump in. Here's her first PicPrompt!

Muse Calliope
Sunday


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Picture 2


Muse Calliope's Choice: Picture 1


Title: The River
The water was old, its bed was not. Once it had been but a creek, a trickle lazily curling its way through an open field ringed by forest. Tall grass grew along its banks, shading it from the heat of the sun, keeping it cool and moist in spite of the sun's best efforts to the contrary. Animals of all sorts came and went. More often than not their tongues lapped against its gently running current, taking it into themselves and making it more, making it better. Raccoons, such quaint, polite little creatures, would perch on its shores and wash their food. Birds — most of them small, like finches and sparrows — would sit in its shallow depths and bathe, their feathers ruffling and spiking around them to briefly give them the appearance of hedgehogs. Frogs would hop and leap among the stones littered around and through its waters, and dragonflies and butterflies would dance along its surface, swirling and twirling like blossoms caught in a wind. It wasn't a perfect existence, but it was one that teemed with life, that offered much to watch, much to experience.

And then the humans came.

They came with their stone and steel, with their axes and hammers. They bit into the earth and built their cities. They clawed into the creek's banks and made it larger, made it deeper, made it more. They brought in stone, great giant cubes to line its shores and prop up their city. They stretched its girth to fit their plump little boats and they dug and dug until they'd twisted its length and latched it to the sea so very, very far away. The connection brought with it a rush of new water and the former creek swelled with a sweeping current that washed away so much of what was, what had been, but the water remained, the water remembered.

The years passed, becoming first decades, then centuries. The humans thrived. Their little town of stone and dirt grew to one of better stone and better dirt. The river's banks teemed with life, but it was man's life now. They built, they destroyed, they built again. New inventions came, and old relics were tossed away. Sometimes, the river claimed a life, washing it away with current and waves, but that was rare. The animals were gone now, except for some fish and some sea gulls; even the butterflies and dragonflies kept away. Mostly, it was only the humans and their pets that lined its banks, only the human vessels and occasional fish that swam it waters.

One day, the city burned on one side of its shores, the flames licking at the stone and dirt and ravaging what the humans had built in a single night. The river gave its waters to douse the fire, but too late. Many humans died, but many more had lived and so they built again. Their new city, or half city, rather, since the other shore had survived unscathed, was one of white buildings and black roofs. The humans had tried to keep an element of the old, but mostly they built new and it showed. They built hotels, they built shops, they built it all so other humans would come and see and stay, spending their time and their money for awhile before departing back from whence they came. They paved their streets with prettier stones and lit their buildings with so many lights, cut their white stone with so many windows that the brightness was like the dawn upon the waters. Humans teemed the shores, visiting, living, thriving. And in between, slicing through their city like a velvet ribbon, was the river, always watching, always waiting, always there.

It missed the days of the quiet field and forest; it missed the animals and their play. Birdsong had long ago been replaced by a shifting maelstrom of human music; so many styles, so many instruments, so many voices, all of it clamoring together and pouring forth into the night air. Laughter and shouting, weeping and cursing, the sounds echoed off their stone and sent vibrations through the water — heard but not understood, carried away but never forgotten.

One day, the humans would fall. One day, they'd leave and never come back. One day, the grass and the trees would reclaim the shores. But then, maybe not. Maybe one day something else would happen. Something as different from the human as the humans were to the field. Whatever the future brought, however, the river would be there, watching, waiting, witnessing. Perhaps it would become a sea, as it had become a river. Perhaps it would return to being a creek. It would not matter. It would still be there; all water was one, sooner or later. It would not matter.

The water was old, its bed was not.

Burntcore Week 64: Everlasting Love

Burntcore
Thursday


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Picture 2


Burntcore's Choice: Picture 2


Title: Everlasting Love

It was the day after, the day after we ran off and did the one thing that our parents feared the most. The silver band around my ring finger reminded me of the choice we made. I couldn’t regret it. I didn’t regret it. There wasn’t anything I knew more than the love that we shared.

Sure, his parents liked me and mine liked him, but liking is one thing. Knowing that your kids ran off and eloped was something else entirely. They all thought we were too young, but it wasn’t like we were in high school anymore. I might have not been old enough to drink yet, but that was only a few months off. Cole just turned twenty-one last month. We were adults in every way, except in our parents’ minds.

Maybe part of their fear stemmed from concern over our education. Cole and I were going to graduate from college in another semester. We knew that our new status wasn’t going to change those plans. We just didn’t want to wait anymore.

Cole rolled over towards me, his eyes blinking as he started to wake. He snaked his arm across my chest, until his hand cupped the side of my face, holding it as he brought his face to mine. I gazed at him, my eyes full of love and happiness.

“Good morning, Mrs. Murphy,” he said softly, his eyes shining.

“Good morning, Mr. Murphy,” I replied, my eyes welling with tears.

“God, this is real, isn’t it?” he asked, caressing the side of my face with his fingers.

“Yes,” I whispered, turning my head into his hand.

“Regrets?”

“None,” I said firmly.

“Our parents will flip.”

“They’ll get over it.”

Cole laughed and pulled me close. I ran my hands across his skin, warm from sleep, but soft and firm. He brought my left hand to his lips and kissed my wedding band. As he lowered my hand, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his.

While this wasn’t our first kiss, it certainly wouldn’t be our last.

Burntcore Week 63: Power of Flight

Burntcore
Thursday


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Picture 2


Burntcore's Choice: Picture 2


Title: Power of Flight

It was a cool spring evening in Cleveland. The cicadas were chirping but it was hard to here them where we were. My boyfriend and I, a guy I would only end up dating for a few somewhat tulmultous months, were laying on our backs against a large mound of dirt outside of Hopkins Airport, near where the Bomb Squad resturant was.

Neither one of us were sure who owned the property, but this field cleary had been used to dump dirt from excavation projects at one time. Other cars were parked in a graveled area of the field, the occupants with their eyes to the sky like Mike and I were.

Thankfully, Mike had planned this night and had brought a blanket so we weren’t laying direclty on the dirt. It wouldn’t have mattered that much to me anyway. I wasn’t afraid of a little dirt.

My gaze was too entranced watching the planes take off and land. The noise the big 747s, 737s, and other jumbo aircraft made was sometimes earthshattering, but awe inspiring at the same time. It was hard to believe that something as big as those airliners could actually fly.

This was before 9/11 and all the security measures that came afterward. Now you can’t just sit and watch the planes without being arrested or strongly encouraged to move along. Back then with Mike was my first time to watch the activity at the busy international airport, but not my first time to plane watch.

Back when I was younger, before I was in high school, I used to go to a small, local airport on the weekends with my brother and father. My brother was taking flying lessons there and the usual crowd of people at the airport treated us like family. It was a common occurance for the gang to hang out at the airport. Not everyone flew their planes, of the few that actually owned one, but would just hang out and watch tv or lounge outside in the picnic area. Or, go watch the small single or double prop planes come in and take off, something I loved to do. These planes looked like they glided across the air effortlessly.

I don’t know what exactly about airplanes held my fascination, but they did. Perhaps it was mastery of the sky, to be up there among the clouds I yearned to touch, among the birds I yearned to fly near. Whatever the reason, when I grew up, my love of airplanes did not fade.

Which led me to the night in question outside of Hopkins airport, lying on a blanket in the dirt. It was awesome. We laid there and talked inbetween take off and landings. When the planes were coming and going, it was too loud to do anything but stare at the aircraft or each other. I was too shy to do anything outside like we were, and our relationship was really too new for me to want to do much, but it was a great evening.

I would watch those huge, lumbering aircraft and wonder about the people that were inside, where they were going, what kind of lives they had. I dreamed that one day I would be one of those people, flying away like a shooting stars, shooting into the sky.

My relationship with Mike may have had a short lifespan, but my love of airplanes continued, even now. When my husband and I go on vacation, I’m always eager to fly. Him? Not so much. He prefers to stay on the ground. I refuse to travel cross-country in a car. Give me a plane any day, and maybe there is someone else down on the ground, wishing and wondering, as we take off into the sky.

Kimmydonn Week 63: Waking Up

Kimmydon
Wednesday


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Picture 2


Kimmydon's Choice: both


Title: Waking Up
The last leaves fell from the trees while I slept. Sitting up slowly, I neither stretch nor scratch. I don’t want to lose any heat I don’t have to. I blink bleary-eyed into the dawn and wonder how I will face another day. Is there any way out of this downward spiral? I lost my wife. I lost our savings. And finally I lost my job.

I idly wonder who’s yard I’m trespassing in today. It takes almost all my determination to get up, but I do. I have to find a new job, before I become so mangy no one will look at me.

There’s a small scream, and I curse quietly, closing my eyes. When I open them, I see the back of a girl in a red coat, running to the house.

I can barely hear the woman on the porch step. “Jessica! What has gotten into you. Oh! Hello!” Jessica’s mother smiles and waves as she calls. Not sure it’s a good idea, I come closer.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten her,” I apologize, smiling at the girl and the woman.

“Where did you come from?” the woman asks, eyeing my heavy clothing, my tangled hair.

“Very sorry,” I murmur, turning to go.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

“I... I need to get... the Employment office...”

The woman nods. “You are off to look for a job. Come in and use our shower. Turn the odds a little more in your favor.” She holds the door open and Jessica races back out again in her red coat. “Jessica! You stay in the yard!” she yells after the girl. “My name is Grace, by the way.”

The gratitude I feel to this stranger, offering me her home, even only for a few minutes, is overwhelming. Would I have done the same? She is well named. “I’m Jim. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Nonsense. Just some hot water. My husband was laid off for six months. We almost lost the house. I understand what you’re going through. At least you’re still trying. Getting harder all the time, though, isn’t it? How long since ...?”

“A month,” I admit. “They repossessed the house a month ago. I managed to keep my job for a little while, but the work ran out.”

She follows me into the kitchen and I start to unwind scarf and overcoat, revealing my under coat, jacket... The clothes seem to take forever to remove and some I haven’t removed in a week. She disappears from the kitchen at a trot and comes back with a bath robe.

“Here. Wear this and I’ll wash the lot. I’ll find you something of my husband’s while you’re in the shower.”

“Thank you.” My voice breaks, and she takes further pity on me, wrapping my dirty, smelly body in a warm hug.

“Hush, Jim. Accept and pass it on. That’s all we can do. I had to accept my neighbor’s groceries and babysitting and you have to accept my laundry and shower. It all goes around.”

I hop in the shower, and sigh immediately at the hot water pouring from the head. I haven’t been truly warm in days. Looking at my feet, I cringe at the murky water gathering there as I wash. At least it drains away quickly.

I’m just grabbing the shampoo when the door opens. Through the frosted shower door, I see Grace silently lay clothes on the toilet seat and pick up my filthy underwear. She tiptoes out as quietly.

Wearing clean clothes feels... odd. They’re a little big on me, probably because I’ve lost so much weight, but Grace’s husband is close to my size. I open the bathroom door and my mouth waters.

“Are they ready, Mommy?” Jessica asks from the end of the hall, the kitchen.

“Settle down! They’re still hot. Take off those shoes before you muddy the whole kitchen,” Grace complains.

The smell of what Jessica is waiting for is unmistakable. Cookies. Hot from the oven, sugar and flour and eggs - cookies. As I round the corner, I see the chocolate that I couldn’t quite smell.

“Daddy?” the girl asks in surprise.

Grace jumps slightly at the sight of me, and I shift nervously. “He does look like Daddy, doesn’t he?” she agrees.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stay out of the way...”

“Would you like a cookie?” she asks, indicating the cooling rack on the table. Jessica kneels on a stool to grab one, dropping it immediately to shake her hand and blow on her fingers.

“I told you, they’re still hot,” Grace chides her, hugging her and tickling her ribs. “Please, Jim. Sit, have a glass of milk.” She must see how hungry I am.

“Thank you.” I sit in the chair across from Jessica who now has chocolate smeared on her top lip. I smile and she smiles back, revealing more chocolate on her square white teeth.

“Is he our new Daddy?” she asks Grace, who pales and slops the milk she is pouring.

“Jessica! No, he’s Jim, and he needs our help.”

“Oh, okay,” the girl replies, munching her cookie.

“I’m sorry about that,” Grace mumbles.

“Your husband?” I ask, afraid I know the answer.

“Three days back on the job, he was killed. The life insurance was a godsend in some ways, but I’d give every penny to have him back.” Her eyes water, and I long to hug her as she did me, but I’m afraid to — afraid of offending. Instead, I squeeze the hand on the table.

“I know. I lost my wife.” I sigh heavily. “I didn’t have insurance to give even that little help. It’s how I lost the house.”

“Can I have another?” Jessica asks, breaking the tension.

Grace chuckles lowly. “Yes, you can have another. Look, Jim why don’t you come back later tonight for supper with us.”

“I... I couldn’t... I don’t want to...”

“Accept,” she whispers, squeezing my fingers where they curled around around her hand. “Break the cycle,” she murmurs, and closes her eyes. “Please, break the cycle.”

At first, I think she was talking about the spiral I am caught in, but then wonder if she means another.

“I’ll try. Thank you, Grace.”

Bronwyn Week 63: New Beginnings Part 2

Bronwyn Keith
Tuesday


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Picture 2


Bronwyn’s Choice: Picture 2


Title: New Beginnings Part 2

After leaving the house, Aimee walked across the barnyard to the hidden wooden stairs that lead to the road where she parked her car. The stairs meandered up the side of the hill, through the dense forest that surrounded her grandfather's farm. As she walked, her thoughts kept returning to Adam. He wasn't like the other cowboys she knew. He was quiet and caring, especially to a complete stranger.

Adam was taller than Travis. With Adam, she had to look up at him, while Travis was her height. Adam's dark blond hair brushed his shoulders and his hands were calloused for hours of hard labor. Travis would never be caught with long hair or rough hands, he was a metro-sexual to the core. Aimee shook her head. Until Travis, she had never gone for the clean cut city boy, having always preferred guys like her daddy, ones who didn't mind getting dirty or spending time outside. Guys who loved animals and camping.

But Travis swept her off her feet the first time she met him at a singles bar in Los Angeles. He was so charming and sweet. She hadn't dated in a few years when they met and was easily taken in by his Casanova personality. After two years of dating, he finally proposed. Instead of the tears she always imagined she would shed, Aimee had just stared at him in shock. It was at that moment that she realized that she really didn't love him. They had a comfortable life together, sharing a cute little downtown flat, but she didn't want that kind of life forever. She was a country girl at heart.

Aimee stopped on the stairs and looked down the hill toward her grandfather's farm. She shook her head; it was Adam's now. She wanted to go back down that hill to see what would happen between them, but she also knew that it wouldn't be fair to Adam or Travis if she did. After a long look down the hill, she turned and continued to her car.

Once in her car, she grabbed her cell from the glove box. She had needed time alone, and Travis had been calling her non-stop since she left the restaurant, telling him she needed to think about his proposal. She pushed the on button and while she waited for the phone to boot up, she looked out the window at the wooded area, remembering the time she spent there as a child.

Aimee and her parents had lived with her grandparents. Her dad helped grandpa run the ranch while mom and grandma ran the house. Mom would also make quilts that were sold at a local gift shop. Life was wonderful and full of love. Until the night Aimee's mom died.

Aimee's parents went for their weekly horse back ride and picnic. Grandpa had asked them that morning not to go because he had a bad feeling. Usually her parents would listen to grandpa's worries, but not that day. They couldn't wait to be alone for a few hours. The day was like any other; Aimee helped her grandma around the house and then went to the barn to take care of her pony that her grandpa had given her. As the sun started to set, Aimee watched grandpa pace the barn yard waiting for her parents to come home. She was awakened by the commotion in the barn yard when they got back. Her dad carried her mom to their car. Aimee could remember the blood on her mom's face and grandpa yelling her dad. Then her dad sped in to the night, taking her mom to the hospital. Aimee never saw her mom again, and shortly after the funeral, her dad and grandpa had a fight. That was when they left the farm.

For a few years after that, Aimee would go the farm to visit her grandparents during the summer for a few weeks, but it was never the same. Then after her grandma died, she never went to the farm again — until today. It had been fifteen years since she last saw the farm.

The buzzing of her phone pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked at the screen to see ten missed calls and just as many messages. Scrolling through the list, she discovered that not all of the calls were from Travis — a couple were from her best friend, Penny. Aimee hit play on Penny's first message, avoiding the calls from Travis. Penny's voice filled the cabin of the car.

"Hey, sweetie. Travis just called me looking for you. I told him that I talked to you but didn't know where you were. He is really worried about you. Where are you, and why didn't you tell me that he proposed? Call me as soon as you get this message." Aimee had called Penny to let her know that she would be out of touch for a few days, but never told her friend why. Aimee deleted the message and played the next one from Penny.

"It's been over twelve hours since I left my last message. You better be dead in a ditch for making me worry about you and deal with Travis. Call me!" Laughing at Penny's message, Aimee hit delete and dialed Penny's number.

"About damn time you called me!" Penny's anxious voice answered on the first ring. "Where are you?"

"I'm safe and near my grandparents old farm," Aimee told her.

"You drove to Northern Colorado by yourself?" Penny asked. "Are you crazy? That is a sixteen hour drive from here." Aimee knew very well how long the drive from Southern California to Colorado was.

"I needed time to think, and I didn't really know where I was driving to until I got here. I'm going to head into town and get a room at the bed and breakfast. I'll head home tomorrow or the day after," Aimee told Penny, feeling bad that she had worried her friend.

"Do you need me to come and be with you?"

"No, Penny, I'm fine. I just need to get my priorities straight. I'll call you tomorrow once I know what I'm going to do."

"You better. If you don't, I'm coming out there," Penny told her fervently. "You are like my sister, Aimee. I don't want you doing anything stupid."

"I promise I won't, Penny. I'll talk to you in a couple of days." After a brief goodbye, Aimee hung up her phone and stared at the display. Deciding to call Travis after she checked in to the bed and breakfast, she placed the phone the passenger seat. Aimee started up her car, did a u-turn, and followed the road into town.

Like many of the Colorado mountain towns, Rockton Falls was small with a one main road through the center of town — at one end was the grocery store and the other was the feed store. Sprinkled through the middle were the town bar, a small restaurant, an old Victorian style house that was now a bed and breakfast, and a few small gift shops for visiting tourists. Aimee parked her car in front of the house and sat for a few moments before grabbing her purse and heading inside.

Twenty minutes later, she sat on her bed drying her hair, watching her phone as it rang. It was Travis again. She still wasn't ready to listen to his messages or talk to him. She turned off the phone and set it on the night stand. Deciding that she needed to buy some new clothes and food, she put on the clothes she had been wearing and headed to the small clothing store next door.