Jacob Georgalian huffed as he pulled up to the office. Traffic was always bad in Vegas, everybody was going everywhere, but this morning it was unbearable. He always left himself 25 extra minutes to get from his lush home in the suburbs around the city to his office 10 miles away, and aggressively parking he glanced at the clock, which showed him as 33 minutes late. He growled as he stepped out of the car. No one in Two Tier Protection would be angry at him when he entered, he was the boss, owner, and CEO not to mention fierce enough that he was feared by everybody, but Jacob was rigid in his routines and business, and that included being punctual.

He slammed the door; stepping out from his cool 72 degree air conditioned car into the dry 106 Vegas heat. As he turned toward the building a shot rang out, and he fell against his BMW, futilely clutching to his now bleeding chest. He desperately rummaged in his pocket for his cell phone to call 911 but with a bleeding chest, punctured lung, and his brain unable to comprehend the amount of pain he was suddenly experiencing, he could do nothing but fall over heaving on the ground. A tourist lost and looking for the strip rushed over towards Jacob, pulling out his phone and frantically calling 911 while trying to stop the bleeding and screaming for help.

Meanwhile, Tyler Vendilla stood smiling in the mirror as he straightened his tie. He had a very important meeting today with a client at his advertising job, and the new suit he bought had really paid off. He looked fantastic. He briefly frowned, deciding his hair needed just one more comb through. He picked up his black comb and gently brought it through his graying, slicked back hair. He sighed contently. Today was going to be a fantastic, successful day, just like every other day in Tyler’s life.

From behind him Tyler heard the squeaking of his apartment door. He wasn’t expecting anyone certainly now as he was heading off to work. “Hello?” He called out. He was met with nothing but silence. Walking out of his bedroom, he peered into the foyer. Just as he was about to exhale an “Oh.” his eyes widened as the bullet went through his forehead. He fell over on his soft beige carpet, dead.

45 minutes after Tyler hit the floor, two squad cars pulled up to Jacob Georgalian’s House. Heather, his 17 year old daughter, looked up from her phone out the window. “Mom, the fuzz is here.” She said confusedly. Her mom, dicing tomatoes in the kitchen, didn’t even look up. “Ok then.” She responded, going back to her phone. Less than a minute later, there was a loud knocking at the door. “Told you.” Heather mumbled.

Heather’s mother Karen silently put down her knife, wiped her hand off on a towel, and walked over to the door. Opening it, she saw two uniformed police officers on her front steps.

“Excuse me,” the man of the left asked, “But are you Mrs. Georgalian?”

“I am,” she coldly replied.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to inform you that your husband Jacob is dead.” The officer to the right said.

Karen stood their frozen, unsure of how to react. Heather, sitting on the couch, suddenly jumped up, dropping her phone. “What?!” She exploded.

Gravely turning to her daughter Karen stated, “Your father is dead.”

“No!” Heather exclaimed.

Ignoring her Karen turned back to the officers and asked, “How did he die?”

“He was shot in the chest outside of his office.” The officer to the left answered.

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind us impeding, we’d like to ask you a few questions.” The officer to the right requested.

Karen nodded, mumbling, “Let me put on some coffee.”

As she went back into the kitchen, the two officers walked in, taking a seat on the house’s black leather couches. Heather had sat back down, and was staring at her hands aghast. It was only a minute before Karen came back in the room with two mugs of coffee for the policemen.

“Thank you,” the office to the left, Sergeant Yeates said. Officer Williams took his coffee silently.

“Now, to get things out of the way,  just as a formal procedure, where were you this morning ma’am?” Officer Williams asked.

“I was here, at home, doing housework and such.” She blandly replied.

Jotting that down in a small notebook Williams continued, “And what time did your husband leave for work?”

“Around 9 o’clock I believe.” She answered.

The two officers continued, asking about Jacob’s daily routines and worklife, briefly asking Heather, the shock beginning to wear off, where she had been all day, which was mostly in bed.

Wrapping things up Sergeant Yates asked, “And did Jacob Hve any enemies of any kind ma’am? Rivals in the business or anything?”

“No, there aren’t any enemies I know of.” She responded, continuing, “Well, not any recent ones anyway.”

“Recent ones?” Officer Williams questioned.

Karen Georgalian sighed. “Nearly a decade ago, my husband was a pit boss in the Mirage. He worked with this friend of his, Tyler Vendilla. At one point, they were planning a heist of some sort, taking some of the casinos money before it hit the banks, working with some of the dealers at the hotel. Tyler and him were the masterminds of the operations, and were getting the two largest, yet equal, cuts. Then, about two days before the scheme was to go down, Jacob heard from one of the dealers that Tyler had made some sort of deal with one of the other members in the group, and was going to cheat Jacob out of part of his share. When Jacob found out he was enraged, and went to the higher ups and reported the whole plan, leaving out that he was involved. Tyler was fired, and Jacob got promoted. He only worked there another year though before he finally had the money to start his own business.”

Nodding as he wrote this down Sergeant Yeates said, “Thank you ma’am, we’ll to be sure let you know if we learn anything new.” Karen silently nodded, and got up to show them the door.

Walking to the patrol car, Williams said to Yeates, “I don’t know about you, but something seemed awfully fishy about the way she was speaking to us. I know there’s a degree of shock, but that was straight up apathy.”

“I know,” The Sergeant replied, “And trust me, if we don’t find any leads with Mr. Vendilla or any possible business opponents, we’ll be coming back here.” Williams nodded.

Approximately 20 minutes later, the Sergeant and Officer arrived at Tyler Vendilla’s apartment. After knocking for about five minutes, there was still no response.

“Maybe he’s at work?” Williams offered.

“I don’t think so…” Yeates began, turning the doorknob.  The door creaked open. Quickly withdrawing his gun the sergeant stepped in, calling out, “Mr. Vendilla?”

There was no answer so the sergeant began to slowly walk through the apartment, gun out, and beckoning the Officer, who was still standing outside the door. Giving the living room-kitchen a once over, he softly called, “Clear!” back to his partner, moving towards what seemed to be the bedroom. “Mr. Vendilla?” He said again, but looking in the room as he entered, he exhaled deeply. Briefly squatting down to check for a pulse that he knew wasn’t going to be there, he yelled to Williams in the other room, “Williams, call for backup. We got a 187.”

Later, as the ambulance carried away Tyler’s body, the two officers stood leaning against the cop car, watching as the CSI filed into another crime scene that day. “So do you think they’re related?” Williams asked.

“I don’t think so actually. Although a wise man once said nothing in life is a coincidence.” He answered, watching as evidence was brought out of the building. “I guess time and evidence will tell.”

“Yeah, it always does.” Williams responded. In the car, the radio spouted off a nearby robbery. “That’s our cue.” Williams said, sliding in the passenger seat.

In the CSI lab that night, one of the Investigators strolled over to the DNA technician. “So, any match on the hair found in Mr. Vendilla’s apartment?”

“Match? No. However, I can tell you however that it is female, and very heavily damaged. The hair’s color doesn’t appear to be its natural one either.” The tech answered, handing the official document to Investigator Gretchen.

“Interesting,” Gretchen dully mumbled, giving the sheet a once over.

Meanwhile, other investigator Yon sat typing in the computer. He had taken the fragments of the bullet out of Mr. Georgalian’s body, and was comparing what distinguishing features he had managed to get to the State’s gun database. After a few minutes there was a soft ding from the computer, and a screen reading “MATCH” popped up. The bullet that punctured Jacob’s lung was a .45 caliber bullet from a Walther P99. Frowning, he vaguely recalled seeing it recently and brought up a new program, doing another search. After a minute he got his result and clicked around finding what he was looking for. He smiled looking it over. This was certainly an interesting result.

The next day Sergeant Yeates and Officer Williams arrived back at the Georgalian residence. After a minute or so of knocking, Karen came to the door.

“Hello Ma’am,” the Officer greeted, “we’d like to take a look at your house.”

“A look at my house?” Karen asked, stunned.

“Yes,” the Sergeant answered, “The bullet that hit your husband is actually a match to the type of gun your husband was registered to have. We’d like to see if the gun is still in the house.”

Annoyed, she replied, “Well, do you have a warrant?”

“Um, yes.” The Officer simply stated.

Sighing she called to Heather, “Well Karen, we’re going to have to leave.”

With that the CSI’s filed back in. After about 15 minutes a few of them came back out with bags and the Officer and Sergeant allowed the two, one still annoyed, another confused, back in.

Peter Schnell huffed as he rushed out to his car. Peter was having a very busy, very rough day, and it wasn’t going to get any better from here. Just that Monday a local newspaper had written an article giving his restaurant, P.S. Cuisine, an exceptional review which was a good thing, especially because his business had almost tripled. The problem was that his staff didn’t seem to be adjusting to the change very well, with at least one waitress getting hysterical each day, and finally today, the busiest day of the week, Friday, one of his main sous chefs had gotten frustrated with the extra workload and walked out on the job. While this would be the type of thing that may bring some kitchens to their knees, Peter, as an experienced manager and restaurant owner, had been ready to handle this catastrophe with calm and efficiency; he had spent many years as a chef at high class eating establishments, he would merely take this workers spot.

That was when he got the phone call that killed his day. It was from his niece, Claire. She was calling to remind him that he had agreed (begrudgingly, he remembered) to volunteer to cook at one of Erie’s soup kitchens, making gourmet food for those that usually were just happy for anything to eat. That was what really brought his day crashing down, the knowledge that he was going to have to spend 2 and a half hours away from a restaurant that very desperately needed him, now of all times. He was stuck in between a rock and a hard place though, he agreed to cook at the soup kitchen, and certainly didn’t have the heart to tell a charitable organization or his niece Claire that he had to back out of it. So instead he despondently looked at the clock, and realizing that it was 10:15 and he had an hour until he needed to be at the kitchen to start setting up. He quickly found his executive chef and explained to him what was going on and the extra responsibilities he would have, not only running a busy kitchen, but also running a busy kitchen without an owner to help with major problems and a kitchen minus one sous chef. Robby, his executive chef looked freaked out to say the list but was a good, solid kid, and if anybody could handle it, it was him.

So leaving his prized possession in the most capable person for the job, he began to pack for the soup kitchen. That was when he realized his latest problem, long ago, when Claire had proposed this to him, she had told him it would be a big job; he had just figured that he would bring a sous chef along, and they could knock out it all out upon getting there. What he didn’t calculate in though was the P.S. Cuisine’s patronage rapidly expanding and him loosing a sous chef on top of it. This meant that he was going to have to prep and cook this meal with only the help at the soup kitchen. This worried Peter immensely, and Peter would’ve killed for another chef to bring along, but he really couldn’t leave Robby with a kitchen any more immobilized than it already was.

So feeling bad about the event before it even started, he put his packed up ingredients and chef coat in his van and dove off to the soup kitchen. Glancing at the clock as he turned on the car, he breathed at least one sigh of relief knowing he was a good ten minutes ahead of schedule, it was 10:45, and it was about a 20 minute commute downtown to the soup kitchen. Turning on the radio he decided the best thing he could do now was cheer up and attempt to enjoy the event. Not that he would anyways, but it would be better to try.

Traffic was slightly heavier than expected, and he ended up just getting there on time. He quickly grabbed the unwieldy pile of supplies (including his coat) and walked into the soup kitchen. As he entered, he squinted, the change of light blurring his vision momentarily. The building was dark, several of the neon lights overhead having gone out or nearly going out. It was large inside but all the space was being used, with a cafeteria-style counter on one side and the rest of the floor covered by tables. There were maybe 20 or so people dispersed at the table, about a dozen or so looked up interestedly when Peter walked in.

Peter froze, standing there with the large containers. He had no idea where or what he was supposed to do. 

Luckily one smiling woman from behind the counter walked over to him.

“Hi!” She cheerily greeted. “You must be Chef Schnell from P.S. Cuisine right? Thanks for coming… can I help you with any of your containers?”

“Um yeah, the top one.” He answered from behind the containers continuing, “And you can call me Peter.”

“Oh, ok Peter!” She took one of the boxes off his stack. “My name’s Sherry!” She extended her arm, which Peter hesitantly shook. 

           Sandra aggressively turned on to the freeway. All she knew was that she needed to get away, and fast. She wasn’t being chased by any physical presence, but more a matter of the mind. Having already been driving an hour and half, she had almost forgotten what had set her off in the first place. She frowned, the wind from both open windows whipping at her face.  Oh yes, it had been the long maroon gown. She had asked him for a week to take it to the dry cleaning right on his route to work and have it washed for her, and he had kept putting it off. Finally, he had promised he would do it for her today, and what do you know, when he arrived home, he had forgotten. It hadn’t been just any garment either, it had been her favorite maroon dress, which she had planned to wear on a night out with a girls, which she hadn’t had in forever.

When he had got home, she was livid, and had freaked out on him. She did everything for him. She cooked his meals, cleaned their finely furnished house, picked out his clothes, balanced the checkbook, bought the food, and made sure he was all set for his day. And yet he didn’t have the five minutes to stop in and drop off one piece of clothing for her. It was like he didn’t think about her at all, she did everything for him, made sure his world was perfect, and he didn’t even have the time of day for her. He had stood there stupidly as she screamed at him. And then, she was picking up her purse and coat and storming off to her car. And now she was here, on the I70, going west. She wasn’t sure where exactly she was planning to go, but for now she was just going to drive.

Suddenly, it seemed like it was getting dark. That wasn’t the truth, it had been a long time coming, but she had been on autopilot most of that time. Glancing down at the clock and seeing that it was 8:34, she realized that she must have been driving around 3 hours, Dan got home from work around 5. She had to be in the middle of the Missouri by now. She decided that didn’t bother her, and she was just going to keep going.

An hour after that, she was driving through Kansas City. She was getting far now, being two states away. It seemed like she was in this for the long haul, and passing a sign showing Hotels at the next exit, she figured she might as well stop and stay the night. It seemed like she had been driving long enough, at least for that day.

She got a room at a generic hotel chain, charging it on her credit card. Walking into her room it felt cold and empty. It wasn’t very late, but being that she generally didn’t watch TV, didn’t have anything else to do and this room was giving her bad vibes, she simply kicked off her shoes, got into the too tightly made bed, shut off the lights and went to bed.

Right around that time Sandy’s son Rick came strolling into the house, coming back after hanging at a friends. Usually there would be some dinner small going on around now, and frowned at smelling none. He peeked into the kitchen, and seeing no one there walked into the dining room. There was no one there either, so he went to the dining room. His father was sitting in the reclining, only one light on, but not the TV.

Utterly confused, he asked, “What’s going on?”

His father looked forward despondently. “I’m not sure.”

That certainly wasn’t much of an answer, so Rick asked instead, “Well, is mom even here?”

Rick had thought it wasn’t possible for his father to look anymore downtrodden, but apparently it was, because he frowned even as he asked. “She left.” He stated.

“Left?” Rick questioned, dubious.

“I think she cracked.” He answered, his voice strangely monotone.

“Huh.” Rick remarked. He wasn’t sure whether or not to be surprised by this. Instead he settled with, “Yeah, probably about time.”

No longer too concerned, he headed toward the kitchen to grab a bag of chips before going to his room.

Sandra woke up the next morning slamming in imaginary alarm clock. Hitting only a desk, she blearily opened her eyes, wondering where she was. Rolling on to her back to stare up at the ceiling, it suddenly hit her. She was in a hotel after driving three hours to a different state after an altercation with her husband. There was a part of her that was telling her that she really ought to be sorry about this, that she should be at home, but these were only brief thoughts of her mind, and not actually feeling in her heart, or stomach for that matter. She did feel quite a bit hungry though. She vaguely remembered the man who had checked her in telling her that there was a complimentary breakfast from 6-10 every day. She didn’t even have to look at the clock to know what time it was, her internal alarm was set for 6:30 and had been so for a long, long time. Her first thought was that she would get dressed and go down, but then she realized that she hadn’t brought any clothes, and had slept in her clothes.

She took a quick look in the mirror, straightened out her shirt a bit (only an iron would fix those wrinkles, and she certainly didn’t have an iron), picked up her coat, purse and key card from the chair, and headed off to breakfast.

Breakfast at the local Holiday Inn was a lot less complex than the breakfasts at the Yeates home. Breakfast at the Yeates home usually involved at least one hot component, be that eggs, pancakes, waffles or French toast, and a side, generally toast, but occasionally hash browns. The three of them, Dan, her son and herself would eat in silence before Dan went off to work and Rick walked off to school. Her mind went out to Rick. She wondered what he was doing now, and what he would think about her leaving. Her natural reaction was to worry, but Rick was 16, and hardly a child anymore, and he could take care of himself. Sandra wasn’t sure how she new, but instinctually she thought that he probably understood, at least on one level. And for what he was doing right now she was being silly, he was obviously sleeping. He still had awhile before he would have to get up for school.

The breakfast she was having now was self serve, and included no cook components, as pancakes or eggs sitting on a buffet pan for four or so hours probably wouldn’t taste very good. Sandra had personally decided on an apple, a plain bagel with butter, and a small bowl of cheerios. She had never been a fan of sugary cereals, and never bought any for the house. Nor was she a fan of caffeine, it was mostly because she didn’t need it. She had been graced with being a morning person, at least in her later life. She couldn’t really recall mornings when she was a child or teen. Eventually she was finished, and dropping off the key to the front desk was getting back in her car.

She had an important decision to make. Did she drive back home, or keep on going? What should have been a lot of indecision and questioning actually seemed quite clear to her. She was moving on, westward.

About 6 and a half hours later she was in Colorado, and once again hungry. This time instead of immediately heading to a chain she decided to try some local flavor and eat lunch at a diner. It was still technically lunchtime at Louie’s All Time Dinner, so Sandra decided to have a nice hot breakfast. Munching on her warm, delicious pancakes, she thought that she should probably make a plan for the rest of her trip, including how long it would last. Moving on, living without rules had been fun, but things would most likely work out better if she at least had a vague sense of what she was doing. She had already made it to Colorado, the logical thing to do would be go all the way to California, and reach the coast. Smiling as she began to nibble at her bacon, she decided that that was exactly what she’d do, drive to the great Pacific coast, which would be about another two days.

Marissa Stevens was often described by those who knew her as eccentric. She wasn’t very often called this to her face, and when she was she never took it seriously anyways, so it didn’t make too much of a difference. Most of the people who knew the 38-year-old woman were her coworkers on the EIA, or European International Airlines. She had worked as a stewardess for the company for over three years, traveling on some 2,000 flights. And though she was excellent at her job of describing safety protocols, making sure that passengers kept their seatbelts on and tray tables in the upright positions at the appropriate times, handing out refreshments and overall being knowledgeable about all the things that her job required, her coworkers just found her plain annoying. They felt that she had a severe and unhealthy obsession with not only hair clips, but also macramé. Marissa liked to boast that she probably had the largest collection of hairclips in the entire world, and how she simply loved finding new hairclips at flea markets, malls, and garage sales. She would go on and on about the finding of new hairclips, and the maintenance of hairclips, and her coworkers couldn’t stand it. It would be bad enough now and again in a casual office setting, but they worked on air flights, many of which were very long, and if Marissa wanted to talk to you about her latest hairclip adventure, then, well, there just wasn’t any avoiding it. There was no steering clear of her, nor was there anywhere to hide. On six or eight hour flights, it took everything Marissa’s peers had to not tear their hair out.

That, and the woman did macramé nonstop. 

People would’ve thought that she couldn’t talk and macramé at the same time, but Marissa could and certainly did, chasing people down talking about hairclips and doing macramé simultaneously. Nobody in the EIA staff hated macramé outright, but it was the fact that Marissa felt the need to shower everybody with macramé gifts that they had no use for. Half of the staff didn’t have the heart to throw it out, but some of the younger members (particularly the men) really didn’t care and just dropped it in the trash. When Secret Santa came around each year, somebody new they were getting a new macramé creation, however, the person who was gifting to Marissa had it relatively easy, gift the woman a new hairclip and she was pure ecstatic.

Marissa sat on a bench, doing her latest grey and white macramé design. Suddenly, and not looking up from her macramé, she spoke. “Beautiful Paris eh? Too bad we’re stuck in this dreary ole place.” The staff room was awfully dull, it only had one window and besides EAI logos and papers posting the wall was bare from any color or actual excitement. “Aw, how I’d love to see the great buildings of the legendary city of lights.” She commented.

          Mary’s eyes lit up at this, she was a long time coworker of Marissa’s “You mean you’ve never been to Paris?”

          “Naw,” she answered simply, pausing from her macramé to scratch her head underneath her thick, graying hair. Her coworkers often joked that her head was simply made of hair.

          “Wow,” she exhaled. Mary had a splitting headache that day, and even though she had taken some ibuprofen, she wanted Marissa free flights for the rest of the day so her head could rest a bit, and was therefore scheming. “You know,” she started, “you should really go out and see the city. It’s one of the most beautiful cities in the entire world, and if you don’t experience now then you might not ever.”

          “Really?” Marissa asked, intrigued enough to stop her macramé for a minute. “You think so?”

          “Oh yeah!” Mary exclaimed. Her coworkers thought she was laying it on a bit thick, but Marissa couldn’t tell, and she desperately wanted this to work.

“But how would I get off of work?” She inquired. “We’ve got the flight to Greece in a little over in hour.”

          “We could have someone cover for you, I mean, how much vacation time do you really take?” Everybody flinched a little as they realized how little she did.

          “Not a whole lot…” Marissa muttered.

          “Exactly!” Mary replied. “And we just hired that new girl Camille, and she only lives like, 20 minutes from here. I’m sure she’d be able to cover. We have a flight going out of here on Wednesday morning, I’m sure they could easily move the shift around to put you on that flight.”

          “Yeah, I guess you’re right…” Marissa said, getting more excited by the idea.

          “That would give you a 2 night, one day vacation, really.” Mary finished.

          “That sounds like a great idea!” Marissa cried out. “Thank you so much for the idea, you sure it would be no trouble to have this Camille cover for me?”

          “None at all!” Mary answered, blithely waving her hand at Marissa.

          “Then I think I might just do it! I’ll just go and get my bag, and you’ll call that Camille, right?” She asked, already halfway out the door with her macramé project.

          “I’ll do it right now!” She answered.

As Marissa hurriedly stepped out of the lounge, one of the other stewardesses, Candice, graciously put her head in her hands. She had been the latest macramé recipient, and had what she called a macramé doll sweater in her pocket. Turning to Mary, who was picking up a phone, she called, “Thank you!” Mary responded by grinning almost mischievously.

          An hour or so later, as Flight a42336 left for Athens, Greece, Marissa sat in a French taxicab finishing up her macramé. Everything had been going perfectly so far: she had gotten her bag with little trouble; she was all covered for for work, and had hailed a cab almost at first try. The cab was pulling up to a little hotel just on the outskirts of the city, within walking distance of all the attractions without being in the middle of all the crowds. From what he had told Marissa it took walk ins, its owners were extremely nice people, and was relatively cheap.

          “Nous sommes là.  (We’re here)” He said.

          “Combien?  (How much?)” She asked.

          “Quinze Euros . (Fifteen Euros)” He responded.

          “Voilà. Merci pour l’aide!  (Here you go. Thanks for the help!)” She said, giving him the bills and getting out of the cab. He nodded in response before driving off.

          Marissa contentedly sighed, looking up at the beautiful wood building she was to be staying at. It had a front terrace with many dark metal tables set up for eating, and from what she saw each room had a balcony with metal gratings and a flower box. It was so simple, and yet so magnificent. She was beginning to love France.

          Strolling into the Hotel, called La Pomme, she noticed that it was a lot darker on the inside, with very little actual lighting. She walked up to the check in counter, which only had a single man at it, reading a paper and asked, “Excusez-moi, je voudrais réserver une chamber? (Excuse me, I’d like to book a room?)”

          Lowering his paper and looking at her he replied, “Oui, une chambre. Ils sont de 75 euros la nuit, de signer ici.  (Yes, a room. They are 75 Euros a night, sign here.)” He pointed to a sheet with various lines on it.

          After signing he took a key off the wall that had a tag with the number 16 on it and handing it to her said, “Nombre seize est la première salle, à gauche. Merci de rester à  la pomme. (Number sixteen is down the first hall, to the left. Thank you for staying La Pomme.)”

 She nodded, taking the key and starting to wheel her luggage down the hall. She soon found her room and opened the door. Her room was small but charming, especially in his simplicity.

There was a nice clean single bed with while sheets in the middle, a small nightstand, and then an amour. A sliding glass door opened to a balcony with two chairs and a nice view of the outside street, still keeping privacy with the flower box.  A large smile crossed Marissa’s face. She loved every single thing about this place. She wondered how she was ever going to be able to leave. Setting her small suitcase on her bed, she decided there was no better time than now to go out exploring and see the sights. She quickly stopped in the bathroom to check out how she looked, and after adjusting her blue and purple swirly hairclip a bit, was off.

          Her hotel was only a fifteen-minute walk from downtown Paris at her brisk, stewardess pace. There were sites to take in all around her, and she almost didn’t know where to begin. It was funny though, despite the bustle of tourists and residents alike on the sidewalks, every park she passed by had people reclining on the grass with loved ones or with a book, a couple people playing with dogs or having a picnic. In the end she gave up trying to navigate on her own, and decided to be a sightseeing map for 7 Euros. This helped immensely, and allowed her to create her own tour in which she hit up the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, the Place du Forum, and other historical sights. It was a fun, beauty, and historical filled afternoon, and although she would’ve loved a camera to take pictures with, she vowed to purchase some stills from a shop instead, along with a new French hairclip.

After hitting up all the main spots she allowed herself to wander, and soon found herself on a side street. Even the French architecture was a stop enough for her, as she continued walking, looking up at the buildings as she went on. Eventually she noticed a French man storming out of a large building up ahead, smoking and swearing loudly. She didn’t think much of it at first until she got closer and the man began to look at her pecularly.

“Salut, (Hi,)” he began, obviously talking to her, as there was no one else around. “Comment aimeriez-vous être l’un des plus beaux de France des jeux?  (How would you like to be on one of France’s finest game shows?)” He asked.

 “Me?” She asked, “Vous voulez que je sois sur un jeu?  (You want me to be on a game show?)”

 “Oui, vous  (Yes, you.)” He answered somewhat irritably. “Nous avons eu un combattant à pied, et nous avons besoin d’un nouveau et vous êtes … suffisamment distincts pour notre émission.  (We just had a contestant walk out, and we need a new one and you’re… distinct enough for our broadcast.)” He took an awfully long time to come up the word distinct, especially after looking at her hairclip.

 “J’adorerais être sur votre jeu ! (I’d love to be on your game show!)” She replied.

 “Fantastique! (Fantastic!)” He exclaimed, relieved. “Venez cette façon.  (Come this way.)” He commanded.

 She struggled to follow his quick pace as she led him into the building which was bustling with people every which direction, all of them saying different things, often angrily towards another person, and it was too much to take in. The man led her down hallway after hallway, stopping at one point to tell an underling, “Oui, j’ai un remplacement. Oui, c’est la dame derrière moi.  (Yes, I have a replacement. Yes, it is the lady behind me.)”

 Eventually he stopped at a hallway with two doors side by side. “Ok, c’est la salle de maquillage. Après vous êtes fait de nous en-dehors de la scène sonore, où l’on film ” Win que des espèces !” Mais d’abord, j’ai besoin de vous pour signer ce document.  (Ok, this is the makeup room. After you’re made up we’ll take you out to the soundstage, where we film “Win that Cash!” But first, I need you to sign this paper.)” He said, pulling a paper out of his pocket and handing it to her, along with a pen.

 She didn’t really know what she was signing, but figured it was some important form and the man had an air of impatience, so she it would be best if she just did what she was told.

Handing the pen and paper back to him he said, “Merci, maintenant à l’intérieur pour le maquillage.  (Thank you, now inside for makeup.)” Waving her towards the door on the left.

She hesitantly went in, and was assaulted with lights and mirrors. Squinting, she saw a woman with a makeup bag looking at her curiously. “Oh, vous devez donc être le remplaçant. Prenez le président, nous n’avons pas beaucoup de temps.  (Oh, so you must be the replacement. Get in the chair, we don’t have much time.)” She did what she was told and the woman immediately began applying her face with foundation, and then blush. Sneaking a look over at the other stations in the room, she saw two other very pretty woman, one who could only be in her teens, and then another one, probably somewhere in her twenties. They too were giving her strange looks. After a few minutes of aggressively putting on makeup the make up woman looked in the mirror and finished, “Eh bien, que vous faites. Il ya seulement quelques minutes, jusqu’à ce que vous sortez de toute façon.  (Well, that’ll do. There’s only a few minutes until you’re going out anyways.) The woman backed away from her, and Marissa got a good look at herself in the mirror. Although the makeup did seem a little thick, she thought she looked nice.

Oswald Thompson frowned into his coffee. He very much wanted to drink it, but at this temperature, it wasn’t very plausible. If there was one thing he hung on to in his old age of 87, it was a coffee. He liked it simply, no cream and no sugar. And he certainly didn’t like it too hot.

Oswald came to the small diner everyday in his town of Kalgoorlie in Western Australia. He quite enjoyed living there, as he always had, and was glad that he hadn’t been shacked in some retirement living place yet. Oswald didn’t have many living relatives, his closest being his grandson Terry. Terry was 27, and fancied himself as a ‘graphic designer’. Oswald thought that sounded like an awful rubbish job, but according the Terry it not only paid the bills but allowed him to live in a posh apartment and wear nicer clothes. Terry’s parents had both died in a car accident five years before, and Oswald remembered the boy taking it hard. Being that Oswald had only had one son, Terry’s father John, Terry was the only person to take care of him. Not that Osawld needed to be taken care of. He was old, but was still quite mobile, and could make his own food or go down to The Marsupial to get some. He didn’t need to be taken care of, especially at some place where they probably wouldn’t even do it right. He was old, but still deserved his freedom, as he saw it. Not forced to eat any mushed food, told what to watch, who to live with. He was sure that he’d be forced to live with some crazy old kooks. He wasn’t a crazy old kook; he still had his mind, despite being old. Terry had been too good-natured (or maybe not determined enough) to argue with the old man, so allowed him to live in his old apartment in Kalgoorlie, visiting him every three months or so. He also generally left Oswald some money to get by on, which Oswald insisted he didn’t need, but Terry gave him it anyway. He always said that it was out of “filial piety”. That Terry had always been a weird one. He took after his mother personality wise, because he was proud to say his Johnny was quite normal. Terry did look like a spitting image of his father though, the thick black hair and dark, almost black, brown eyes.

He had stopped by just a few weeks ago, talking about how he had been working with some big ad agency. As much as Oswald didn’t understand his work, the kid sure did seem to love it.

“Yeah, and if the project turns out well, which I think it will, I’m really sure I got the feeling they were going for, I may end up in magazines. Isn’t that exciting?” He asked, leaning forward as he talked.

“Interesting,” Oswald grumbled.

“So what have you been up to lately granddad?” Terry asked.

Oswald went on to tell him about how he had been able to answer a million dollar question on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire the night previous, some noisy neighbors who had just moved in, and he recent lunches at the Marsupial. Terry listened with almost as enthusiasm as he had had speaking.

“That sounds great!” He cheerily replied when Oswald had finished. “I was wondering granddad, was there anything you wanted to do while I was here?”

After thinking a moment, he answered, “We could just go to the racecourse.”

“Sounds good to me!” Terry replied.

Oswald and Terry always went down to the racecourse when Terry visited. Terry was generally up for anything but the racecourse held a special place in Oswald’s heart; he used to go there often during his younger days. He would often go there when he was skipping out on school, and later on work. In fact, it was the place he had met his eventual wife, Robin. The two had a good

time there, Oswald even smiling a bit, even though both of their horses did miserable.

“Eh, maybe next time granddad, right?” Terry asked. Oswald simply nodded.

Broken out of his reverie, Oswald noted that his rye toast and cheese omelet had arrived.

“Thank you,” he nodded to the waitress who smiled back, pouring him some more coffee.

Oswald thickly spread some butter on his toast, eating one piece before going to his omelet. He had always thought that eating all of one thing before all of another was a foolish thing to do.

Half way through eating his omelet, his fork midway through cutting the omelet, he paused, the strangest odor erupting in his nostrils. Detecting it as some sort of spice, probably sage, he scrunched his nose, looking up. To his shock there was an older woman, middle-aged, sitting across the table from him. As if some random lady sitting with him weren’t bad enough, she was not a savory kind of women, dressed in loose, draping, colorful clothing, her arms covered in bangles, her hand in rings, and her head in another cloth with little metal bits hanging from the end. Oswald glared her down, how dare she just sit at he table, as he sat there eating his omelet.

“Don’t look at me like that old man, I’m here to help you.” She said in a deep (yet still womanly) voice before grabbing his other piece of rye bread.

Enraged Oswald exclaimed, “Helping me?! So far all you’ve done is stink up my table and steal my food!”

  “Ah, but what I’ll repay you with is much more valuable.” She said, taking a small bite out of the toast.

“Listen here crazy lady, all have none of your strange talk. Either stop bothering me or leave.” Oswald huffed.

“You want to know what your problem is, old man?” After Oswald didn’t respond she continued, “You’ve lost your youth. And I know, you’re going to argue that of course you’ve lost your youth, you’re old, but youth is a part of your soul. Many people keep their youth with them until they’re old, and die happy at 99, youth still in their soul. You however are still living but have lost your youth. That ‘strangeness’ you identify in your grandson is actually just the presence of youth. He seems to have more than the average person.”

“How do you know about my grandson?” Oswald asked, shaking his cheesy fork at the woman.

“Open your mind old man, I’m what the peoples would call a soothsayer. I know these things.”

“You know hogwash is what you do.” Oswald mumbled into his omelet as he took a bite.

“Besides being graced with the ability to see beyond, I also have excellent hearing.” She responded, sending him a fierce glare. “You certainly are a difficult one old man. If it were not for the fates and the stars saying it must be so, I probably wouldn’t have come.”

“Oh, and what do they say must be so?” Oswald mockingly asked.

“They say I must help you find your youth again, so that you may finally see your grandson in a better light. And for that,” She said, reaching into her outfit in what Oswald guessed was close enough to a pocket. “You need this.” She held up a small vile with a dull white mixture inside, her bracelets jingling as she did.

“That? That looks like some sort of drug.” Oswald commented, stabbing his omelet.

“Not a drug, but a potion.” She answered. “A simple drink of this will restore your youth back to its full health.”

Oswald scoffed. “Oh, I see you don’t believe me. Fine,” she said, setting the vial on the table, “we’ll see.”

Oswald stared at it conspiratorially. “You’re crazy.” He stated.

“It will bring back your youth.” She insisted.

“I’m not drinking that.” Oswald replied.

“Oh yes you will.” She asserted, “You, in your infinite stubbornness, will drink it to prove me wrong. And to get me to leave.” She finished off the rye bread.

Oswald just grunted, getting back to work on his omelet. He soon finished though, and felt the eyes of the woman baring into his head.

“Fine!’ He grumbled, picking up the vial, flicking off the lid, and pouring it into his coffee. It seemed to mix evenly so Oswald drank the rest of the no longer too hot glass until it was gone.

The woman was smiling. “My work here is done.” She said, getting up.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t feel like ‘my youth has been restored’.” Oswald asked.

“Take a look,” she muttered, pulling out a mirror.

Oswald gasped as he looked at the face staring back at him. It was quite unlike his current one; instead back to its younger state he had a full head of thick black hair and a smooth face completely devoid of wrinkles.

“Have fun!” The woman called, beginning to walk away. “And thanks for the toast!”

Oswald didn’t know what to do he was nearly paralyzed by his utter shock. Either way, he probably didn’t want to stay here. Getting up, he began to stroll away from the table.

Walking down the street, he stopped to rub his face. It was so surreal. Yet, as he looked around, he began to realize that it was a beautiful day out, bright and warm. And he was a new man, ten times lighter, even the simple walking felt a lot easier. He could do anything he wanted, anything at all, he was young again! 

His spontaneous decision there on the street was to go to the racecourse. If there ever was a time he was feeling lucky, it was then. The walk there was simply fantastic. As a young man everything from people he passed by to items in shop windows was exciting. He finally knew how Terry was; he was alive, truly living.

Reaching the racecourse he boldly strode in, looking at the list of horses racing that day as he did. Stopping at the counter, one name in particular caught his eye, Rye Bread. He could almost hear the woman saying, “Thanks for the toast!”

“Can I help you?” The bookie asked.

“Yes, I’d like to bet…” he trailed off, reaching in his pocket to see how much money he had. He must have grabbed the top bill of the stack back at the apartment, because he had a 50. “Fifty dollars on Rye bread.” He finished.

The bookie took his money, gave him his ticket and said, “Ok, race begins in five minutes.”

Oswald went outside and got a seat right by the finish line. He vainly tried to remember if he had ever been so excited for one singular race before.

He was broken out of his train of thought by the firing of the gun, and the horses leaving the starting gate. Rye bread was number 14, but they all ran together at the beginning, so Oswald couldn’t see him at first. As they began to pan out as they ran by him, Oswald saw that Rye was in about sixth or seventh. The horses whipping past Oswald hollered, “Number 14, GO!”

Oswald watched as Rye moved up a space or two on the other side of the track, getting excited as the rounded the corner for the final stretch.

“GO RYE BREAD!” Oswald screamed, his heart pounding in nervous anticipation.

Finishing out the corner, Rye moved to the outside, causing Oswald to go crazy. As the got closer to the line Rye began to move up, now in third. Oswald was screaming his lungs out, going ballistic as he passed number 4, moving to second. Rye was gaining ground but they were almost reaching the finish line and Oswald could tell this would be a photo finish as Rye Bread fought it out with number 18, The Administrix. The two horses sped passed the finish line, followed by the other 19 horses. Catching his breath, Oswald impatiently awaited for the results.

And then over the loudspeaker came the announcement, “The winner is, Number 14, Rye Bread!”

Oswald whooped, pumping ticket-holding hand into the air. Later, after receiving his award money of $1,000, Oswald felt like he needed to share his overwhelming excitement with someone else. He quickly found some change and pounded Terry’s number into the payphone.

“Hello?” Terry answered.

“Terry, it’s me! You’re never going to guess what happened!” Oswald exclaimed into the phone.

“Granddad, is that you? Wow, you sound a different over the phone. Happy though.” Terry commented.

“Uhm, yes,” Oswald replied, “Anyways, I won 1,000 dollars at the racetrack!”

“Seriously?” Terry asked. “Wow, that’s great!”

“Yeah, it sure is.” Oswald said, sighing contentedly. “Well, I guess we’ll have a lot to talk about when you get here. When do you think you’ll be coming next?’

“Oh, sometime in the middle of March I think, so about two months.”

“Oh, ok, that’s good.” Oswald replied, hoping that it would be enough time to come up with an explanation about his new appearance. “I guess I’ll see you then Terry.”

“Yep, see you granddad!” Terry closed.

Hanging up the phone, Oswald thought that he had worked up an appetite cheering for good old rye bread, but with his new found lease on life and large amount of cash, Oswald decided that maybe it was about time he tried some of the upscale restaurants Kalgoorlie had to offer.

          Cindy Pearson stared at herself in the mirror. She had spent the last 30 minutes getting ready for her big date with her boyfriend, Bobby, and she wanted to make sure she looked good. Work at the dinner had been super busy lately and they had barely had anytime to see each other, so this date was kind of special.

          Finally content with her makeup and hair she heard her apartment doorbell ring.

          “Coming,” she called.

          Quickly grabbing her coat and purse, she ran to the door. Swinging it open she smiled at her boyfriend waiting for her, Bobby Gerard. Bobby too had cleaned up which was a good thing, because he worked for the local mechanic, and could get pretty dirty sometimes.

          Smiling Bobby handed her a small bouquet of carnations before asking, “Ready honey?”

          “Yes,” she answered, taking the carnations. “And thanks for the flowers.” She stood on her tiptoes in order to plant a kiss on his lips, Bobby being nearly half a foot taller than she was.

          “No problem.” He replied, and taking her arm, led her to his truck.

          It was a beautiful clear night out, and looking up on the way to the car Cindy commented, “Huh, full moon.”

          “Yeah, I guess so.” Bobby said, looking up as well.

          Being the gentleman he was, Bobby held the car door open for Cindy before entering on the driver’s side. The rest of their short drive was in content silence before reaching the small, local theatre. The couple was going to see the old school classic, “The Blob” which was part of the Hilbert Circle Theatre’s series of old horror movies. Cindy hadn’t been so sure about it when Bobby had originally proposed it, but his enthusiasm won her over in the end.

          Arm and arm, they walked up to the ticket booth, got their tickets, and then entered the theatre. It was small, but plush in the couple’s opinion, and it was a bit of a local legend in the area, and even a historical landmark. The two stopped to get some popcorn and pop before entering the theatre.

          Walking down the aisle, Bobby asked, “Front, Middle or Back?”

          “Hmm.” Cindy pondered. “Middle.”

          “Middle it is!” Bobby exclaimed, grabbing Cindy’s hand and leading her to a seat almost smack dab in the middle of the theatre.

          Cindy cuddled against Bobby’s chest as the two watched more people file into the theatre, Cindy asked, “Is it scary?”

          Bobby laughed, “Trust me, anything but.”

          “Ok,” Cindy mumbled into Bobby’s chest as he began to munch on some popcorn.

          Within a few minutes the theatre had almost filled with people, and the lights flicked off. “Here we go!” Bobby whispered excitedly.

          Cindy ended up finding the movie quite entertaining. She understood what Bobby had meant before, the Blob was anything but scary, but it certainly was funny. That and she thought Steve McQueen was a sure looker. Not as handsome as her Bobby though.

          Halfway through the movie, Cindy heard Bobby grumble and shake the popcorn bag. “What?” Cindy asked.

          “We’re out of popcorn.” Bobby mumbled.

          “You sure are hungry.” Cindy remarked.

          Disentangling himself from Cindy Bobby whispered, “I’m going to go get some more. I’ll be right back, don’t worry; you’ll enjoy this part. The supermarket scene is like the best out of the entire movie.”

          “Ok,” Cindy replied, taking a sip of their soda and turning back to the screen. Cindy continued to sit and enjoy the movie, although after awhile she got a nagging feeling in her stomach that something just wasn’t right. Turning to the right, she frowned noticing that Bobby still hadn’t returned yet. It was hard to tell time in a movie theatre, but Cindy felt that it had to have been at least ten minutes, probably more. There was no way the concession line could have been that long and Cindy was beginning to really worry. There really was only one thing to do, and that was go to the lobby to see what was going on. Leaving her drink securely in the cup holder (this took a couple seconds to do) she left her seat and walked up the aisle in the direction of the lobby. Before she even got to the door separating the theatre and the lobby she had a bad feeling in her stomach. Determined to see where Bobby was however she bravely pulled the door open.

          At first, she didn’t see anything. There was a short hallway that led to the lobby, and it was empty. Shutting the door behind her, she began to walk down the hallway when she heard a great commotion. First there was screaming, seemingly getting closer, and then what sounded like moaning, but not just one voice, many.

          Anxiously stepping forward Cindy saw a teenager; maybe 16 or 17 come rushing around the corner. He looked absolutely terrified, carrying a broom and covered in specks of blood. He also wasn’t looking where he was going and full on crashed with Cindy. Both reeling from the collision, they hit the floor. Their eyes locked, his filled with horror, hers confused, and he quickly pushed himself off the floor and grabbed her hand, pulling her up with him before saying, “We need to go!”

          Speechless Cindy let the boy drag her back into the theatre, trying to a get a look back towards the lobby but not being able to as he slammed the door behind them and quickly using the broom to bar it.

          Breathless Cindy asked, “What’s going on?!” But the boy was fumbling around the back of the theatre, feeling along the wall for something.

          He soon found it, muttering a triumphant yes as the lights in the theatre flicked back on. The crowd was immediately agitated, some rubbing their eyes, puzzled, the other beginning to grumble and turn and glare at the boy who had turn them on.

          “I apologize for the interruption folks, but I’m afraid we have an emergency.” The boy said, raising his voice to address the entire crowd.

          Panic began to break out, and one older man closer to the back thundered, “What kind of emergency?”

          Shaking his head apparently at a loss for words, the boy answered, “The theatre’s been over run with zombies.”

          “Zombies?!” Several patrons exclaimed.

          “Undead, living dead, I don’t care what you call them but they’re out for blood and I’ve already seen them maul at least three people. This is a very serious emergency situation.” He replied solemnly, and Cindy, who was standing close by, noticed him shake as he spoke.

          The older man was getting up now. “Zombies? That’s preposterous! This must be your sick idea of a practical joke.”

          The boy shook his head vigorously. “Trust me sir, I am completely honest here. I only wish I could be lying.”

          The older man just scoffed, “I can see right through your performance young man, and I am not amused. In fact, I’m leaving, and don’t expect me not to talk to your manager on the way out.” With this he moved closer to the door.

          The boy jumped in front of it, spreading his arms and legs out. “Sir, I can’t let you do that. It’s dangerous out there, you’re bound to get killed!”

          Roughly pushing the boy aside the older man slid the broom out of the theatre doors saying, “Yeah, I’m sure it’s real dangerous out there.”

          Despite the boy crying at him not to, the man swung open the doors and strode out. Cindy and the crowd watched him as he stood in the hall.

          “See?” the older man said, lifting up his arms. “Only a sick joke.” The end of the man’s sentence was cut off by the repeated sound of groaning, closer than when Cindy had first heard it.

          The color draining from his face the young man mumbled, “They’re even closer.” slamming the doors he began returning the broom to it’s slot in the door.

          Grabbing the boy’s arm Cindy pleaded, “My boyfriend Bobby was out there, I need to go find him!”

          Shaking her off the boy replied, “Listen lady, anybody who was out there certainly isn’t out there anymore. The only thing we can do know is to stay in here.”

          Suddenly there came pounding from the other side of the door. “Let me in!” The older man bellowed, pounding on the door. Cindy and the young man turned to look at each other.

          “Are we going to let him in?” A middle-aged woman breathed.

          Cindy shook her head, the boy stoically answered, “No, we can’t.”

          The desperate pleas were now turning to terrified screams as the groaning filtered through the door louder than ever.

Backing away Cindy held her head in her hands, sickened, but the boy just turned around to face the crowd.

          As calmly as was possible given the background noise of screams and intense groaning the boy announced, “We’re going to need to block up that door. Do we any strong guys in here?”

          A few men probably around Cindy’s age (which wasn’t too much older than the boy’s) stepped forward.

          Acknowledging them he continued, “Ok, the theatre seats are easy enough to pull out if you try. There are two screws on either side of the chairs, but those you can undo with you’re fingers and then tug. Pile all chairs up against the door.” The men nodded, and then began getting to work.

          “Everyone else, I want you to go through everything you have to see what could be possibly used as a weapon. I doubt any of you have guns or knives on you but something like a lighter might be useful.”

          “Oh wait, actually,” one of the men ripping up chairs began, “I have a standard switchblade. Here,” he finished, tossing it to the boy.

          “Thanks,” he muttered, catching it.

          Speaking to the crowd again, “Any items you think may be helpful you can give to… um…” He paused and turned to Cindy, “What’s your name?”

          “Cindy Pearson.” She answered, “And yours?”

          “Trent McGibbins.” He replied.

           “You can give all important items to Cindy here. I am going to help these guys with the chairs.” Trent finished before adding, “Thank you Cindy.”

          Cindy nodded, taking the switchblade from Trent. As Trent went to go rip up chairs, Cindy turned to look at the rest of the people in the theatre. Many of them looked very scared, but they were all listening to what Trent had said, searching through their purses and pockets for anything that might be handy.

          Nearby was a woman with her little daughter, probably only five or six. “Are we going to be alright?” The girl asked, looking up to her mommy as she rummaged through her purse.

          “We’ll be fine baby,” the mother eased.

Unconvinced, the girl began to cry. “I’m scared!” she wailed.

Cindy walked over and bent down by the little girl. “Hey, it’ll be ok.” She soothed while the mother put a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You see those boys over there?” Cindy asked. The girl nodded. “They’re doing everything they can to keep us safe.”

“Uh.. ok.” The girl sniffled, no longer looking quite as frightened.

Standing up, Cindy simply nodded at the mother who was mouthing a thank you over the girl’s head.

Cindy went about collecting items as the boy piled up chairs. Thankfully the screaming eventually stopped, but the groaning remained as loud as ever.

“What did we end up getting?” Trent asked, wiping sweat from his forehead after all the manual labor.

“Well,” Cindy calculated, “One switchblade, one Swiss army knife, three cigarette lighters, a small bottle of hard liquor, and a penlight.” Cindy recalled grabbing each of the items, the owner of the liquor avoiding eye contact upon giving it up.

“Well, I guess we could make a mini Molotov cocktail if we needed to,” Trent dryly commented. Following some awkward silence he continued, “We’ll keep all of these in the front of the theatre, although hopefully we won’t need them. The doors should hold for several hours, at the least. For know all we can really do is wait.”

Stepping forward a woman asked, “Um, do we have to have the movie still running?” Everybody stopped and turned to the screen where the movie was in fact still playing, government forces now apparently freezing the Blob.

“Oh.” Trent simply stated, the movie having slipped from his mind. “Yeah, I can get into the projector booth from here, I’ll turn it off.” Trent went over to the hole the movie was coming from and standing on some chairs directly underneath it, began to climb in. The rest of the crowd watched him do this for a few seconds but after he managed to clamber in turned to look at the others. What did they do now?

In the end, they all picked seats that hadn’t been ripped up already and just sat there. Those with families comforted each other but those without, like Cindy (she kept pushing the possibility of Bobby being dead out of her mind), just sat in their own private solace.

After either a few minutes or a few hours (it felt like the latter but was most likely the former) Cindy got up and sat a few seats away from Trent. He seemed like a nice boy, and Cindy was willing to do anything to distract her from thoughts about Bobby’s current fate.

“So, have you been working here long?” She asked, startling the boy who had seemed to be in his own reverie.

“Since the beginning of summer, so not that long really.” He answered. He seemed thoughtful for a moment then questioned, “Do you work over at Sally’s Diner on Fifth?”

“Yeah, I’ve been working there for a while, I’ll have been waitressing there for three years next month. Assuming we ever see next month.” She despondently added, the reality of the situation sitting heavy on her heart.

Nodding he continued, “Yeah, I thought I recognized you when I first saw you… or didn’t see you for that matter. Sorry for running into you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” she said, briefly smirking, “It probably saved my life in the long run. Speaking of which, you seem to be handling this well for a 17 year old. How are you holding up?”

Trent frowned, pensive. He wasn’t sure how to go about answering the question. “Well, I’m holding up as well as one could be. It’s hard, trying not to think of what happened back in the lobby. You should consider yourself lucky you didn’t see it. It was like a bloodbath.” He replied, shivering as he thought back. “But thinking about other things makes it easier. And we should be safe now, the chairs are piled up pretty high, and the doors themselves looked pretty strong. There’s no other choice but to wait it out, hope that maybe some hope comes…” his voice trailed off, and they two sat there, thinking about the personal ramifications this attack had on their personal lives, both with an inner storm of worry and fear. On the outside though, they were merely quiet.

Cindy knew that they both needed a distraction, so she got him involved with as innocuous small talk subjects as she could think of, school, college, lightly even broaching into family. It was strange, even with a life stage, gender, and age difference, Cindy really felt like she connected with Trent. Maybe it was what people said, that tragedy brings people together. In the middle of one of their conversations one of the women Cindy had taken a lighter from walked up.

“Being as we’re all sitting here,” she said, “maybe some of us should get some sleep? It would certainly help a lot of people’s nerves I think.”

Watching Trent nod in response, it struck Cindy as strange that a 17 year old would be in charge of such a large group of people, in a situation like this. He certainly did have the leadership skills to pull it off though.

“That sounds good,” he said, sounding sleepy himself. Standing up and stretching he announced, “Ok guys, thanks to the helpful input from…” he turned and looked at her expectantly.

“Marge,” she filled in.

“Marge,” he continued, “I think we should start some sleeping shifts. I need, oh, like 12 of you to volunteer to stay up for the first shift.”

Trent looked around and silently counted the raised, some of which were the guys who had ripped up chairs earlier. “Ok,” he stated, “11 is fine. People who are staying up are free to hang out in any of the middle to back seats that are still left, and we’ll leave the front for sleepers. Does anybody staying awake now have a watch?”

One of the strong men nodded, lifting his dress shirtsleeve to reveal a watch.

“Ok,” Trent conceded, “Then we’ll make shifts five hours each, that sound good?” There were murmurs of agreement throughout the theatre. “Alright then,” He finished, “see you in a few hours.”

Turning to Cindy he asked, “Do you want the space right here?” He said, pointing to the aisle they had been sitting next to while talking.

“Um, yeah,” Cindy mumbled.

“I’ll just be over here then,” He said, nodding to some space down at the end of the aisle. He turned to walk away before stopping and looking back at Cindy saying, “Sweet dreams.”

Cindy just laughed. “Yeah Trent, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” Trent returned a wane smile.

Cindy tried to lie down as gracefully as possible on the movie theatre aisle, thankful that it was relatively clean and not sticky. Despite this, it was still the ground and therefore not too easy to sleep on. Grabbing her coat she made a makeshift pillow out of it and laid her head down on it, desperately treeing to get some sleep.

Though it didn’t seem like it she must have eventually fallen asleep because she began dreaming. She was back in the diner, waiting on tables. As she was dropping some pancakes on one table she noticed that Bobby was sitting at another table, flipping through a menu, apparently waiting for service. Walking over towards him through she stopped, noticing that something was different. Getting a closer look at him she realized that he looked younger than he did now. His hands were cleaner too; nowadays he could never get the oil and grease stain from his hands, but they were almost 100 percent clean here. Looking around it suddenly hit her; this was when they first met. It was a sick sense of déjà vu, especially given her current circumstances.

Almost on autopilot she walked up to Bobby smiling and asked, “Can I get you anything Mister?”

          Nodding, he said, “Yeah, I’ll have a cup of coffee and the Florentine omelet.”

She smiled writing it down, catching out of the corner of her eye how he smiled back and just like the first time she felt butterflies in her stomach as she walked away. She maneuvered around coworkers Karen and Jessie as she grabbed a mug and poured some coffee for Bobby. Striding over to the table she set the cup on the table and poured his coffee.

Looking up at her he asked, almost playfully, “So, do you live around here…” he paused to glance at her nametag before continuing “Cindy.”

Smiling as she finished with the coffee she answered, “Yeah, I have an apartment on Hamilton actually.”

Bobby smiled, simply taking a sip out of his coffee. Cindy couldn’t help giggling as she walked away. It was so strange; these feelings were so old and yet so new at the same time.

Cindy continued to take and hand out orders, and before she new it one of the chefs was dinging the bell on the counter saying, “Omelet Florentine!”

Near excitedly Cindy picked it up and began to walk over to Bobby’s booth. Getting there her heart sank. His booth was empty, the coffee sitting by itself, half drunk. Setting the piping hot plate down, she began to panic. This was not how it was supposed to go; she just knew it. He was meant to still be sitting there, asking for some more coffee, graciously thanking her, asking her another question small talk question. In her confused state, it disturbed her even more that she couldn’t remember what the question was. Was it about her family? No, how long she had been working there. Shaking her head, she almost considered just pouring him some more coffee (she had brought the pot in anticipation of him asking) when she head loud screams. Dropping the coffee pot in fright, she turned around to see where they had come from, the coffee pot silently crashing to the floor. To her horror the diner was empty. Everything was left just as it was, plates, forks, napkins, sitting there, waiting for their owner, but with no one in sight. She desperately tried to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to choke back tears when suddenly…

She woke up. She was back in the dimly lit theatre, where she realized the screams must have been actually coming from. Rolling onto her back and frowning, her heart still racing from the nightmare, she watched confusedly as Trent ran up the aisle and jumped over her mid stride, causing her to cower, even though he had somehow made it the entire way without landing on her.

Blinking back sleep she got up and throwing on her coat, jogging up to the back of the theatre where all the action seemed to be going on. Whoever had been screaming had stopped by now and her eyes adjusting to the light, Cindy thought she saw the doors pressing in.

“What’s going on?” she asked Trent, who had been talking to one of the so-called strong guys. “

“The zombies are trying to push their way through.” He answered.

“I thought you said that the doors would last a few hours!” Cindy exclaimed, frightened.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a couple of hours.” Trent replied.

“Can they make it through? Are we safe?” Cindy asked, causing the crowd to turn and look at Trent, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know,” He said softly.

There were gasps from all around the crowd, and for a moment they all sat there silently, with an exception of the persistent groaning outside the doors, and the occasional creak of the doors metal frame.

“Well,” Cindy said hesitating, grasping for straws, “Can we pile up more chairs? Will that help?”

Trent gulped before answering. “It’d help, but I’m not sure how much time we have.”

Trying to remain calm she suggested, “OK, so we’ll start having as many people as possible start piling up chairs, while we wake up the others, just in case.”

The presence of a plan seemed to help Trent’s nerves a bit and after exhaling deeply he replied, “Ok, yeah.” He turned to the people who had been on the awake shift, and a couple who had woken up during the middle of the thing. “All of you start tearing up chairs and piling them against the doors as fast as you possibly can. Cindy and I here will wake up the rest of the people and get them to help.”

Everybody nodded and started getting to work. Trent turned to Cindy, mumbling, “Let’s go.”

The two strode down the aisle as behind them the group worked furiously. “I’ll cover the left half and you take the right,” Trent quietly commanded.

Cindy began to wake up people sitting in all different places in the theatre. Most were asleep on floors, but a couple had simply slumped over in seats. Cindy tried to quickly yet gently shake people awake, telling each of them to go to the back of the theatre, where they’d get instructions. Cindy tried to move as fast as possible, but this was a hard task, she had to wake people up without being too rough, while getting them to see the urgency of the situation without being too scary.

About half way through the process of waking everyone up there was a large crash form the front on the room. The doors to the theatre had finally caved in and Cindy watched in terror as the zombies began to claw their way through the pile of theatre chairs. Cindy could hardly breathe but turned to look at Trent. Trent appeared to be just as frozen.

“Trent, how can we get out of here?” Cindy called.

“The emergency exit…” Trent stammered, his eyes still locked on the upcoming zombie hoard.

Shaking her last few people she quickly told them to head toward the exit, glancing towards the back of the theatre she saw the others starting to run down the aisles and a few even caught by some of the further advancing zombies.

Running up to Trent she grabbed him by the arm saying, “Trent we need to get out for a sec before we’re trapped.” He was still stuck in place but Cindy remembered the weapons, so she went to grab them. She picked up the handkerchief they were unceremoniously lying on and pressed the switchblade into Trent’s hand.

“Trent, we need to go!” She screamed.

He abruptly broke out of his state and, grabbing her arm, pulled her to the door, where many others were exiting.

“Where does this go to?” Cindy yelled over the noise of the people and zombies.

“A back parking lot,” He answered, bursting through a door, “we can get to the street from here.”

In the parking lot many of the people were regrouping with their loves, making plans, but Trent and Cindy just moved on. There was a single entrance to the parking lot and as the two got closer to it they saw that zombies were coming in from there as well. Cindy stopped in surprise but Trent started to back up. This was the first time Cindy had seen the zombies up close and they were nothing short of ghastly. They were pale, their faces being to sink in, their eyes cloudy, their faces twisted, teeth gnashing. Cindy had never seen anything as terrifying as it before, and wanted to never see again. Trent had had more exposure to them and with all of his strength pulled her back, where she was almost being grabbed by one of the front ghouls. 

She quickly regained use of her limbs but still had weak knees and had to lean a bit on Trent. Trent was able to pick up the slack, but just barely.

“What are we going to do?” she screamed, staring as the zombies slowly continued to approach.

“I don’t think there’s a lot of them.” Trent answered.

“What?” Cindy asked.

“We’re going to break through the crowd and hope that there aren’t very many on the other side.” Trent said.

“What?!” she yelled.

“Listen, just get as close to me as possible. On three we’re going to run as fast as possible through the crowd, okay?”

“Yeah,” Cindy muttered, her voice unsure.

“One… two… three!” Trent exclaimed, and if Cindy was uncertain before she let all of it go as she grabbed onto Trent and sprinted forward with him. The zombies thankfully had slow reaction and were pushed aside and rushed through, penetrating the other side unharmed, excluding some rotten flesh and blood.

They both let go, and Cindy doubled over, holding her breath and breathing in relief. They weren’t completely safe yet though, from out of the shadows of one of the building came another zombie.

“Look out!” Trent screamed.

Cindy turned around, her eyes widening at the zombie lurching toward her. Thinking quickly she kicked the zombie in what seemed to be its chest, pushing it backwards.

Trent grabbed her by the wrist shouting, “This way!”

The street in front of the theatres was filled with several small crowds of zombies, each attacking different buildings. Many windows were broken, and there was a small fire in a nearby car. As she got dragged away by Trent she looked around between the hoards and running people, but couldn’t see Bobby or Bobby’s truck in sight. Turning back to Trent she asked, “Where are we going?”

“To my house, it’s a few blocks away. It shouldn’t be too populated by zombies, it’s a side street with not to many people.” Letting go of her wrist he turned around to make direct eye contact with Cindy. “Follow right behind me, we’ll try to stay in the shadows, we shouldn’t attract to much attention and get there safe. Just follow me, ok?”

She nodded in response. The rest of their trip went in silence, sneaking in the shadows of buildings, and even going through an alley at one point. Soon they we’re at a brick house that, as Trent had promised, was zombie free. In the background was still the sound of zombies groaning accompanied with a car alarm and people’s screams.

Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out a key, and unlocked the door. Cindy followed, shutting the door behind her.

“Could you lock the door for me?” he asked. “Just turn that knob there.”

“Sure,” she mumbled, almost feeling the need to whisper in the silent house.

In the dark house Cindy almost thought she saw Trent move over towards what seemed like a lamppost.

But then he stopped. “I’d love to turn on some lights, but this area’s zombie free, and I’d like to keep it that way. We’d probably be safe upstairs, there’s a guest bedroom you can sleep in.”

“Thank you,” she said, before asking, “What about your parents?”

He paused. “They were both at work… I’m not sure they made it.”

“Oh,” she simply replied.

“It’s ok,” he mumbled. “Listen, I’m going to get a couple things from down here, you can go ahead upstairs if you want. It’s the first door to the left. You’ll be ok in the dark, right?”

“Yeah,” she answered. She was about to turn and walk away when she stopped and turned one last time to Trent. “Really though, thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, so I’d probably be back at the theatre, and I’d most like be dead. You’ve saved my life several times, so thank you.”

She almost thought she saw him smile, standing there, in the darkness.

“You saved me back there too, so we’re equal.”

“Whatever you say,” she mumbled.

She went to head up the stairs to Trent’s guest bedroom. Stairs where tricky to maneuver in the dark, not to mention that adrenaline from the theatre was wearing off, and there was nothing more appealing at that moment than sleep. Well, maybe sleep with Bobby, being held in his large arms, but she quickly put it out of her mind, telling her that there would be a time, and it wasn’t now.

She finally reached the top of the stairs, and turned into the room on the left. There was a little bit of light filtering in through the window, from what Cindy duly remembered was a full moon. Deciding that should be the last thing she thought about, she flopped onto the bed and fell asleep near instantly.

Thankfully this sleep was without dreams. An undeterminable time later, Cindy woke up, daylight now filtering in through the window. Lying on the bead, she thought she heard the sound of many many wheels rolling at once.

Getting up she softly padded down the stairs, stopping as she reached the bottom. Trent was standing at the doorway, looking out.

“What’s going on?” Cindy asked sleepily.

Turning around Trent smiled, answering, “Help’s arrived.” 

          Raymond Nocera and Billy Jean Mayford sat outside the Irkutsk International Airport calmly smoking their cigarettes, watching as people emerged from the fog surrounding the airport to get on their departing flights. Despite being cramped in the small smoking area covered with people and suitcases and cold in the Siberian weather, the two really couldn’t complain.

          The pair was returning to Montana after a weeklong vacation at a spa in the Baikal Range overlooking the serene Lake Baikal. Ray, or “The Rayns of Fury” as he was known by, was a professional bull rider back in the States and had taken the vacation in order to ‘rejuvenate’ before his big competition at the Montana State Fair. The grand prize was $3,000 cash and a new John Deere tractor. Ray had been training with his cowhand assistant Billy Jean (although Billy preferred the title “cowboy”, he felt it sounded tougher) for the past sixth months and with the competition only a couple days away he figured that he had done all of the training he could possibly accomplish and instead wanted to rest his body before the big match. There weren’t a whole lot of spas in the state of Montana, and Ray could have easily gone to any other spa in the state, but one of the big hot shots that worked for sponsor had recommended the Baikal Rest House, claiming his wife had just gone and loved it. So after a trip to the bank and to a travel agent, the couple was packing their bags for Russia.

          In the end the trip had accomplished everything that Ray had hoped for, it had restored it’s body to it’s healthiest state, and the spa’s facials had done wonders for his face, because the way Ray saw it, if he couldn’t beat his competitors bull riding, beating them in the looks department counted for something. That and he had even gotten in some workout time in the high altitudes, which was good because if he trained his body for a lower percentage of oxygen, working with a normal amount would be easy. Billy Jean enjoyed himself despite not being there for any competitive reason, taking in the Siberian landscape and wonderful massages by the Russian girls. The two were glad to be heading back home though, Ray had his competition to worry about and Billy wasn’t a big fan of the cold.

          Finishing up the cigarette, Ray flicked it to the ground and pulled up his sleeve to check the time. “Hmm,” he said, “we better get going.”

          Billy Jean frowned, “Alright, just let me finish up my cigarette.”

          “I’m not waiting out in the cold for you to finish up your damn cigarette,” Ray mumbled, “You come in when you’re ready.” Billy Jean nodded but Ray continued, “don’t be too long.” Picking up his bag he stepped one last time on his cigarette and turned to walk inside.

          Billy Jean exhaled some smoke, looking around at the various faces around him, many of them Russian. He couldn’t wait to get back and tell the folks at home all about his great Siberian trip. Reminiscing on his stay he lost track of time and was broken out of his reverie by a yelling voice.

          “Billy Jean hurry up! We should probably be at the gate by now!” Ray called, poking his head out the airports sliding doors. Rolling his eyes as Ray went back inside Billy Jean picked up the briefcase to the left of his feet, forgetting that he had set his knapsack down to his left.

          Strolling into the airport he turned to an impatient Ray and said, “Well here I am. Ready?”

          “Yes,” Ray replied, “Let’s go.”

          The two had already checked their bags so with only carry ons on their person all they had left to do before boarding the plane was to go through security. The airport was busy with many people going in multiple directions at a time and with the signs primarily in Russian (they did have English on them, but the font was smaller) it took them a few minutes to even reach where the security lines were.

          “Ok,” Ray began, turning to Billy Jean who was a slower walker and therefore behind him, “lets do this up quick so we can get to the gate, I’d hate to miss our flight.” He started to turn around but quickly did a double take. “Where’d you get that briefcase?” He questioned, stopping to look at the younger man.

          “Briefcase?” Billy Jean inquired, and looking down at the briefcase he was holding began to panic. “Oh goodness, this isn’t mine!”

          “How’d you get a briefcase?” Ray asked, astonished. “And where’s your knapsack?”

          “I must have grabbed the wrong case when we were smoking!” Billy Jean realized, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

          “How do you mistake a knapsack for a briefcase?! They are two very different pieces of luggage! That thing looks too heavy to feel like your knapsack!” Ray cried.

          “Yeah, but my knapsack was packed with dirty clothes, so it was pretty heavy.” Billy Jean explained. “Listen, we’ll just quick run back and grab it ok? The briefcase’s owner’s probably still there.”

          “Ok,” Ray allowed, following Billy Jean as they began to walk back to the airport’s smoking area, “But answer me this. Why would you put your dirty clothes in your carry on knapsack?”

          “Well,” Billy Jean said, turning back to look at Ray, “I didn’t want my dirty clothes to mix with the clothes I hadn’t worn and the other stuff I was bringing back, and I didn’t have another bag, so I figured I’d just use my knapsack.”

          Maneuvering through people Ray asked, “And what good would dirty clothes do you on the flight?”

          “I just read the Sky Mall anyway,” Billy Jean answered.

          “Weirdo.” Ray muttered, rolling his eyes.

          Billy Jean rushed out into the smoking area and moving around people began to search for his bag. Ray stood by the sliding doors, watching impatiently.

          Billy Jean popped up between some of the people and cried, “I can’t find it!”

          “Are you sure?” Billy asked, desperate to just get this over with and get on the plane.

          “Yeah.” Billy Jean replied despondently.

          “Listen, it only had dirty laundry in it, lets just let it be and get on the plane.” He assuaged.

          “Ok,” Billy Jean agreed, moving back towards Billy, “but what are we going to do with this briefcase?”

          Exhaling, Ray shook his head. “How about we take it inside, see if we can find any evidence of its owner and then give it to the nearest airport official?”

          Nodding, Billy Jean followed Ray back into the airport where he set the briefcase down on the nearest bench. Rubbing his hands together, Billy undid the latch and flipped the top open. The two gasped at the briefcase’s contents.

          Inside the case were stacks upon stacks of brightly colored bills with Chinese characters written on them, rubber banded in groups of about a hundred.

          “Woah.” Billy Jean muttered.

          Reaching forward to grab one of the stacks Ray incredulously riffled through the papers with this thumb. “I think it’s Yen,” He murmured.

           “What do we do?” Billy asked, looking intently at Ray.

          Ray was near speechless. “I think we have to turn it in.”

          Billy Jean nodded solemnly. “Too bad, this is probably a lot in American dollars.”

          “The American Dollar is worth more than the Yen, you dolt.” Ray replied, snapping the suitcase shut.

          “Really?” Billy questioned.

          “Yes.” Ray answered, picking up the suitcase and beginning to scan the airport. “We need to find someone from the airport staff…” Looking around, his eye caught on one of the airports security carts. “There!” He exclaimed, rushing to the cart.

          “Excuse me, Mister!” Ray called out, the man behind the cart almost beginning to drive away.

          The man turned around and looked at the couple confusedly. Thinking a minute he asked in a thick Russian accent, “Can I help you?”

          “Yes,” Ray responded, stopping to catch his breath. “We accidentally picked up this briefcase, mistaking it for ours, except it’s not, so we wanted to turn it in incase its owner came looking for it.”

          Nodding, the man took the suitcase and flipped it open, his eyes widening as he saw the inside. He mumbled something in Russian that Ray could only assume meant something to the extent of “Oh goodness.”

          “Yeah,” Ray replied nodding, “I figured whoever lost that would want it back.”

          The man paused a minute before finally saying, “Well, we need to take this to… the information counter. Here, hop in the car.”

          Ray hopped in the back of the airport cart, waving Billy Jean, a few hundred feet behind, to come over.

          The man sped off as soon as Billy got in and turning to Ray he excitedly said, “I’ve always wanted to ride on one of these things!”

          Moving around in the busy airport was a lot easier on wheels and with an annoying horn. Before they knew it the man was turning back around to them and saying, “Alright, you just take this to the lady there, she’ll take care of it.”

          Stepping out of the car Ray thanked the man before rushing up to the info desk.

          “Hi,” he began, “We picked up the briefcase on accident, thinking it was ours. We wanted to turn it in just in case the owner came looking for it.”

           Nodding the lady took the briefcase and opened it, and, unsurprised with the contents, began to riffle through it. Billy Jean and Ray shot each other befuddled looks, wondering if people just happened to leave suitcases of foreign money lying around all the time.

          “Hmm,” she said, seemingly unable to find anything identifiable in the briefcase. “Well, I keep it here in case anybody comes to claim it,” she spoke in fluent English, “And if nobody does, then, well, it’s yours to keep.”

          “Really?” Billy Jean asked, astonished.

          “Yep,” the lady said, smiling. “I’ll you have to do is fill out this simple form asking for your name and address.”

          “Awesome!” Billy Jean proclaimed, grabbing the sheet and a pen.

          “Calm down there cowboy,” Ray replied, shooting Billy a cautious look, “make it quick, we still have a plane to catch, and put my place in the primary spot, thank you.”

          Frowning a bit, Billy Jean quickly finished the form before being dragged away from the counter. Waving to the lady at the help desk he called out, “Thank you!” as the lady just shook her head and smiled.

          Two weeks later, Billy Jean came bursting into Ray’s work out center. Nonplussed Ray looked up from his work on his biceps. “Ray, you’re never going to guess what came in the mail today!!” Billy Jean declared, practically jumping up and down with excitement.

          “What?” Ray asked, grabbing his towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

          “The briefcase from Siberia! Nobody claimed it, it’s ours!” Billy Jean pulled the familiar looking briefcase out from behind his back.

          “Wow,” Ray said, getting up from the machine.

          “Yeah! The riches are all ours!” Billy Jean proclaimed.

          A couple hours later Billy Jean and Ray entered the bank, briefcase in hand.

          “You know, you may not have won the bull riding competition, but you’re the real one walking away with the money.” He commented, nodding vigorously.

          Ray shot him a dirty look before responding, “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see how inflation rates work out and I’ll tell you what, even if it doesn’t end up being that much money, I was the best looking sucker at that damn competition.” Billy Jean began to laugh. “Enough said.” Ray finished, it finally being their turn for a bank teller.

          Mark Fischer had, like many other people in Hollywood, moved to the big city with the hopes of getting in the movie business. Unlike the others Mark had been hoping to get into the technical aspect of it, like lights or sound, and not actually acting. This didn’t change the result that he and many other hopefuls shared however, which was that the movie industry wouldn’t let him in. Light and sound was similar to the acting business; if you weren’t a big name, you were nobody. With an expensive apartment in a fancy apartment building and his plan A having gone down the drain, Mark scrounged around for any job he could find, and actually got pretty lucky in finding a job at The Highlight Hotel as a bellhop. Despite not being a job he had ever planned on he was fairly content as a bellhop as it made decent pay, gave him good hours, was pretty stable, and every once and awhile a rich person would stay at the hotel and leave him a nice fat tip. He really couldn’t complain.

          That particular day he had a special client who, according to what he had been told, had already checked in (he wasn’t sure how this worked, but when you had money anything was possible) and who’s stuff was already there, so Mark had the numerous plain black luggage bags loaded on several carts and waiting for their owner so Mark could escort them both to their room. He had been told all of this thirty minutes ago and was still patiently (for the time being) waiting in the lobby for the guest to arrive.

          There was a soon a tapping on shiny marble floor and Mark watched as Steve The Photo Guy walked by for the third time, tabloid in hand, reading as he walked. Steve claimed to be an amateur paparazzi and being new to the business was not allowed to many of the major celebrity hangouts, so he instead went off the beaten path, determined to catch a celebrity in a lesser known place, thus gaining entrance to what he called “High Priority Paparazzi Club”. Since The Highlight Hotel was something like the 14^th highest rated hotel in Hollywood it was often one of the first stops on Steve’s ‘route’. Mark thought that Steve was just a bum who enjoyed celebrity magazines and scandals a bit too much, but if he did then he certainly wasn’t the only one, Mark’s boss Arturo couldn’t start his morning without reading his favorite tabloid and giving his opinion on each major story.

          Without dropping the paper Steve gave Mark a friendly, “Hello!”

          “Morning Steve.” Mark replied, watching as Steve continued his trip to the guest bathroom on the other side of the lobby. It occurred to Mark that it was no wonder Steve was still an amateur, even if a celebrity did happen to be at one of the places on his route, Steve would probably be too busy reading a tabloid or drinking at a bar to notice. The bar was where he was coming from now and where he was going to return to after his bathroom break.

          Just then the main doors opened with a ding and a very pretty blonde woman walked in. She made a beeline towards Mark and slightly alarmed Mark moved closer to the pile of luggage, almost guarding it.

          “Is this place safe?” She asked, probably staring at him intently, Mark couldn’t tell, she had large sunglasses on.

          “Safe?” Mark questioned.

          Sighing, the girl lifted up her sunglasses to reveal her eyes and Mark gasped as he recognized her as up and rising actress, Crystal Lyn Meyers. Despite being in Hollywood Mark often didn’t keep up on actors/actresses and probably wouldn’t have even recognized her if it hadn’t been for Arturo discussing her being in the tabloids just the day before. Ironically enough the tabloid itself had been about her talking a long summer holiday in Tahiti, and Mark thought it went to show you that you couldn’t believe all you read in those papers.

          “Yes, I need to know if there are any secret paparazzi in here.” She said, still hushed.

          “No,” Mark began shaking his head before realizing, “Well, yeah, just one, but trust me he’s harmeless…”

          “You don’t understand,” she said frazzled, “I’m not supposed to be here, I can’t be seen.”

          Just at that moment the door to the boys bathroom swung open, and Steve, still holding the paper, walked out. Crystal Lyn stared at Mark, probably pleading for help and Mark, thinking fast, pushed her behind her giant pile of luggage and out of sight. Luckily she landed without knocking the pile over or making too much noise, and Mark straightened up his posture, hoping to look unsuspicious just in case Steve happened to lower his paper.

          Almost past Mark and the luggage Steve suddenly stopped and lowering his paper turned around to stare at Crystal’s luggage. Mark did his best to look calm even though he was seriously afraid of Steve finding Crystal behind the bags.

          Steve looked up to Mark and asked, “The guest still isn’t here yet?”

          “Uh, no.” Mark evenly replied.

          “Spoiled rich folk can never show up on time eh?” he asked.

          Mark tried to make as convincing as a laugh as possible, “Heh heh heh.” but it didn’t really matter because Steve was already back to reading his tabloid and walking through the door to the bar.

          Breathing a sigh of relief, Mark soon realized that he had pushed a very famous actress to the ground and ran over to the other side of the luggage to see if she was all right.

          “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, I didn’t want him to see you…” he said, grabbing her hand to help off the floor.

          Crystal Lyn seemed to be all right though and laughing replied, “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks by the way, that was a close one.”

          She smiled at him and he almost forgot where he was and what he was doing it was so beautiful. Regaining his composure he asked, “So, can I take these to your room for you?”

          “Sure!” she said, and they walked side by side to the elevator.

          She entered first and Mark wheeled in her things after her before asking, “Which floor?”

           “Five,” she answered, and Mark pushed the Five button, and up the elevator went. The rest of the elevator ride went on in silence, and when they reached the fifth floor she exited first once again followed by Mark and the bags. Her room was at the very end of the hall, and Mark wasn’t surprised when she opened the door to reveal a very large suite inside.

            As Mark brought her bags in, Crystal Lyn sprawled out on her back on the king sized bed in the middle of the room, taking off her sunglasses and setting them on the night table. Finally setting her last bag on the floor inside the room, Mark turned to her and asked, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

          Pushing herself off the bed she got up and walked over to him. “Yes actually. You’re pretty cute, how would you like to go on a night out on the town with me?”

          Mark was speechless. First he was being called cute by the very attractive, very famous Crystal Lyn Meyers, and now she was asking to go out with him… on the town at least.

          “Yes,” Mark choked out, his heart racing with excitement. He stopped though, adding, “but I’m working until 11, I don’t think that it would work.”

          “Don’t worry,” She smiled, “I can take care of that.”

          “Ok,” Mark responded, not sure how exactly that was going to work, continuing, “But aren’t you not supposed to be seen? Going out might be kinda risky.”

          “Yeah,” she answered, “but that’s what disguises are for. Look, I’ll just put on my sunglasses,” she said, grabbing them from the nightstand, “and steal your bellman hat, and we’ll be all set.” She finished, grabbing the hat off of Mark’s head and putting it on her own.

          Standing there, looking at her smiling with his hat on her head, Mark couldn’t resist. “Ok,” He allowed, “sounds like a plan.”

          “Alrighty then!” She exclaimed, “I’ll call my driver. I need to change so how about you take down the bag carriers and I’ll meet you down there?”

          “Sure,” he said, “Wait, is it ok that I’m dressed like this?” He was still in his bellman’s uniform.

          “Yeah,” she replied, looking him up and down. “It’ll just add to my disguise I think.”

          He was about to walk out the door when he asked, “But do I need a disguise?”

          “Not really, but how about we make it more fun by giving you one?” Rummaging through her purse she produced another pair of sunglasses and walked them over to Mark.
         

          “Thanks,” he said, slipping them on.

          “No problem. See you in a few.”

         “Yep, see you.” He said, turning away as she closed the door behind him. Mark was just rolling the bag carriers away when she poked her head out of her room.

         “Wait,” she called, “What’s your name?”

         “Mark,” he answered.

         “Ok, I’m Crystal Lyn.” She replied.

          “I’ll see you in a few minutes Crystal Lyn.”

          “See ya,” she giggled, shutting the door for the final time.

          Mark quickly brought the bag carriers down to the lobby and then rushed into the bathroom to quick gussy up before Crystal Lyn came down. There was nothing in his teeth and his hair was good, so besides his somewhat tacky bellhop uniform, he was set. Walking out of the bathroom, he saw her coming out of the elevator.

          “I’ve called the limo driver and he’ll be here in five minutes which,” she told him, “is more than enough time to get you off the hook.”

         “Are you sure?” Mark nervously asked.

          “Yep,” she answered, beginning to unbutton the first few buttons on the new light blue top she was wearing, causing Mark to ogle. “Just watch,” she finished, unfazed by his looks.

          Leaving him still standing there, she strided over to the front desk where George, Mark’s coworker, was supposed to be working but instead was sound asleep. Straightening up a bit, she softly said, “Ahem.”

         George, turning over and sniffling a bit, half asleep, replied, “Wha?”

          “Excuse me.” Crystal Lyn enunciated, a bit louder this time.

          Dazedly sitting up, George became wide-awake upon seeing Crystal Lyn and her top. “I’m sorry,” he said, forcing his eyes up to her face, “How can I help you today?”

          “Well,” Crystal Lyn began, “I wanted to go out with my new friend Mark here,” Upon hearing his name Mark walked over to the counter, avoiding George’s envious glares. “but he seems to have work. I was wondering if you could possibly call someone in to take over his spot for me?” She gave him her sweetest smile as an additional touch.

          “Well,” George began, but seeing her starting to sadly frown he reconsidered and instead said, “Yeah, no problem. I can cover for you babe.”

          Mark rolled his eyes disgustedly but Crystal Lyn just sweetly said, “Thank you!” and grabbing Mark’s arm began to lead him away from the desk.

          Noticing that they weren’t heading to the front door he asked, “Wait, where are we going now?”

          “To the back,” Crystal Lyn replied, beginning to button her blouse back up but stopping after only one button.

          Mark followed her through a series of hallways that she seemed to know and before he knew it they were exiting through a fire exit and in the hotel’s back parking lot, where a limousine was waiting.

          “You ready for the night of your life Mark?” she asked.

          “You bet!” Mark exclaimed.

          Smiling Crystal Lyn led him to the limousine, finally letting go of his hand as she sat across from him in the car.

           As Mark shut the door the little plexiglass window between the driver’s seat and the back rolled down and an older man turned around to ask Crystal Lyn, “Where will we be going tonight Miss Meyers?”

          “Club Infinity.” She replied.

          “Very well.” He stated before rolling the window back up.

          Relaxing in the seat Mark inquired, “So why can’t you be seen here in Hollywood?”

         “Oh, that.” She laughed. “Apparently Paramount wants to keep my latest project a big secret, marketing’s got this big thing planned but they don’t want to reveal it until closer to the release date? I don’t know, it’s stupid, but they don’t want people knowing they’re filming, so they’re keeping everything on the down low and ‘leaked’ that I was taking a long personal vacation in Tahiti, just so people wouldn’t think I was here.”

           “Wow,” Mark remarked. “That does sound stupid.”

           “Pretty much,” she said nodding.

           The rest of the car ride went on in amiable small talk between the two when the driver once again rolled down the little window and said, “We’re here.”

          Jumping out of the car Mark glanced across the street to see a long line outside the club. “Woah,” he exhaled.

          “Eh, don’t worry about it,” Crystal Lyn said, “I’ll get us through.”

          Mark was doubtful because with Crystal pretending to be a normal person they were a formal looking guy with sunglasses on and a very pretty girl with a bellhop hat and sunglasses on, respectively.

          After they crossed the street Crystal led the way, ignoring the velvet roped line completely and walking straight up to the bouncer himself. Once she got up there though she stopped and began to search through her purse causing Mark to get very anxious because they were starting to get dirty and strange looks from the people on the other side of the velvet rope, including one guy at the front of the line that was arguing with the bouncer. After about a minute Crystal finally found what was she was looking for and pulled out a silvery looking card. Turning to the bouncer she showed him the card and then briefly tilted her sunglasses down, letting him see her eyes.

          Nodding in understanding the bouncer said to them, “You guys can go.”

          As Mark and Crystal Lyn walked in Mark noticed that this only seemed to make the angry guy at the front of the line more aggravated and even though he couldn’t hear what he was saying as he got close to the booming music of the club, he could imagine that he was saying some choice things about them.

          “That was impressive!” Mark said to Crystal Lyn as they were in the inside door area of the club.

          “Meh,” she said, “I do that everywhere.” With that she pulled the other door to the club open and grabbed Mark by the hand, pulling him into the madness.

          The club was packed wall to wall with dancing people. The place smelled strongly of booze and nearly everybody had drinks in their hands, how they weren’t spilling them with the way they were dancing was beyond Mark. The music was the popular stuff you heard all the time on the radio and was blasting from every possible direction.

          Trusting Crystal Lyn’s leadership Mark called over the music, “Where are we going?”

          “To the bar of course!” she screamed back, pushing her way over to the brightly lit bar.

          Mark never fancied himself as much of a drinker, he was known to go out for a drink or two every now and again, but got the feeling that the drinking Crystal Lyn did was of a completely variety. And though it generally wasn’t his sort of thing he felt up for it now, because what other time was he going to be out on the town with a very attractive, very famous celebrity?

          They got there just in time because a couple was just getting up and Crystal Lyn was able to shove her way through and situate them both on a stool before anyone else stole it.

          “So what are we drinking tonight?” Mark asked, deciding already that he’d have what she was having.

          “You should have the Hurricanes, they’re to die for!” She screamed.

          Just at that point the bartender came over. “Oh, hey Crystal baby!” the guy cried and then turning to Mark said, “and who’s this cute thing?”

          “Um, a new friend.” She replied simply, and in the moving lights of the club Mark almost thought he saw her blush.

          “So what can I get you two sweethearts?” the bartender asked.

          “Two Hurricanes?” she said, quickly glancing at Mark to confirm, and after seeing him nod repeated, “Yeah, two Hurricanes.”

          As they waited for their drinks, Mark found himself people watching from his stool. He still couldn’t believe that he was hanging out here, in Club Infinity. He didn’t know just how exclusive it was, but probably very. Before he new it the bartender had brought back their drinks.

          “You two enjoy!” He said, moving on to another customer.

          “Wow, this is amazing!” Mark said after taking a few sips.

          “Told you!” Crystal Lyn replied.

          After finishing the Hurricanes they both did some tequila shots (at Crystal Lyn’s request) and afterwards, both nice and liquored up, Crystal Lyn suggested they dance.

          “I’m not much of a dancer,” Mark mumbled, the alcohol starting to kick in.

          “It’ll be fun!” Crystal Lyn cried, grabbing Mark’s hand.

          “Ok,” Mark relented, smiling at Crystal’s enthusiasm.

           Standing up, Crystal Lyn brought them to the dance floor and then pushed in so that they were closer to the middle of the crowd.

          The crowd was dense and Mark and Crystal were right on top of each other, practically sharing each other’s air. Not that either of them minded.

          “Come on, you got to get into it,” Crystal whispered, her mouth right next to Mark’s ear. She then began to shimmy her body up and down his, looking directly in his eyes and whipping his bellhop hat off her head so that she could move her hair around, instead placing it back on his head.

          Grinning from ear to ear Mark followed suit, their bodies moving together in time. The song changed several times but the pair still found themselves in rhythm in a world of their own, hardly noticing all of the other bodies and voices pressing around them.

          Suddenly Crystal Lyn was turning around and frowning Mark saw that some other guy had tapped her on the shoulder.

          “Hey baby, how about you dance with me instead of that looser?” He yelled over the music, nodding towards Mark.

          Disgustedly Crystal replied, “No thank you creep.”

          The man then grabbed her arm, saying, “Aww, don’t be like that.”

          Mark flared and with a tenacity he wouldn’t have had while sober (especially considering that the guy was like twice his size) he screamed, “Hey, don’t touch her.”

          Ignoring Crystal Lyn, who had jerked out of his grasp, the guy instead looked to Mark.

          “What’d you say?” He asked, looking angry.

          “Don’t touch her!” He yelled.

          “You want to fight?!” He asked, pushing around Crystal to get right in Mark’s face.

          “What?” Mark asked, confused.

          “Do you want to fight?” He asked again.

          “No, I just don’t want you touching her!” Mark replied, befuddled as to why this guy all of a sudden wanted to fight him.

          Just as the man’s nostrils flared, a dark haired guy wearing a black dress shirt and a headset pushed through the crowd to where they were. Tapping the big guy on the shoulder he asked, “This man giving you a hard time?”

          “Yeah,” the man responded, “I think he is.”

          “He’s touching my… uh… friend!” Mark declared, finding that words didn’t come quite as easy to him when he was buzzed.

          Giving him an annoyed look and glancing over to Crystal Lyn, who looked like she wanted to tackle the larger man, he said, “Maybe you two should leave.”

          “Maybe we will!” Mark answered, and, realizing what he had agreed to, grabbed Crystal Lyn’s hand and began to lead them out of the crowd. Once he had gotten off the dance floor he stopped and turning to Crystal Lyn asked, “Uh, what do we do now?”

          Moving so that she was in front she answered, “We’ll just head back to the Limo, I’m sure it’s parked out back.”

          Once again Crystal Lyn lead them through back hallways and back rooms until they were in a back parking lot, although it took much longer this time, both of them being half drunk.

          Mark got into the limo first this time, and after climbing in and shutting the door Crystal Lyn sat on Mark’s lap, cuddling against his chest.

          Looking at Crystal Lyn something hit Mark and he began to laugh uncontrollably.

          “What?” Crystal Lyn asked, confused.

          “I…” Mark choked out between laughing, “Just got kicked out of a club.” At this, (and the fact that Mark’s laughter was so contagious) Crystal started laughing as well.

          After laughing for a couple minutes Mark said smiling, “You know, I never go out but that was probably the best time I’ve… well, I’ve ever had.”

          Looking up at him Crystal Lyn commented, “Huh, I go out all the time but this is probably the best time I’ve ever had either.”

          Grinning sheepishly Mark replied, “Maybe because you were with me?”

          “Yeah,” Crystal Lyn answered. “Maybe.” She looked up at him devilishly.

          And then suddenly his lips were on hers and they were kissing passionately. Mark wanted nothing else than to keep feeling her fingers through his hair, her hip under his hand and her taste on his lips. Caught up in what was a Crystal Lyn sensory overload, the next thing he knew he was squinting, and the sun was getting in his eyes.

           Blinking blearily, he looked around to see the sun filtering in through the window of the limousine and a sleeping Crystal Lyn lying on his chest, using his bellhop coat as a blanked. He smiled, watching as Crystal Lyn’s chest fell and rose again and again in the peaceful rhythm of sleep. Shifting through hazy memories of the night before he figured he must have a hangover but did remember the two of them making it back to the car before ultimately falling asleep.

          Feeling nothing but bliss as he watched her sweet face sleep, his heart sank as he began to wonder just how drunk the two of them had been. Was he the result of one two many shots? How would she feel about waking up in a limousine on top of a bellhop she had olny met the night before?

          Just as he was thinking this he saw her eyes flick open, and then quickly shut again in reaction to the sun. Turning, he saw the brief look of confusion on her face before their eyes locked, her eyes lit up in recognition, and then she smiled. He found his lips doing the same as he looked down at her.

          “Hey.” She murmured.

          “Hello.” He replied, his grin growing even wider.

          “Fun night last night, huh?” She asked, hugging him tighter.

          “Yeah, really fun,” He said, beginning to massage the small of her back.

          Looking into her eyes he found himself unable to resist and pulled her into a long, slow, tender kiss. Eventually she broke away, yawning.

          “What time is it?” she asked, looking up at him.

          “Not sure.” He muttered.

          Reaching down to her purse (which happened to be sitting on the floor near them) she grabbed her phone and said “8:32.” before dropping it back on the floor again.

          “Ok,” Mark replied, “I’ve got two hours until work then.”

          “Hmm,” she replied, sitting up to stretch shaking off his coat and adjusting her top in the process.

          Mark watched as she did this, wondering how in the world he had been able to spend a night with a girl as beautiful as she was.

          “Two hours is plenty of time to do stuff, but I think we’ve spend enough time in here…” she muttered, partly to herself. Looking back at him she continued, “I’ll have Wilson drive us back to the hotel.”

          Mark smiled as he watched her get off him and crawl over to the little window rolling it down she looked around the front seat before commenting, “Huh, he’s not here.” She turned around to frown at Mark. “I guess I’ll just have to call him.”

          Moving back to where Mark was to sit in his lap she picked up her phone from the floor and deftly dailed his number. Waiting only a few rings Mark heard it pick up and Crystal Lyn said, “Morning Wilson.” Pausing for a second while Wilson probably responded she continued, “No, that’s fine. We’re ready now is all. Mmhmm. Ok. See you.” She finished and hung up the phone.

          “Where was he?” Mark inquired.

          “Apparently at a cafe eating a bagel.” She responded, curling up in his lap. “Always was the morning person,” she continued, the sound getting muffled by his chest.

          The two sat there, cuddling in the limousine when Wilson opened the driver’s door and silently got in and turned to the couple.

          “Where to Miss Crystal Lyn?” He asked, as if nothing at all had happened.

          “The Hotel I think.” She said before turning and gazing into Mark’s eyes. They were soon making out again, and Mark was enjoying it so much that he hated the fact that they had to keep stopping for air, he would rather have uninterrupted.

          But there was a greater interruption to come as halfway through the ride (and their kissing Mark aggravatedly noticed) Crystal Lyn’s phone began to ring. Frowning she tore herself away from Mark and picked it up.

          “Hello?” she asked, apprehensive. Mark watched as she flinched at either the tone of the person on the other end, or whatever they were saying.

          “Yes,” she admitted, somewhat guiltily.

          The voice on the other end spoke some more, and then Crystal Lyn sighed, mumbled, “Ok,” and hung up.

          “What was that all about?” Mark inquired.

          “Nothing,” Crystal Lyn muttered, “but we’re not going to the Hotel anymore.” Ignoring Mark’s confused stares she turned to the little window and rolling it down called to Wilson, “change of course Wilson, we’re stopping at Mark’s apartment now. Mark, where do you live?”

          “1734 Rosera.” He answered. “Crystal, what’s going on?”

          After making sure Wilson had gotten the address she turned back to Mark and hurriedly explained, “I’ll explain in a bit.” before grabbing him in another kiss.

          Mark was worried to find that this kiss wasn’t like the others though; instead of playful or passionate this one was needy and almost desperate.

          Before they new it Wilson was rolling down the window and saying, “We’re here Mad’ Am.” And Crystal Lyn was pulling away and looking at Mark almost sadly.

          “What going on?” Mark softly asked.

          “I guess somebody got a picture of me when we went out.” She said, avoiding eye contact.

          “Oh,” Mark exhaled.

          “Yeah, so the higher ups aren’t very happy and are holding an emergency meeting in,” she paused to glance at her phone, “13 minutes. Even if I remain on the project, they’re probably going to move me on set and I won’t be able to see you again while I’m here for the rest of the filming.”

          Mark didn’t know what to say. Seeing his face turn downcast Crystal Lyn began to search through her purse until she found a pen and a slip and paper and quickly jotted down her phone number.

          “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “If you need anything, I mean anything at all, feel free to call me. I may not pick up right away but I’ll try my hardest to get back to you.” He accepted the paper silently. It seemed like they had both just been sleeping under his bellhop coat, now she was leaving with no word of when she’d return.

          Pressing the pen into his hand she continued, smirking, “Would you mind writing your number on my hand? You’re the one I want to go out with when I’m back in town.”

          Mark couldn’t help but smile at that and wrote his number on her hand.

          “So this is it?” he asked, handing the pen back to her.

          “For now.” She said sadly.

          He frowned but then pulled her into one last passionate kiss. Knowing that it couldn’t last forever he let go, saying, “Just for now.” With that in mind he was able to exit the car and wave goodbye to her with a smile, because he would see her again some day. He could feel it.

          Walking into his apartment building he felt his heart balloon with joy. He had just spent an amazingly blissful night with the very beautiful, very fun Crystal Lyn. Not only that, but she liked him. She really liked him, and he even had her number! He practically skipped up the rest of the stairs in the building with excitement. Reaching his apartment he draped his bellhop coat across the nearest chair, thinking about how he could never look at it the same again. He decided the best thing to do know was to shower and otherwise go about getting ready for his day of work. The thrill of last night stayed with him as he continued his morning routine from showering to brushing his teeth and brushing his hair. Looking in the mirror he smiled remembering how the face looking back at him was the one that had kissed the beautiful actress and later placing his bellhop hat on his head he could almost picture her wearing it back in the hotel room or out at the club.

          He walked into the hotel some 15 minutes later, his disposition only intensified by the bright walk he had taken to get there. Strolling across the shiny marble floor, he gave a cheery, “Good morning!” to his boss Arturo, who was sitting at the front desk reading his daily tabloid and drinking coffee as usual. Screeching to a halt he turned, blinking in surprise at the picture on the front of today’s celebrity magazine.

          Covering the entire page was a full-blown picture of Mark and Crystal Lyn dancing in Club Infinity. Their bodies pressed against each other they both had goofy, half drunk grins on their faces, both staring intently at the other. Luckily Mark had haphazardly been wearing his bellhop cap at the time so the upper part of his face had been obscured but Crystal Lyn hadn’t been so lucky, her face had been mostly visible except for a few strands of her blonde hair getting in the way. Across the top read the giant words, “WHERE IN THE WORLD IS CRYSTAL MEYERS?” and Mark was too agape to even try to read the caption underneath. Realizing that he was still standing there Arturo began to lower his paper to look at the young man and Mark tried his best to recover and not look so astonished.

          His paper lying on the table Arturo just sat there for a few seconds, seemingly analyzing Mark. Then he suddenly turned and called, “See Steve, I told you he wouldn’t believe it!”

          Mark’s shock quickly turned to confusion, “What?” he asked.

          Steve came sliding in, drink in hand. “Oh, so you don’t believe it either?” he said, shooting Mark a dubious look.

          “Don’t believe what?” Mark questioned, looking between the two, hoping to find some answers.

          “Well,” Arturo began, “Just a few days ago, as I was telling you, it was all over the papers that new star Crystal Lyn Meyers was taking a long Tahiti holiday. Now, only two days later, they’re trying to tell us that she is in fact partying here in the city. It’s like they can’t get their story straight if you ask me.” He gave the famous I’m Italian, you know I’m right nod. “Here,” he read, “Star Crystal Lyn Meyers spotted in local hotspot Club Infinity with an unknown male just days after starting her Tahitian vacation. Some sources are saying it’s related to possible filming of a new secret project by Paramount, leading some to speculate that the movie, rumored to be released in Fall of 2011, is actually about bellhops, being as the unknown man in the picture seems to be in a bellhop costume. Crystal’s rep released a statement today that “Miss Meyers is thoroughly enjoying her personal vacation in lush, tropical Tahiti.”

          “I think she was actually here,” Declared Steve. “Heck, for all I know I could’ve just missed her.”

          Arturo laughed his booming Italian laugh. “You’re a crazy man Steve, crazy!”

          “Whatever,” Steve said, nonplussed by the Italian’s attitude. “Let you me tell you though, next time she’s here, I’m getting her. Just you wait and see.” He pointed to both of them; Arturo rolled his eyes, but Mark looked a little freaked out.

          “Oh, Fish,” Arturo said, turning to the man, “we have a lot of check ins today so you better be on your best.”

          And with that it was back to another crazy day working as a bellhop, although all throughout the day as Mark hauled cases down the halls of the Highlight Hotel he would at least have the memories of his wonderful night out with the beautiful Crystal Lyn Meyers, no matter what the tabloids said.

         Marion Rose Whitaker slowly but surely hobbled down the darkened street in her quest for some delicious Chinese food. At age 74 Marion still prided herself in staying adventurous and especially in trying new and different things. Her latest undertaking had been inspired by a recent dinner with her daughter and her family.

         They were getting together for their “Friday Movie Night”, as was a tradition for them, and that week were slotted to watch “All Dogs Go To Heaven”, as picked by Marion’s grandson Luke. Usually Marion’s daughter Helen made dinner, but she had got stuck with a last minute Friday shift at work, so instead Helen just had her husband Tom call and order some Chinese food from a local restaurant, The Dancing Panda.

         Sitting to eat before the movie started, Marion commented that it had been years since she had eaten Chinese food.

        “Really?” Helen responded. “With work getting crazy lately I’ve been ordering it more than usual, half the time the fridge is filled with left over pork.”

        Tom nodded, spooning himself some lo mein. “Not that any of us mind. I’m just glad we switched to this new place, the old one kept screwing up orders.”

        “And they’ve got the best fried rice!” The 7-year-old Luke exclaimed.

        “My favorite was always the barbecue pork,” Marion said, smiling at the exited youngster scarfing down his food as she took a container from her other grandchild, 17 year old Haley. “I may just have to treat myself to it more often.”

        The rest of the evening went on in amiable companionship as they all finished their dinners and then snuggled down to watch the movie. Tom and Helen cuddled up on the family’s ottoman, young Luke curled up next to his grandmother under a blanket, and Haley sat on the farther end of the couch, sour looking and surly. According to her parents Haley was in the phase of teenage years in which one wants little to do with her family. Marion never could quite understood kids now a days, and while she was sad that Haley didn’t seem to be enjoying herself during their recent nights she was hopeful that she would come around and eventually and see the light.

        At the end of the night with moody Haley having gone up to her room and little Luke put to bed, Marion stayed a little while longer as she drank her nightly cup of tea and as the parents each poured themselves some coffee.

        “Thank you as always for the dinner,” Marion said, finishing off of the last of her tea.

        “Oh, it was no problem Mom, you know we all enjoy it as much as you do.” Helen said, snuggling into her husband on the other side of the kitchen counter.

        “And you’re welcome over anytime for some leftover Chinese if you want,” Tom chuckled, curling his arm around his wife.

        “Now, I was just going to ask you about that,” Marion began, “Where’d you say you got that from again? I may stop over there some time this week for dinner and something to do.”

        “Oh, let me get you the menu,” Helen extricated herself from her husband and walked over to the fridge, removing the menu from underneath a magnet.

        Flipping it over she read, “The Dancing Panda, 1492 Military Rd, off of Hertel and Transit. That’s actually only a couple of minutes drive from your house ma.”

       “Actually, I wouldn’t mind walking,” Marion replied.

       Tom frowned. “Did you say 1492 Military? That’s a little close to the uh… bad side of town honey. I’m not sure if we want your mother walking over there.”

       Helen shot a confused look back towards her husband. “I think you’re thinking down a little bit farther Tom, I’ve gone to pick up food from there before, she’d be fine.”

        Tom looked doubtful but still conceded, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, I must be thinking of down farther, by Chippewa.”

        “Well,” Marion said, setting her tea cup in the sink, “It’s about time I got going, it’s getting rather late.”

        “Ok mom, see you next week!” Helen said.

        “Bye!” Tom said, waving.

        And two days later, craving some more of the barbecue pork and having no shows on television, Marion decided it was time for a little adventure in the form of a walk down to the Dancing Panda. According to her daughter, who she had quick called before leaving, it was no more than a 15 minute walk there or back, so Marion put on her coat, grabbed her cane, and set out for 1492 Military.

        She could have just driven but her doctor had been telling her lately that the best way to stay healthy in her old age was to keep healthy habits, and while some barbecue pork couldn’t hurt every now and again, walking was definitely something she should try to keep up with. She was quite enjoying her walk as well; she was getting fresh air and seeing many new things. Passing by a ladies apparel shop she had briefly paused, attempting to figure out how one would go about wearing the things in the window, and also glanced at some headlines on newspaper as she walked by their boxes.

        She wasn’t sure what her son in law had been talking about when he referred to “the bad part of town”. From all she saw, it wasn’t that bad. Maybe he was referring to the dirty nature of the sidewalks or the large amount of smokers. She had certainly seen lots of those so far.

        The thought drifted from her mind as she looked up to see a bright neon sign reading, “The Dancing Panda” about a block or so away. Time sure flew by when you were out in the world.

        Thinking about this, her train of thought was interrupted when she heard a strange noise coming from a nearby alley. Most of the buildings on this street were small and made of brick and the café and jewelry shop she was walking by were no exception, and had an alley running between the two. Frowning, she turned to look down it to see if it was the source of the strange, almost cat like growling noises.

        By the light of a flickering bulb down by the end of the alley she saw a man with a woman, who shoved up against the wall. Marion gasped, unbelieving. What she was witnessing was an attack, and the weird cat like noises must be cries for help coming from the woman pushed up against the wall.

        Thinking quickly, she began to hobble down the alleyway, raising her cane and yelling, “You get away from that girl!”

        The man, still pushing against the girl, half turned to see what was going on when Marion struck him square in the head with her cane.

        “Ahh!” The man screamed, falling over and grabbing his head in pain. Marion turned, about to ask if the woman was all right when she got a sight she was not expecting.

        “Grandma?!?!” Haley screeched, staring aghast, still leaning against the wall.

        Marion was speechless, looking at what was obviously her granddaughter but different than Marion had ever seen her, with very short and very small clothes on, and gobs of make up smudged over her face.

        The black haired man that Marion had hit with the cane was beginning to get up while rubbing his temples. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but this is not what I was expecting. I want my money back.” He angrily said, looking directly at Haley.

        “Money?!” Marion asked.

        Haley meanwhile slipped her hands into her short skirt, pulled out a twenty and threw it back to him. “Here.” She muttered.

       The man caught it and began to back out of the alley, giving them both incredulous looks.

       Marion turned back to her granddaughter, who looked positively enraged as she leaned against the brick wall, wiping some of the smudged lipstick from her face.

       “Haley Marie Jacobson…” Marion began.

       Later, as Marion left Haley to her mother, who was beginning to scream, “THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT WHEN I SAID ‘GET A JOB’!!” Marion decided that her family was enough adventure for her life right now, and that she should probably stay away from barbecue pork for a long, long time.

         Paul Smithers, or “Smithy” as he was went by, dejectedly trudged down the hallway of Crispus Attucks High School, heading for his locker on what was his very last day of classes at the school. He wasn’t really going to miss the school in general, but what he was going to miss was it’s band, which had been the only good thing in his life lately, but that too was done, as he was returning to his locker from the very practice. Although the practice today had been fun, going over good (and some bad) memories and signing yearbooks, he hadn’t really wanted to leave. He had taken extra time cleaning out his band locker in a desperate attempt to drag it out longer, but there was only so much he could do.

          Mr. Rodgers, the band teacher and mentor of Smithy’s, had noticed him dallying around and had walked up and sat next to him as he sorted through old sheet music.

          “You know Smithy, you’re a really talented tuba player.” Mr. Rodgers began. Smithy just nodded into his sheet music, almost too overcome with emotion. “I really hope that you consider playing at Indiana State, that’s where you’re going next year, right?”

          “Yeah,” Smithy answered, “I want to try to and get degree an Biology, but I’m taking Music as my elective, I’m actually enrolled in Music Theory for next year.”

          “Well that’s good.” Mr. Rodgers commented, “You can never really get enough music, can you?”

          “That for sure.” Smithy agreed, smirking. By this point Smithy could stall no longer, and stood up, all the sheet music he wanted to keep and his hand me down trumpet locked securely in his case.

          “It’s been a pleasure having you Smithy.” Mr. Rodger’s looked him squarely in the eye before firmly grasping his free hand and lightly shaking it up and down.

          “It’s been a pleasure being here.” Smithy replied.

          Releasing his hand Mr. Rodgers finished, “Good luck kid.”

          “Thank you.” Smithy said, smiling. Leaving Mr. Rodgers, it had really hit him that it was all over. School and band were over, and with it Smithy was left with the scary prospect of exams and a college at Indiana State. That wouldn’t have been too bad, but that was before, back when he had planned going through the two with his girlfriend, Caroline Stewart. And now he had no girlfriend. Caroline had dumped him, at the end of Prom night no less.

          Smithy remembered how he had been completely blindsided. Everything had seemed to be going well, they we’re having fun, Caroline seemed to be enjoying herself, and then during the ride home it had all just fallen apart.

          “Paul, we need to talk.” Smithy’s stomach had dropped. That was one thing you never wanted to hear from your girlfriend, not to mention that Caroline had never called him Paul before. It was always Smithy or Paulie.

          “Um, ok.” Smithy mumbled. He wondered if he sounded as nervous as he felt.

          “I don’t think we should be together any more.” She said, her voice emotionless.

          Luckily, Smithy had been slowly braking at a red light; otherwise he would have tried to suddenly bring the car to a full halt as he slammed on the brake in surprise.

          “What?!” He exclaimed, looking at her in disbelief.

          She meanwhile avoided eye contact. “It’s just that I’m going to Berkley next year for my liberal arts degree, and you’re staying here for your Bio degree, and having a relationship would be too hard.”

          “But.. but..” Smithy stammered, unsure of what to say. “We could make it work!” He cried out, desperately holding on to the hope that he could pull things back together.

          “Yeah, but I’m not sure I want to.” She looked down, fiddling with her hands.

          “Why not?” He asked, trying not to fall apart.

          “Paul, I don’t know, I just don’t really feel like our relationship is going anywhere. And, you’re nice and all, but I mean, we’re both going separate ways. What’s the point?” She briefly glanced over at him now, but seeing the pained look on his face turned away.

          “Baby, please…” he pleaded.

          “The light’s green.” She stated in monotone, nodding up at the traffic light.

           Smithy gently pushed his foot down on the gas, and the rest of their ride went on in silence. As much as Smithy wanted to analyze the situation, see where it had gone wrong, attempt to patch it back together, he really had to focus on his driving or he was sure to drive them off the road. He found keeping his breathing even helped a lot, and kept peeking over at Caroline, but she was looking out the window, so it didn’t do much good.

          And then before he knew it, they were pulling up in front of her house, with the peaceful little shrubs in the yard and the outside light turned on. They both sat there for a moment, sharing an awkward silence.

          Smithy wasn’t sure that he was ready to give up. “Are you sure?” He inquired, looking straight at her, daring her to look at him, tell him she was wrong, that she loved him, or even just turn and kiss him, like she had so many other times when he had dropped her off.

          Instead she just sat there, her face blank behind her long dark brown hair. “Yes. I’m sure.”

          Smithy wanted to try and choke out an “Ok,” but it wouldn’t have really mattered, because she just got up and out of the car without another word, shutting her house door behind her without even a second glance back.

          That had been a week ago. When Smithy had started his locker cleanout a few days later he was relieved to remember that he had always been too lazy to post pictures of Caroline and himself in his locker, and that was making things easier physically and emotionally for him now. It’s not that he didn’t have them; he had tons in fact, pictures of them at the zoo, lounging around on her lawn, doing silly faces or silly poses together…

          He really wanted to be glad that he was done with school, he honestly did. It’s just that ending high school really meant starting the next part of his life, adulthood, and at the moment he didn’t really see it going so well. He had always had been worried about high school, and he knew it was going to be rough with Caroline so far away, but at least he was going to have her. Now life just seemed like a bunch of unhappy unknowns, from exams to dorm room stuff shopping.

          Zipping the last of his things into his oversized book bag, he realized the best thing to do now was just to leave. He had already said goodbye to the only important person left at the school, Mr. Rodgers, and for better or for worst, he had to let the rest of Crispus Attucks High School behind, for the next two days at least. Then he had exams, but leaving now was symbolic enough of his leaving school. His slammed his locker shut and began his final trek out of the English hallway where his locker was located. His backpack was pretty unwieldy with all of his locker shelves inside, and he tried to shift it so as to get it on his back in a way that wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

        Just as he got it set in a position he was happy with, he became aware of his shoes sticking to the school’s polished tiles as he walked. Annoyed he looked down, thinking about the irony involved with never getting gum stuck on his shoe in high school until his last day when, flipping over his shoe, it realized it wasn’t gum. The bottom of his shoe was covered in some sort of dark liquid he couldn’t quite identify. Deeply befuddled, he turned around to see that he had stepped into what he saw was a dark red puddle some hundred feet behind him.

        Smithy didn’t know whether to scream or vomit. With staggered breathing, hoping that it wasn’t what it seemed to be, he slowly moved over to where the puddle was, in front of the boys’ bathroom.He shook at the sheer enormity of the puddle, then took a deep breath as he prepared to look in the bathroom.

         Peeking in, he suddenly dropped his backpack and tuba case and began to sprint in the opposite direction, looking for someone to help, the site of the mangled corpse on the bright red bathroom floor fresh in the front of his mind.