Somewhere in the rolling dizziness that was sleep, a phone buzzed.

   Romero woke with a start. He slammed his hand down on the bedside table, knocking all its contents into the floor except one.

   A phone, on which Norma's picture appeared as it buzzed. He swiped right, and held the phone to his sweaty face. "Where are you?! Dylan's been sitting at the school waiting for you!" He whisper-cursed when he thought Norma couldn't hear him. "I heard that. Listen, Dylan's still at the school waiting, and I needed you to be there thirty minutes ago..."

   "Why can't he take the bus?"

   "Alex, you know exactly why he doesn't take the bus."

   "I've tried talking to him, you know," he said, holding the phone with his shoulder as he fastened his belt. "He won't listen to me."

   The other end was silent for a moment. "I know you're trying, Hon. Kids are hard, and Dylan's not really used to this."

   "Yeah, well...I don't know what I should do. He hardly speaks to me, even when we're alone. It's awkward for him, Norma, and I don't want it to be."

   "Well, at least Norman likes you," she mused. She swore she could feel him grinning on the other end of the phone. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

   "Yeah, alright."

   It seemed like only yesterday he kissed her for the first time.

   In the three years that she had lived in White Pine Bay, she had become his best friend. Recently, their comaraderie had developed into something more. She admitted that she felt safer with him around. He offered to let her come live with him. Few of her things were left at the motel after that.

   Now, Dylan was in school, and was (unfortunately) making more enemies than friends. Romero was getting fed up with it, but he understood that this was Norma's forte, not his. Dylan was, after all, her son, and any decisions regarding him were made by her. However, he was having a hard time ignoring the fact that Dylan was getting beat up every day, and had been itching to teach the boy how to defend himself.

   "I don't want him going around punching people."

   "He wouldn't just be "punching people" Norma, he'd be defending himself. I'm tired of seeing him come home with a black eye, and you should be too."

   "He's eight years old, Alex. There must be a better way to handle this. I'll talk to the school board."

   Problem was, the school board decided to remain uninvolved. Now, Romero was sort of getting his wish, although it wasn't quite going as planned.

   The young, sandy-haired boy hopped in and slammed the door. There was a bleeding cut above his right eye.

   "Is it Steve again?" Romero asked.

   "I don't want to talk about it."

   Alex wasn't sure how to respond. He'd never had much to do with children before Norma's, let alone her very silent, eight-year-old boy.

~                                                                                                                                                                                                  ~

   Back at home, Norma was having her own problems.

   "What is this?"

   Norman blinked at her. 

   "What--where did you even find this?!?"

   The little boy looked on the verge of tears. He carried her over to the dresser, and pointed at the drawer that he'd pulled open

   It came back to her suddenly. The memory of hitting her head on that drawer on the dresser, finding where she misplaced the book. She had gotten so caught up in tending to the motel that she forgot all about it, and it somehow lay there, untouched, for two years.

~                                                                                                                                                                                                 ~

   Upon arriving home, Romero was greeted happily by Norman. "Where's Mom?" he asked.

   "She's at the table," he informed them, pulling Romero by the shirt to where Norma was.

   The young blonde was staring pointedly at the screen of her laptop. Her lips moved to form soundless words that Alex didn't understand. Beside her lay a small, well-worn journal held together with a breaking, brown strap. "What's all this?" he asked, reaching for her shoulder.

   She glanced up at him, surprised, then snatched the journal between her two hands possessively. "I found it in the room we've been staying in. I don't know what all this means, I've just started translating..." she handed it to him and he took it. He began flipping through it with a confused glance.

   "I know this place."

   "What?"

   "I know this place," he paused, "from before Sheriff Johnson passed away. It's not important, there's nothing over there anymore anyways."

   Her eyes narrowed as she considered his stance. "You're lying to me."

   "Wha-- Norma, I'm not lying to you. It's not important. You should just drop it, and let me take the journal. It could be linked to an old case..."

   "What old case? What happened?!?"

   He put a hand out to grab her shoulders, which only made her angrier. She cursed, then exploded into a ball of emotion. "Just tell me!" Her balled fist landed against his chest.

   He glanced back at the boys. Dylan was at the table now, sitting with a glare on his face that was as stiff as a board. Norman just looked confused.

   "Nothing happened."

   She snatched the journal from his hand and burst upstairs. Romero could hear the dresser hitting the wall as she banged things around in the room. Eventually she came out, wearing a strangely fashionable hat and raincoat, and carrying a flashlight in her other hand.

   "What are you doing?"

   "I'm going to see this place, and figure out what's up with this journal. Boys, I'm gonna be gone for a few minutes, you listen to Alex, okay?"

   Dylan nodded. Norman's head bobbed as he chuckled.

   "No, no, not okay!" Alex yelled, finally raising his voice. "It's dark, Norma, you don't need to--"

   "Look, I don't know what you're hiding, but I've seen enough of this thing to know that there's someone out there who needs our help, whether you believe it or not. And I'm not sitting around to argue."

   Norma ran from the house. The wind's angry noises matched how she felt, and the cold, wet rain didn't make it any better.

   After what felt like hours of stomping around in the woods, she finally came to an old dirt road that looked identical to one of the sketches in the book. Well, aside from the downed tree. She lumbered over it, feeling every inch of dirt that clogged the underside of her nails and made her feel like she hadn't showered in months.

   She wiped her face, smearing mud all over her nose. After the log came a steep drop-off, which sat eye-to-eye to a fast mountain range.

   It would be way more beautiful without the mud, she grouched.

   She stood, overlooking the area below for a moment before turning from the edge and trodding outside the more heavily wooded landscape. Norma peered at it for a moment, using her hand to block the rain from her eyes.

   Is that...marijuana?

   And then she saw it. Near the expanse of marijuana there was a shed exactly like the one in the journal. She flipped a page. Stared at it for a second. You're going insane, she thought, It's probably just some stupid story. Still, she had to see.

   The door creaked loudly, and Norma turned to risk a furtive glance behind her. If the journal was correct...

   One look inside, and she had vomited on the ground beside the corpse.