Mystery of the Lavender Pit

[MerlotBeauty]

Chapter 1: Community on Edge

Sierra Vista Daily News

Copper Mine Massacre Still Unsolved as Feds Arrive in Terrified Community
By Louise Jones

The FBI task force checked into the Copper Queen Hotel late last night, ready to take over what people are now calling the Copper Mine Massacre. Detective Samuel Roach is scheduled to meet with the task force where both local police and the FBI will be working together to solve the murders of the nine tourists that occurred just one week ago.

It has only been seven days since nine tourists were found brutally murdered during a regular mining tour inside the Lavender Pit. Local police have been working 24/7 but still have no leads, leaving the local community double checking the locks on their doors at night. “No community should be afraid to leave their homes,” Chief of Police Emilio Vasquez said, “We will offer the full cooperation and support with the Feds to ensure that peace and justice is restored to our proud and historic home.”

Many victims to this horrific tragedy hit close to home with local Sierra Vista school teacher Sarah Mason, 26 and her husband Richard 31. The tour group also included the Ibanez family from Elgin, Jesus, 40, Marisol, 36, and their three children Maria, Angel, and Gabriel; all three children were under the age of ten. Travel writer and photographer Eric Gregory, 34, was also on the tour. Many community churches and local organizations continue to hold vigils.

The police have also disclosed that the tour guide--name undisclosed--is, in fact, missing, and presumed dead. Detective Samuel Roche, lead investigator, had this to say, “Either the missing tour guide is another victim or he is our lead suspect. We are still gathering evidence.”

Roche refused to comment further.

The tragedy has also had a major impact on the normally busy October tourist season leaving Tombstones famous “El Dorado Days” at a record low attendance. Other tourist areas have also experienced a stark drop in visitors including Kartchner Caverns, the Cochise Stronghold, and old Fort Huachuca.

“The lack of visitors has less to do with the tragedy and more to do with today’s economy. Out of town visitors has been on a steady decline for years. People are just not traveling these days,” John Anderson of the County’s tourism bureau said. Many local hotels reported having record high cancellations, while many other tourism shops and businesses continue to struggle with income.

Nonetheless, the town of Bisbee continues to hold a collective breath hoping for the police to crack this tragedy wide open.

~~~

Detective Roche

The lone car strode only slightly over the speed limit northbound on Hwy 80, skirting what was perhaps ugliest hole in the world known as the Lavender Pit. It was not visible this time of night as the full October moon started to crest over the eastern desert peaks. Even the headlights of the unmarked police car seemed to shrink away from the Pit, as if knowing the truth of what happened there.

Detective Roche stepped on the gas speeding past the crime scene as he flipped the automatic window switch, letting the rush of the crisp autumn air fill his senses. Just thinking about the scene in those mines made his stomach roil—crime scenes never made him sick, but this one… Jesus… this one; no one could have been prepared for that.

That is, no one except the one who did it. Anger turned the detective’s skin flush and the hairs on his arms prickled. Whoever was responsible for that scene down there would not see a trial. Oh no, whoever did that would not even make it into a jail cell. He did not even care if it cost him his badge, his freedom, or if he found his own way onto death row for it. His resolve was firm. Whoever slaughtered those people was an animal and needed to be put down. Period.

Dark thoughts flooded Roche’s thoughts even as he pulled into the dingy parking lot of Bob’s Diner in the tourist district of Bisbee, Arizona. Most businesses, small and locally owned were closing early since the tragedy, though it seemed that Bob was confident that his business would thrive while other owners huddled in their own homes. The streets were relatively empty from the usual tourist bustle. The entire town seemed to be waiting for an answer, a resolution. However, despite efforts the police had no clues, no leads and nothing to ease the minds of the public. It all might as well have been some random animal attack for all they could discern.

Roche slid out of the car about as soon as he put it into park and strode inside his shoulders tense and brow furrowed. He raked his fingers through his disheveled red hair, showing hints of white at the roots. Hit gray shirt, with rolled-up sleeves and dark brown slacks were wrinkled as if he’d not changed in days, and his plain blue tie hung low more like a necklace.

Once inside, he ignored the “please wait to be seated” sign noting that the diner was essentially empty and made his way directly to a swivel chair at the diner’s bar. He sat slouching over the table, and tossed a waded dollar bill and two quarters onto the table. Exhausted as he was, it was going to be yet another all-nighter and he was pretty sure that coffee was his last ally in the entire world.

[Fallenreaper]

Racheli

Racheli stared around the town, her brow raised in confusion. This was it? It had the look of familiarity that most diverse mountain towns had even in darkness -except it was very empty- and being this far up in the town meant boredom, peace, and trouble. All in that exact order, Rach pressed her foot into the gas a bit more to roared its inner workings feebly to life. It was a cheap piece of crap which smoked slightly now from the hood, her engine always had something wrong with it and thankfully it decided to break down just short of a diner parking lot. A loud bang as it rolled in, Rach cursed loudly without holding back. Paints, canvas, brushes and the like shuffled about at the car’s rough halt. She slammed her hands against the steering wheel causing a stinging sensation on her palms, redden a bit from impact.

Dirt crunched beneath her sneakers, the chill wavered about her body, and a thin fleece jacket protected her skin from the night air once she exited. Her outfit, the green and black striped shirt underneath contrasted with the purple of the scene and her jeans just added its own flair of safety pins. Rach stood for only a few moments locked in war with her, emotions of rage twisted them into her heart and everything she saw was red. With the last of her patience gone, the woman shot her foot into the tire before reaching into pull out the keys. Not that it mattered if it was stolen or not, the fact was that it just hers. Her figure jogged the short distance though the diner door and temper cooled from the brief outburst.

The door was cold against her skin as she pushed it open, exhale warmed by the diner’s own heat. Another thing her death trap on wheels lacked was heat and the rights to be called a vehicle in all standards. Shoes squeaked before the sign, a look of question at the sign in ratio to the lack of customers or service. Rach debated on her next course of action, jump into the nearest seat to eat a meal or just wait on none existent waiter to direct her to a table. Choices… the later was a better one as she hopped right into the closest booth, her hand reached for a wallet in her back pocket.

Rach knew she should carry a pocket book or something but they were cumbersome and nothing more than huge signs that said: steal me! Racheli grabbed a menu from the table side, steel baskets with two bottles, shakers, and three other menus. It was a very effective layout, one that worked for her well as Rach waited to be served. Her sneaker tapped lightly to a rhythm in her head and blue eyes searched out anything that sounded good, stopped on…nothing. Oh well, maybe the today’s special would be better.

[wXw]

Father Santos - Day 0 - Saint Patrick's in Bisbee, AZ

In consideration of the exceptionality of the situation, Saint Patrick had been hosting a all-day-long vigil for seven consecutive days. Devotees had come at all hours, they had sat on the benches, kneeled in front of the holy cross and prayed for the nine unfortunate souls who were brutally stripped of their mortal life in the bowels of the Lavender Pit. In spite of the rumor that something, or someone, dangerous still haunted Bisbee, a few foreigners had come from nearby villages and from nearby counties too. In contrast, tv-operators had disappeared as soon as the long-standing vigil lost its status of scoop. After seven days they had finally decided to harass people in other parts of the town.

Seven days earlier, Father Albert had run into Father Santos. The old man was pale as chalk, covered in chilly sweat and unable to speak a single word. He was muttering broken words about a heinous crime against the Lord, about unleashing the Riders of the Apocalypse, and about the bloody hand of Cain. Father Santos had made him seat and listened carefully to the crying old man as he detailed what he thought he knew about the mysterious death of those nine tourists. Then, it was Father Santos who fell a shaking chill along his spine and needed to sit. They immediately convened that in the darkest hour people need a strong light to fight the shadows. It was decided that Saint Patrick was to host a vigil night and day, waiting for a sign from the Lord. Since then, Father Santos and Father Albert had tried their best to perform mess and attend the believers day and night. Knowing Father Albert's strict sleeping schedule, Father Santos was to supervise the night shift.

That evening, seven days after the report, Father Santos walked down from the altar and invited all devotees to sit closer to him in a circle.

-My friends, in these past days we have all been witnessing that the light of our hearts shines stronger than any darkness. I am so thankful to all of you for coming here and showing that, the harder the evil strikes, the stronger we unite, the darker the night, the brighter we shine.- he said -I have been wondering, my friends, what kind of being could cold-heartedly kill those people. I have been wondering what should a good man do in face of such a monster. Do you remember what Peter said?-
He paused before citing the passage -Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.- and then he nodded.
-We may think of pursuing justice, we may think of earthly punishments, but it is the justice of the Lord that will eventually judge everybody's actions. My actions, your actions, and the actions of whoever comes to our city to bring death. We are all equal in God's eyes, we all have right to be loved, and respected, and righteously judged. Do no fear, my friends, do not bear hate in your hearts but pray for those dead ones, for God may welcome them in the heavens, forever.-
He paused for a long while, looking at the faces around him. Honest workers, young men and women, faithful believers of a faith that promises them a better afterlife, yet so afraid of dying, just like anybody.

He walked back to the altar, raised his hands to the sky and called all of them -Let's all pray. Let us talk to those souls, comfort them with your words, tell them we are sorry for them, tell them that we will take care of them from here, tell them not to despair. The walk to the heavens is long, but light is stronger than darkness, always.-

Father Santos closed his eyes, thinking. He felt his temples burning with words he could not speak. Whom they slew and hanged on a tree: Him God raised up the third day, and shewed him openly, said the Book of promises, yet of those nine innocent ones, none had awoken after seven days.

-Let's pray.- he said again, and stood there, silent and immobile, lost in his thoughts.

[Lillian Thorne]

Jeanie

Jeanie walked slowly out the back door of Bob’s Diner where she worked towards the dumpster with a bag of garbage. It wasn’t supposed to be her job to dump the trash at night, at least not currently. Bob, her boss, had made her promise not to but she hadn’t wanted to bother Todd with it and so she’d come out on her own and immediately regretted it. The shadows in the back seemed deeper because of the orange glow of the bright security lights and she blinked a few times, trying to get some semblance of night vision. She gave it up after a moment, knowing it just wasn’t going to happen. She stood on the back steps unhappily for a few minutes, almost afraid to move forward until she heard the inside door chime.

“Crap! Customers!” she thought and pretty much ran down the steps and towards the dumpster. Her vision was shot once she hit the shadows. So she simply heaved the bag up and towards the open top of the dumpster and heard a dull thud followed by a splat, which would have been fine, except it wasn’t accompanied by a hollow ring that the nearly empty dumpster should have provided. She’d missed. Crap. There was no fixing it now, not when she heard another chime from the front door. She made a mental note to come back and fix it on her break before she turned and ran back in. She’d felt a shiver down her spine like someone watching and knew it was just her imagination. She darted past Todd, king of his kitchen and into the restaurant.

She smiled brightly as she nodded at the officer seated at the counter. Mindful of health and safety regulations she stopped at the sink to wash her hands the required thirty seconds, humming under her breath to make certain that she kept the proper time. Then, grabbing a clean apron and clean rag she swung by the bank of coffee pots and grabbed the freshest pot, out of rotation but the red-haired officer who sat at the counter looked so beleaguered and worn she knew he deserved nothing but the freshest. She pulled a mug out from under the counter right in front of him and in a fluid and practiced motion, flipped it, placed it down and filled it.

“Evening, officer.” She looked up to smile at him. Just past him she spied the elusive second customer sitting in a nearby booth. “I’ll be right back to get your order,” she said brightly as she grabbed another mug.

She hustled over to the booth, her white Keds barely making a sound compared to the swooshing of her pink poly-cotton waitress dress. She plopped the mug onto the table in front of the woman with the wavy black hair and began to pour.

“Hey there, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long? I’m Jeanie and I’ll be your waitress. What can I get you this fine evening?”

She smiled down at the young woman with a bright sunny smile an air of earnest servitude about her.

[Upgrade]

Rufus

Ordinarily, one would consider sleeping at an inn quite reasonable when travelling. However, Rufus was a distance cyclist; inns and hotels ruined the sport for him. thus, he carried with him a lightweight and collapsible tent for one. Sleeping in the wilderness was something that he had become quite accustomed to, and he genuinely enjoyed the experience. The low whistle of the crickets, the occasional howl of a coyote; he loved it. He was, however, intrigued to the point of temporarily abandoning his sport. The paper detailed the goings on rather vaguely. This was most likely due to the inhabitants of Bisbee, sparse though they were, fearing of their town gaining unfavorable attention, Rufus reasoned. Reasonable though the effect may be, Rufus was still curious. He wanted to know who (or what, rather) had occurred in the Lavender Pit... The newspapers may have been vague, but they did leave hints to the fact that there was some confusion as to what truly went on, beyond the fact that the culprit remained at large.

The reports had not even detailed how the victims had died, be it by piercing, ballistic, or chemical means. That was perhaps the biggest question mark that drove Rufus to stay in Bisbee for the night. He had originally planned on buying a loaf of bread and some cold cuts in order to press on to his next pit stop, and ultimately Los Angeles, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he planned to interact with the locals a bit in order to find out what was going on. He courted the idea of breaking the unwritten rules of the marathon (and his own personal challenged) and attending a restaurant or cafe in order to probe the locals for information (not to mention that he hadn't had any decent food in a week or so), but he thought better of it, choosing instead to stop by a supermarket for his meat and bread. He hoped that there would be some human interaction there.

The cashier was a disinterested automaton crafted from the zombifying forces of rural culture and American public school. It seemed that all she was able to do outside the effective hearing range of a manager was to recite the words "did you find everything all right," and "will that be all, sir?" in a deadpan nasal voice that made Rufus shudder a bit inside. Salami and load in backpack, Rufus began to cycle through the town, nearing his exit point on the west side. He saw an illuminated sign that boldly proclaimed "OPEN." His stomach gave a pang of hunger and a growl, and he gave in. Certainly the locals would, at very least, satisfy his stomach, if not his curiosity.

[StoneDogg1]

Todd smiled, flipping the pancakes on his griddle. Beat that, second cook! He loved to outcook the restaurant's only other cook. His orders came and went, came and went. He attacked every order with a religious zealotry. No orders were sent back. Well. Most to none, anyways. He nodded towards Jeanie as she passed by.

I should really get to know her one of these days... He shook the thought from his mind as he scrambled some eggs. Wiping his brow, he peered out into the crowd. He saw a woman, an officer, and Jeanie. He frowned, realizing that most of the costumers they recieved these days were "regulars". He sat down at his personal stool-and-box, setting down his plate of pancakes, eggs, and sausage. He munched on them lazily, looking through his phone for any new texts. None. No surprise there, he hadn't talked to his high school buddies for a long while.

He leaned back against the wall, waiting for an order to be rung up. There wasn't much else to do around here, after all. Todd went over to a nearby closet, grabbing a bag and a styrofoam container. He placed the remaining pancakes and eggs inside, then closed it, wrapping the box inside the bag. He wrote on the side of the paper bag in a large permanent marker:

ZEEK

Placing the bag in a small refridgerator located near the back for all employees, he began making a nice, healthy breakfast. He smiled at the thought.
Jeanie deserves one on the house today.

As he cooked, he couldn't help but thinking about that poor family that was murdered nearby. He cringed a bit. Three children near the age of ten... The mother and father.. And more. It was horrid. His mouth was set into a thin line. I hope that whoever did that is brought to justice. With a grim nod, he went back to his work.

[Poison Ivy]

The truck screeched into a halt outside of a gas station, and it really was a screech, seeing as the truck was about 50 years old. It had been a bumpy ride, and while Azalea was grateful for it, she was also very glad to be getting out. Not only was the car ancient, the guy driving it was too, and the way he was driving... well driving tests probably hadn't been invented when he started behind the wheel. She'd been picked up by this guy at a place called Truth or Consequences, if you could believe it. He'd driven her from there to a little place called Tombstone, Arizona. She'd gone from New Mexico and into Arizona. All in all, she was thankful that she'd made it alive and in one piece.

"Thanks for the ride, mate. Very much appreciate it." She said to the guy, as she jumped out of the cab at the front of the truck. She pulled her backpack out of the foot-well and slung it on her back. Then she grabbed her satchel, and put it over her right shoulder, hanging across her body. She walked over to the store attached to the gas station. The sign over the top said Tombstone Station, as if were the only one in town. Looking round, that was probably a fair estimation. There didn't look like there was much life around.

She walked into the store. There was a woman standing behind the counter, reading a newspaper. She was taller than Azalea, with fair hair tied up in a bun. She looked in her 30s possibly older. She had the paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She didn't look up when Azalea entered. She looked like she was too engrossed in whatever she was reading about. The paper was the Sierra Vista Daily News, from what she could see, but she couldn't make out the headline. Azalea wasn't one to keep up with news these days. She hadn't read a paper in a long time. She walked up to the counter, waiting for the lady to look up.

"Excuse me?" She said quietly, not wanting to disturb the lady from whatever she was so involved in. At first the lady didn't notice. Then after a minute or two of Azalea standing right in front of her, her eyes glanced upwards. They had slight tears in them, so obviously whatever she'd been reading was upsetting.

"Sorry, my dear. I just wasn't paying any attention. Now how can I help you?" She put her hand up to her eyes to dry them a little bit before tears started flowing.

"If you don't mind me asking, what's wrong?" Azalea replied, looking a little worried. She didn't want to be stuck listening to this lady's problems all day but that seemed like the polite thing to say, especially when she was going to ask her for things in a minute.

"Don't keep up with the news?" She asked, before handing over the newspaper. Azalea took it and skimmed the front page. Words jumped at to her like massacre and brutally murdered and horrific tragedy. She handed the paper back to the lady behind the counter.

"That's terrible. Far from here?" She asked, her geography quite appalling at the stage. She had a rough idea of where she was and where she was going but not well enough to judge distances.

"Bisbee? About half an hour from here." The lady replied, picking up the paper and putting it down behind the other side of the counter. "Now, how can I help you?" Back to business as if nothing ever happened.

"Right, yes, well would I be able to trouble you for some water? And perhaps if you could point me in the direction of the bathroom?" Azalea asked her.

"Bathroom's over there," the lady replied pointing to the other side of the store. "And I suppose a glass of water wouldn't hurt." She turned round and headed out towards the staff-only section of the store. Azalea copied her like a mirror, spinning round and heading for the bathroom. She stopped about halfway through the store and looked over her shoulder. The woman was out of sight. She opened her satchel and grabbed a couple things off the shelves, as much as she could. She hadn't been making as much money lately with recessions and things, and this was the only way she could manage to survive. When she'd got a reasonable amount of stuff from various shelves so not to look suspicious, she carried on into the bathroom. Once in there, she took the things out of her satchel and switched them into her backpack, they were easier to conceal things in there. She looked at herself in the mirror, scrunched her nose up at her messy vagabond reflection and then left the bathroom.

The lady had returned and was standing at the counter, glass of water sitting in front of her. Azalea walked up to the counter, picked it up and knocked it back. "Thanks for that, so much." She said, wiping the moisture from her upper lip. "So do many people stop by here? I haven't seen anyone for a long while."

"That's because not many people come by this way, love. It's called Tombstone for a reason, corpses move faster than this place. You'd have probably been best off sticking with the man the dropped you here." The lady actually looked a little sorry for her.

"Okay well where's the nearest town? How far is it to walk?" Azalea asked, trying not to get too down about it.

"You either walk eight hours or so, south one way to Bisbee, but why would you want to go there, right? The best bet is Sierra Vista, five hours south the other way." She thanked the lady and left the store, feeling a bit lackluster for the several hour walk she had in front of her if she couldn't find anyone to hitch a ride with.

Azalea had been walking for almost an hour when a car came roaring up behind her. She swung round, and waved her arm out. At first, she thought it would just drive straight past her, but the car braked a little further up the road. She ran to catch up to it. It was an older looking car, shiny, but definitely not new. There was a guy in the drivers seat, he looked early 30s if that.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to be able to give me a ride would you?" She asked the man, leaning into the window that he'd rolled down for her.

"Sure, but I'm heading to Bisbee. You sure you wanna go there, given the circumstances?" His voice was deep and he was wearing large sunglasses that covered his eyes. It gave a weird sense of creepiness to it. Always one for adventure, Azalea nodded in response. The man unlocked the passenger door, and Azalea ran round the car and hopped in.

Thirty minutes later, she was saying goodbye to the deep-voiced stranger as he dropped her in Bisbee, in front of some kind of restaurant. 'Bob's Diner,' the sign said. She opened the door and stepped inside, wondering if she'd be able to afford anything on the menu.

[tirgesfu]

Smit spent most of the early night hours just sitting along the high desert peak southeast of Bisbee. He watched a few antelope squirrel scurry from their burrows underground to meet the cooler air in search of food. He smoked and enjoyed the fast pace of the little things as they darted around. Smit would watch them then shift his neck back and watch the stars above.

His mind played little games about size and place. How different are the small rodents from the blazes of gases in the sky? The movement is not so different. At least not to the mind of a solitary weed enhanced young undirected Native American. He took pleasure in the thoughts as scattered as they were.

But even the natural philosophers have physical needs. Smit’s stomach started to let him know he needed food just like the antelope squirrels. That and the munchies were really taking hold. With the new cash in his pockets and the pleasant feel of a peaceful night in the desert brush, Smit thought he would go into town and fill his stomach. Just like the squirrels he knew were to go for an easy meal.

He walked effortlessly in the moon light toward the soft orange glow of the town. Things were tighter than normal in Bisbee. He heard some of the talk of murders and darkness. But Smit didn’t read newspapers much. The past few days he had spent in Mexico finding the men he just crossed the line with. He hadn’t really understood the story. Some tourist got killed. Visitors from the north here to point, gasp, and study the natives weren’t of all that much interest to Smit. They probably fell off the path because they were wearing flip flops or something stupid.

Smit tucked his chin down as he walked even paced pasted a junk car almost all by itself outside the parking lot. He glanced inside, stuff sort of all over the place, but he did notice canvases. Oh ya, all Bisbee needs are more artist. Yup, they can all hold hands and sing in the coffee bars. And bikes, he looked up to see a cyclist ride to the dinner; more upwardly mobile city kids trying to get back to nature in spandex suits.

Even still, Smit felt the call of that kids pancakes. He could sit at a booth and watch the scrambles of the visitors to his Cochise Mountains. Just like he watched the antelope squirrels.

[May]

It was just a little bit more, just a little bit more. At least that was what she'd been telling herself for a while. She was so tired, drained even. She couldn't understand it to be honest. Helena had never slept well her whole life and she was a college student with a very busy life. Sleep was not something that she was used to getting. But right then she felt like stopping right where she was at and just passing out would be a good idea. Which was crazy. Because sleeping on the side of the road was dangerous and her father would kill her if she got killed doing something stupid.

But oh how she was done walking for the day. It probably hadn't helped any that since no one would give her a ride and she'd gone off on a walk towards the nearest town, Bisbee she believed that it was, she'd gone off from the road and wandered through the scrub brush and what not that lined the high way. She'd brought her camera with her and she wasn't going to pass up the chance to take some nice pictures of the plant and wild life in the area. Her poor fair skin was tinted a nice red now that almost matched her hair, freckles still feeling like they were popping into existence along her arms and neck. The sun must have drained a bit more out of her than she thought that it would.

Helena had seen the lights of the town for a while now and had already made it into the less populated portion of the town along the road. She would have stopped almost anywhere, but there was a nice little dinner she could see down the road with it's lights still on. Everything was closed it seemed. She knew it was small town and that things probably closed earlier than they did in Saint Louis, but this just seemed a little excessive. But she hadn't a clue about anything so she just trudged along down the road.

Even if she'd known, she would have kept going on. There wasn't much of a choice that she felt she had. And if she'd had it? She'd still have gone forward. A little adventure never hurt anyone.

Finally she was there. It felt like forever and the seats inside looked wonderful to finally sit on. Hopefully they wouldn't mind if she just passed out for a bit. She opened the door, not even hearing the soft little chime in her slight daze. She was dusty, her worn jeans looking even more worn, the sweater she'd finally pulled on from around her waist was half clean in the areas that'd been against her body during the day, her purple converse looking a little more mauve than the plum they'd been a few days ago. Even her pony tail was a mess and she normally bothered to fix that before going into some place like that. But she didn't care and she stood slumped against the door frame, waiting for the waitress to either be free enough or to wave her in. She was too tired to be assertive at the moment.

[Fallenreaper]

Racheli

“It’s fine…” Racheli tone was gruff at first not raising her eyes, her head dropped a bit at her voice,” Sorry, don’t take it personal if I am a bit shitty today. Car trouble should be my middle name. Can you bring me some sugar and flavored cream, any type will do. ”

Her eyes drifted to the window, a last glare at her clearly broken car now finishing its last puff and died at its end. The sick son of a… her looks would have blown up it if possible. The plastic seating was cool though her pants squealed with every movement while readjusting. A man, his skin made her think of creamy butterscotch, came into the diner causing her pause at the ringing of the chimes before continuing. Even as she spoke, her eyes flickered to study him with curiosity. His looks screamed runner or cyclist and she couldn’t help wondering if his stamina extended into the bed room or just his profession. Enough of that… her thoughts drifted into the gutter often. That contemplation brought a smile to her lips as she returned to focus on her waitress, her mental state remained even though she tried to look in Jeanie’s face.

Her body wasn’t overly thin or fragile looking like the many skinny blondes Racheli was use to seeing flaunting attitudes and worried about their weight even though it wouldn’t matter in the end. It had a nice shape, normal and husky like those model used for nude art classes. Maybe that endeared Rach to try harder to be nice or something despite her shimmering temper.

“Yeah... Anyway, how about today’s special and you can choose the extras for me. Also a Pepsis for the drink or chocolate milk, if there’s no Pepsis. If this seat is empty when you glance at it, I haven’t left just grabbing something from my car. I will be right back and it’s not a rush order, I think I plan on being here for a while,” with that statement, Rach placed her menu down.

The artist viewed the scene, the diner only three customers as she absorbed every detail even as yet another one walked in wearing moccasins, “Looks like a busy tonight.”

At first it was meant as a funny sarcastic thing but all too soon her words became true. The bell had chimed several more times, each new arrive passed before her memory. The differences were well noted but there something that bothered her for some reason. Then again she was still jumpy from her nightmares that woke her up vomiting in the middle of the night, dreams Rach wished she could forget. Once more her skin bumped forcing her to focus on the diner.

A strange sensation pooled on her nerves as she jerked slightly, shook it away from her head. Her sketch book came to mind causing her body to stand up; her feet lead the way out into the freezing air while only her coat remained to mark her seat. A lady was slumped by the door, exhausted mused Rach as she often knew that feeling too well. Late night painting didn’t happen much but when it struck, she wasn’t one to stop until it finished. It was the only thing that could calm her and the creative juices out of her. Each step made ruff sounds, gravel scraped against her shoes, stopped at open window she left. Wallet was snug in her back jean pocket even as she reached into the passenger seat, a little black book worn badly, and her graphite lead holder attached by a thread. It took moments; car was a mess –a total chaos she alone knew where everything was.

Once the hand wrapped about the book, the paper softly rattled on its way to her chest. Her abdomen hurt from being pressed into the metal. Rach jogged back into the door, careful not to hit the woman if she wasn’t already seated and slipped into her seat once more. Hands shoved her coat aside, her sketch book opened to one of her favorite images almost completely finished.

It was a shadowy man, completely dark that only the broad shoulders make it male, outline of a weapon clear in his clutched right hand. A door framed his shape, eyes lightly shaded but they were always red in her head. In the foreground was a sleeping person with wavy hair, light colored and young. Innocent and unaware of the lurking creature of a man behind her, one hand lengthened into claws overcastted its shadows over the bed covers. It always brought a smirk, offending many people with its eerie sight that she would even consider drawing. Then again they never stayed to see the rest.

Another page held prisoner a Minotaur so proud and strong, his hooves feet surrounded by human skulls and a trident waved about torn rags. Angels fell from the skies in the background, lost in their own sea of pain. The sky was black to add to the darkness. Each page held her dreams, blood, and sweat come alive. Staring at her own work, Racheli didn’t even bother drawing now since the urge had fled.