The weather didn't clear until three in the afternoon the next day. We spent the morning helping the house sitter with the animals. To thank us, she brought us lunch – the best chicken casserole I'd ever had in my life.

At four, Jake and I rode the stallions back to the truck. The horses were well-rested and fed, and in a much better mood than they were in yesterday. We had the time so we took on a leisurely pace; I chose to ride sidesaddle partly to show off, and partly because I had some serious chafing going on where the seams of my denim shorts had rubbed my inner thighs raw.

At five, Randy's men arrived with the spare trailer. I sat in the cab while Jake helped the men hitch and load up. My phone was down to the last five percent of battery life and I didn't have a car charger. Peyton and I had been texting back and forth since the morning, but I decided it was time to call.

The phone rang and rang. I was about to hang up when he answered. I quickly updated him on the situation and apologized again and again for not being able to make it back in time for dinner.

"It's fine." He hesitated as if he wanted to add something, but changed his mind, and a drawn out silence followed.

"Do you still want to see me tonight?" I held my breath. 

Please, please say yes. I need you to get through the night.

He was agitated. "Of course I do, why would you ask that?"

My shoulders relaxed in relief. "Listen, my phone's almost dead. I won't be able to call or text you anymore."

He didn't answer immediately. In the background on his side, I heard an announcement go off on a speaker system. Try as I did, I couldn't make out the words.

Where are you?

"Peyton?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I'll wait for you. Don't worry about being late, I'll be there."

"If you're busy –"

"Layla, I'll be there."

"Okay." Another silence. "Are you at home?"

He hesitated. "No, I'm not."

I waited, but he didn't volunteer any more information. Maybe I would've pressed for more under different circumstances, but as things stood, I had no business demanding anything from him.

"Okay, so I guess I'll see you tonight." God, I sounded so insecure.

There was a long pause. "Layla – I need to tell you something, I'm- "

But my phone died. Because... of course it did.

I buried my face in my hands again and tried to rub the stress out of my temples. It was fast becoming a habit.

***

By six thirty, we were on the road home.

The GPS said we would arrive at the Ranch by 10:00, but that was assuming we didn't make any stops. And it had started raining again - nothing like the night before, but a steady shower that would definitely slow us down.

Sitting with my legs curled beneath me in the seat, I stared out the windshield. The mind-numbingly repetitive motion of the windshield wipers lulled me into a half-hypnotized state, drawing my thoughts to a different rainy night long ago.

It was the summer after I met Peyton. It had been an unusual night, with unusual weather. The downpour was nothing short of torrential, and I lay in bed, eyes wide open, half expecting the flimsy roof of the trailer to come crashing down on us with the next clap of thunder. Mom had been drunk and slept fitfully, groaning and mumbling nonsense in her sleep.

The knock on our door in the middle of the night was unusual too, the fact that we had heard it through the pounding rain, a miracle. Mom stumbled from the bed and headed to the door, with me close on her heels.

The last person on earth we'd expected to see was Abagail Bishop, but there she was, standing beneath a big black umbrella. Despite it, she was already soaked through, her elegant silk coat plastered to her thin frame. No umbrella stood a chance at howling winds like these.

Her Jaguar was still running behind her, headlights on, windshield wipers moving at a frantic speed. On closer look, I'd seen the silhouette of a man behind the wheel. I couldn't make him out, but judging by the full beard he wore, he was neither Peyton nor Mr. Bishop.

"Abagail," said my mom. Mom only had a bra and underwear on but her tone was cool and self-assured, as if she were draped in the crown jewels. She placed her hand on her hip and leaned against the door frame, waiting expectantly. Vamp. You'd never have guessed that she was passed out in a drunken stupor just seconds ago.

"Hello Brandy." Mrs. Bishop's eyes reluctantly traveled down my mom's body with a mixture of embarrassment, disgust, and maybe a touch of envy. I guess it makes better sense now that I know mom was sleeping with her husband. 

Mrs. Bishop's attention had quickly shifted to me. "Layla..." She tried to smile, but gave up halfway through. I shrank beneath her gaze, grateful for the shield of my mother's body. 

Like I said, up until this time, Mrs. Bishop had always treated me with a cool indifference whenever she would run into me and Peyton around town. I'd always felt awkward around her with all her fineries and beautiful manners.

"Would you like to come in Mrs. Bishop?" I asked tentatively, peering out from behind my mom.

"No, thank you," she said quickly. And when she spoke next, she'd addressed the both of us. "I was hoping that you'd come back to the house with me."

I frowned. "Right now?"

She nodded. I sensed that she didn't want to go into more detail in front of my mom. 

I licked my lips. "Okay, I'll come."

Mrs. Bishop glanced at my mom. "If that's okay with you Brandy?"

My mom shrugged. "She's a big girl, she can make her own decisions."

I was thirteen, but whatever.

My mom had gone back to bed. Mrs. Bishop waited until I changed into some shorts and a tee shirt. She held the useless umbrella over me, and although I appreciated it, I was as soaked as she was by the time we got to her car.

The two of us slid into the back seat. The heater was running on full blast to combat the unexpected cold front. The rain was difficult to speak over, so we stayed silent for most of the drive. A few times, I caught the driver meet Mrs. Bishop's eyes in the rear view mirror and nod as if reassuring her.

I drummed my fingers on the armrest.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, I spoke. "Is Peyton okay?"

Again, Mrs. Bishop looked to the driver for guidance, speaking only after he nodded. "No Layla, he's not."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Despite the fact that the car was almost too warm, I'd started to shake. 

To my surprise, Mrs. Bishop had placed her cool, clammy hand on mine, stilling the tremors. When I looked at her next, her eyes had softened, and she had an almost maternal look about her face. She squeezed my hand gently. "I was hoping you'd be able to help." 

"Is he hurt?"

She'd hesitated visibly. "Yes darling, he is."

I started to cry softly, bringing my fist to my eyes.

Mrs. Bishop had put her arm over my shoulder and pulled me close to her side, and had held me until we'd arrived at their home. 

*****

Despite it having been nearly three o'clock in the morning, the entire Bishop Estate was lit up, a beacon calling us through the pit of night. There were several cars in the driveway, including an ambulance.

My breath came in short gasps, panic rising in my throat. Clamoring out of the car, I dashed through the open front door and nearly fell when my feet slipped on the smooth marble. But the mysterious driver had caught me by the upper arm, straightening me back up to a standing position. His touch repulsed me. I yanked my arm away. 

"Hello Layla, I'm Dr. Herschel." His voice was radio DJ smooth with a practiced quality in its elegance and inflections. He was a tall, thin man with a narrow face and hard brown eyes. I disliked him instantly. 

"Peyton's psychiatrist," he added, watching me with those shrewd, arrogant eyes, trying to gauge my reaction to his revelation.

I didn't give him the satisfaction.

He offered a tight lipped smile. "Come," he said, "We'll go see Peyton."

Mrs. Bishop stood at the foyer removing her coat. I was surprised to see that she wore her nightclothes underneath, an ivory silk pajama set with large, blood red orchids printed on them.

"Peyton's having a bit of an... episode," said Dr. Herschel. "He seems to be suffering from what we call a..."

I drowned out the rest of his words and bit my tongue to keep from telling him just where he could shove his theories. Instead, I focused on my steps, carefully making my way up the grand winding staircase then down the long hallway full of doors. 

Peyton's room was the last door at the end of the hall. In my rush to get to him, my pace picked up as we approached it, my hand reaching out for the knob long before it was within grasp. The doctor placed his hand on my arm, stopping me. 

Stop touching me.

Gritting my teeth, I faced him. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small bag of pills, placing them in my hand. "We're hoping you'll be able to find a way to get Peyton to take these," he said. "I'll be able to help him once you do."

The bag contained about a dozen pills of varying sizes and colors. I looked to Mrs. Bishop and she nodded at me. With numb fingers, I slipped them into my pocket.

"All of them." Dr. Herschel gestured to the door. "It's probably best if you tell him yourself that you're here."

I stepped forward and plastered my body onto the door. Beside me, Mrs. Bishop chewed her lip and wrung her hands.

"Peyton," I said, but my voice was barely a croak. I cleared it and tried again. "Peyton, it's me, Layla."

Nothing. Mrs. Bishop's panicked eyes darted to the doctor as she reached for the doorknob. The doctor shook his head firmly and she withdrew.

An eternity passed. My legs shook so badly that I had to squat down onto my haunches to keep myself from falling. 

Then, Peyton's voice through the door. "Layla?"

His voice was muffled, but to me, he sounded just like he always did.

I shot up to my feet. "Can I come in?" 

There was a long pause. "Just you."

Mrs. Bishop nodded, then crossed her arms over her middle and bit down hard on her thumb.

My hand shook as I reached for the handle. "Peyton, the door's locked." 

A moment later, the knob vibrated as the latch gave, but he didn't open the door. Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I turned it and pushed. I only opened it enough to allow myself to slip in - I didn't want the doctor or Mrs. Bishop to see whatever he was trying to hide. If he'd locked them out, he had a reason. As soon as I entered, I closed and locked the door behind me, then turned.

And gasped.

Don't forget to vote! ^_^