"I'm gonna be late!" she ran down the stairs at break-neck pace and flung herself around the corner.

"Gramma! Gramma! I'm leaving!"

An elderly lady hobbled out to the kitchen where the young woman was shoving untoasted bread into her mouth and filling a travel mug with coffee.

"Be safe dear! I love you, have a good day," she put her hands on the girl's face as the girl leaned down to kiss the weathered cheek. "I will, love you too!" she called as she dashed out the front door.

The old woman made her way to the front window and peeked out from behind the curtain. Her granddaughter was already down the driveway and headed down the road, untangling her earbuds before putting them in her ears. Her walk was graceful, even if she was a bit curvy. Her copper hair fell in long waves down to her mid-back, wisps dancing around her form as she hurried. The sun fell in a long slat of gold across the yard, down the road and shone on her hair, creating a ruddy halo on the crown of her head.

The woman sighed as she watched from the window, thanking God again for another day to share in the bubbly brightness the young woman created wherever she went. She watched until her granddaughter was out of sight before collapsing wearily in a nearby chair. One day at a time, she wasn't going to worry about how much time she had left. She was going to keep living...as long as she could for that fiery-headed girl's sake.

***

"Alright, three side orders of fries and three chocolate milkshakes! That's a nice late night snack! I'll get them started for you." Her green eyes sparkled at the young teenagers enjoying a night out. They weren't off getting into trouble, they were having fun at the local diner. It was nice...she wished it happened more often.

She marched around the corner and didn't allow her fatigue to show until she was safe behind the kitchen door. She told the chef that they needed three orders of fries and then turned to the ice cream machines. Her green eyes grew dull as she washed her hands before making the milkshakes. The small mirror above the sink told her she was tired. Her fair skin was grey...even her freckles. She arched her aching back, trying to stretch it out and survive the last half hour before she could go home.

And yet, it was an hour later before she was turning out the lights and locking up. A noise startled her, and deciding it came from the back, she went to investigate. The chef was gone, but maybe he had left a burner on or something. Her footsteps echoed softly on the linoleum as she checked the knobs on each burner, rattling them in the off position, confirming they weren't on. Ascertaining all was well, she was headed back to the front when a sigh of air puffed on her cheek.

Where is a draft coming from??

Her brows furrowed. Every door and window had been locked and checked.

The draft puffed again.

"Ughhhh..." she grumbled out loud as she turned back to the kitchen once more. But this time she noticed the back entrance door.

It was wide open.

She froze for an instant, her senses alert, trying to detect any danger. Seeing, hearing and sensing nothing but the soft evening breeze, she took a step towards the door, cautiously walking outside.

The back alley had garbage bins, some mild graffiti, milk crates, and a lot of sketchy shadows, but nothing out of the ordinary. Sighing deeply, she took a hold of the door handle and walked back inside, pulling it shut behind her and firmly locking it. She frowned at the locked door for a moment, contemplating how in the world she could have forgotten to lock it. She hummed her annoyance as she spun on her toes and jogged back to the front door, grabbing her bag and heading out into the dark.

On the fifteen minute walk home, she listened to music, as per usual, it helped her keep a good pace when she was tired and made her feel less dead inside. If she had not been wearing them she might have heard something. Maybe she would have seen something as she made her way into her house that night, quietly entering and shutting the door so as to not wake her grandmother.

But she did feel something. Like an anxiety. Itching at her skull, burning in her stomach. She couldn't make it out, and wrote it off as exhaustion when she threw herself into bed that night.

As she turned out the light on her nightstand, the bushes seemed to sigh outside of her window, watching, waiting...holding their breath.

When Silas Mercer was announced missing two days later, people feared he had finally walked too close to the river too many pints in, so they put out a missing person's alert and began searching the river banks. People barely raised an eyebrow when Sissy Briggs didn't show up for work the same day, probably got herself stuck with some guy she couldn't get away from. So another missing person's alert got drafted up and sent out. And no one but the farmers thought too much about the hail storm that screamed through town in the middle of a cloudless day. But there was enough there for a black Impala to start heading towards that dead-end town where the bushes seemed to see.