Remmy grinned, her already pretty face becoming beautiful. She nodded enthusiastically. "Okay. Great."

"Great." Joan took in the display again. "This looks great." She grinned wide as she walked away, shaking her head.

Unphased, Remmy continued building her pyramid, heading to the counter when a customer needed her. As promised, when Josh came in to work, Remmy headed to Joanas office in the back, just past the public restrooms. She cringed, able to hear the bottle blondeas poor choice in music.

Entering the tiny office, Remmy glared at her boss, who sat behind the desk. "Is it necessary to listen to gangsta rap? I really have no desire to go rape my girlfriend and then knock up my buddyas a'bitcha."

"Well, itas not my fault you have no taste," Joan said dryly, glancing up at the younger girl who stepped into her office. "Have a seat." Remmy did as she was told, mildly uncomfortable as her boss studied her. "So, youave been in town about as long as youave had this job, right?"

"Yep. About fifteen minutes longer, actually." Remmy, never able to fully sit still, tapped her fingers against the scarred wood of the chair arms, eyes darting around Joanas office.

"Where are you staying?" Joan asked, turning her gaze back to the computer on her desk, and the ancient DOS-based system that ran the storeas business.

"Maple Tree Motel," Remmy said absently, snatching a pen off the end of Joanas desk. She read the words printed in red on the white plastic tube of the pen: DOUGaS AUTO. "Whoas Doug?"

"My husband. You feel safe there? At the Maple Tree?"

"Eh," Remmy fiddled with the pen as she shrugged. "Iave lived in worse."

"Oh yeah? Thatas a scary thought," Joan smirked. "Listen, I donat know if youare interested or not, but my husband and I have been looking to rent out the attic to someone. See, I inherited my dadas house a couple years back, and this sucker is huge. Anyway, he was a painter and had the attic set up as his studio-water, kitchenette, fully functioning bathroom. So " her voice trailed off as she studied Remmy.

"How much?"

"We were thinking around three hundred."

"A week?!" Remmy nearly flew out of her chair. "I only pay two twenty-five at the Maple Tree."

Joan chuckled. "No, a month. Three hundred a month. Youad have your privacy. Thereas an outside door leading up to the upper floor of the house, which is a short staircase away from the attic. Itas not huge, but itas not tiny, and itas safe and clean."

Remmy chewed on her bottom lip, head slightly cocked to the side as the offer bounced around in her head. She pictured her motel room, remembering her scream that morning from the roach that had scattered when shead turned on the bathroom light. Grossed out, she had quickly dressed and hurried to work. She brought the pen up, lightly tapping it on the side of her head. "What about a laundry facility?"

"Iave got a brand new set from Maytag in the basement."

"I see," Remmy nodded. "Annnnd, your husband would be okay with this?"

"Of course! Hey, we just want to get it rented. If itas not you, itall be someone else, but I figured Iave give you first crack at it." When there was still no answer forthcoming, Joan grabbed the pen she kept tucked behind her ear and jotted down her address and phone number. "If you want to come look at it-no pressure to-give me a call, or drop by. a'K?"

Remmy took the sticky that was stuck to the end of the desk, looking at the address before tucking the paper into her pocket.

"Okay, so, thatas out of the way." Joan slapped her palms on the desk top. "Next on the agenda is to continue your training. I like you, Remmy, and Iad like to expand your duties here at the store."

"Really?" Remmy asked, stunned. Typically a meeting in the bossa office by this point was to give her her walking papers. She was overjoyed that Joan had been happy with her work. But then again, she hadnat gotten one of them yet, either.

"Are you interested?" Joan asked, never for a moment had it occurred to her that maybe Remmy didnat want anymore responsibility. The surprised look on the young womanas face now made her doubt her plan.

She hadnat need to worry. "Yeah, Iam interested!" Remmy enthused. "Thatad be great."

"Oh, good." Joan smiled, then invited the brunette to bring her chair around to her side of the desk so she could begin to explain and teach.

Remmy played with the Rubikas Cube shead bought at the store, on her way home. She was thinking seriously about Joanas offer. In truth, she didnat like staying at random motels, and thought of having a place of her own, a real honest to god place, was more tempting and wonderful a thought than anything shead felt in a long, long time. The life of a drifter was a hard and very lonely one. As she walked down the main street of the town, looking at the passersby, the small, quaint businesses, she thought that maybe shead found a home.

Remmy tossed the puzzle game into the air, catching it in both hands as her gaze fell on a set of newspaper boxes sitting out front of the barber shop. She nearly missed her most recent toss as something caught her eye. Tucking the toy against her chest, she walked over to the box, the Woodland Daily Record displayed.

LOCAL WOMAN MISSING: EX-BOYFRIEND SOUGHT FOR QUESTIONING.

Beneath the headline was a small, somewhat grainy picture of a beautiful blonde with sparkling green eyes and an infectious smile. Remmy recognized her immediately as the woman who had given her a ride not long ago.

Digging in her pocket, the brunette dug out some change, slipping it into the machine and snatching herself a newspaper. She absently sat on a bench that ran along side the paper boxes, Rubikas Cube forgotten. She learned the womanas name was Julie Wilson as she read. As she came to the part of the article where Julieas ex-boyfriend was mentioned, and anyone knowing his whereabouts was to call the Woodland Police Department, Remmy felt cold.

Looking once more at Julieas picture, Remmyas world became that image, everything cut off and fading to white noise.

Fear. Horrible fear. Who is this? Where am I? My head hurts, something hard and quick, canat see. Cold. So cold. So cold .

Remmy gasped, the feelings so strong within her, she actually looked around her, eyeing every person who passed by with suspicion. She couldnat breathe as she got up on shaky legs. She looked down at the picture of Julie again, making contact with the lifeless eyes of a photograph. For a moment, just a breathless heartbeat, they looked back at her, pleading, a distant scream echoing in Remmyas head.

Shaken, she threw the newspaper to the bench, jumping back from it like it was a dangerous snake. She looked around, noting that she had caught the attention of an older couple who had been walking by. She gave them a weak smile. "Spider," she said in explanation. The older man chuckled, leading his wife past the strange young girl. He patted her on the shoulder, leaning in as if to conspire.

"I use household cleaner to kill the little buggers." With a wink, the old man was gone.

Taking several deep breaths, Remmy took hold of the newspaper again and headed into a coffee shop across the street. Ordering a nice, gooey cinnamon roll and a large mocha breve, she sat at a table near the window, spreading the paper out before her. She re-read the article three times, soaking in every single detail. As she continued to read, the story began to unravel in her brain. She had no idea where the teacher was; she had no idea why shead been taken; she had no idea who took her, but she knew it wasnat the ex-boyfriend. As much as she knew her own name, she knew it wasnat him.

"She was a cool chick."

Remmy was startled by the unexpected male voice, and slightly irritated at the intrusion of her thoughts. She looked up to see a young man, no older than 20, grinning down at her. By the looks of his green apron, replete with logo, he worked at the coffee shop.

Pointing at the picture of Julie Wilson, he said again, "She was a cool chick. My little sister had her for sixth grade last year. That was all we heard for the entire school year-Miss Wilson this, Miss Wilson that," he rolled his blue eyes, brushing too-long red bangs out of them.

"Oh, uh, I donat know her," Remmy said finally, pulled from her stupor.

"This guy, though," he continued, as though the brunette hadnat spoken. He tapped the word a'ex-boyfrienda in the headline, "is a real dick. Ray is his name. They used to come in here sometimes, and more than once my boss, Tony, had to kick him out. Julie would just sit there, looking for all the world like she wanted to melt into the table." He grinned, but then quickly sobered. "Not surprised at all something like this happened, really." He looked around the busy coffee house. "I donat think anyone is."

"So, you think he did this, then?" she asked, irritated that head bothered her, but interested in what he had to say, all the same.

Nodding, he answered. "Oh yeah. Definitely." Suddenly he stopped, holding out a rather large hand. "Iam Roman, by the way. You work at the Texaco, right?"

"Yeah. Hi. Iam Remmy." Remmy shook his hand and gave him a polite smile.

"Nice to meet you, Remmy. Well, hey, I think youare new into town, so if you ever want a tour, or wanna know the cool places to go and hang out-like all three of them-donat hesitate to let me know." His grin widened. "I got a car, so ".

"Cool. Okay." Remmy smiled, hoping head go away. "Thanks."

"Sure thing." He glanced over his shoulder, seeing is co-workers glaring at him as business picked up. Turning back to Remmy, he slowly began to back away, nearly knocking over a customer as he did. "Well, hey, it was nice meeting you, Remmy. Take it easy."

"Later." Turning back to the paper, Remmy sipped from her drink, finger tapping on Julieas picture.

Chapter 6.

Detective Grace Cowan sat at her desk, gently rocking in the chair, no longer hearing the petulant squeaks after all these years. A No. 2 pencil was twirled in her fingers, diamond wedding ring glinting in the harsh, overhead light as her fingers worked. Light brown eyes didnat seem to be looking at anything as she stared off into the unknown. She nearly jumped out of her skin and light gray pant suit when Brian Wong slammed a small stack of manila folders onto her desk.

"Okay, we got some results back, though nothing even remotely helpful." The detective perched on the edge of the dark womanas desk, clueless that head just nearly scared four years off her life. "The car in the Wilson case has been processed. Found three sets of fingerprints inside, but only one set on the steering wheel, assumed to be Wilsonas. No blood, nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary." He glanced at the open file in his hand. "Oh, except two strands of long, dark hair, found in the headrest of the passenger side. The brother-who has short, light brown hair-says his kid also has light hair, and short, and he canat think of anyone else Julie would have in the car with long, dark hair. He canat recall any of her friends with it, nor colleagues, but come on," he slapped the folder closed, "long, dark hair isnat exactly uncommon or unique."

Grace listened to her partner, nodding every once in awhile as the rubber-tip of the pencil found its way against her front teeth, tap, tap, tap. "Okay. Well, preliminary tests then show the perp was never in her car, I guess."

"Well, I think thatas quite apparent," Brian grumbled, flipping through some of the other files on his lap. "Nothing back from the lab yet on the blood found in the parking lot."

"You know," Grace began, still staring off into space. "The principal said he thought he recalled seeing some sort of a work van or SUV in the parking lot when he went in." She glanced at her partner. "Anything more on that?"

Brian shook his head. "Nope."

"Alright." Grace sighed, her feet plopping to the floor from where theyad been perched on her desk. "Iam going to head to Ray Lambertas place again. Gotta catch him home sometime."

"Donat you think thatas what the twenty-four hour surveillance is for?" Brian asked, pushing up from his partneras desk.

"Iam sure it is, Brian." Grace also stood, grabbing her keys from the desk drawer, and giving the Asian man a sweet smile. "But Iam a woman of action." She pushed past him and headed down the hall toward the back door of the station.

It was a hot one out as Grace climbed into the unmarked sedan she and Brian used for the job. She pulled out of the parking lot to the station, nearly bowled over by a large, blue van that was pulling in. "Asshole," she muttered, pressing her horn to alert the driver to pay better attention. The man behind the wheel gave her an acknowledging wave, and slowed down. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she happened to notice a red and yellow logo on the side of the beast, though couldnat quite read what it said from this angle. For a split second she remembered the principal saying something about a work van being in the parking lot, then shook off and chuckled at her own thoughts.

As she cruised the streets of the town shead been born and raised in, Graceas thoughts roamed freely. Since shead been a small child, she had wanted to be a cop. Growing up in the small, sometimes prejudiced town of Woodland, hadnat made that dream easy. Not only was Grace black, but she was also a woman. It had been an uphill battle from day one.

In school, Grace had joined the ROTC, learning discipline and how to use weapons. From there, shead earned a bachelors degree in criminal justice at the local university. She had hoped that perhaps her advanced education would help her get not only into the department, but further ahead. Not to be. She started as a beat cop, running the streets for far too many years than were necessary. But, alas, the day came when Grace began to promote within the department, and her career was finally heading where she wanted it to.

Now, a detective and well-respected within the department, but she had to deal with assholes like Brian Wong everyday. Most of her fellow law-enforcement were good, hard-working people, whom she also respected. But others Grace cleared her head as she neared the street where Ray Lambert lived. It was a fairly nice neighborhood, well-kept houses, huge, old trees lining the way. She knew Lambert had owned his own business for years, and it wasnat unusual for him to slip away for days or a week at a time, according to those who work at his lumber supply outlet store. Even still, it was highly unusual, his employees said, for him not to tell anyone he was leaving town, or for him to not answer his phone.

Det. Cowan had been by Lambertas house twice already, and had tried to call the illusive man several times. As she drew nearer his house, she had the feeling shead be disappointed yet again.

Pulling into the empty driveway, Grace cut the engine and looked over the seemingly empty home. She went back over what she knew about Ray Lambert in her head: he was 35, had been married twice-the first time for three years, producing a daughter when Ray was 17, and the second marriage lasting only five years, producing no children. He had a record: domestic abuse, and assault on the boyfriend of his ex-wife, though Ray had never done time.

Feeling confident, Grace made sure her revolver was tucked safely in its holster, and stepped out of the car. She kept a careful eye out for the unexpected, something shead learned the hard way, when during her first year on the job, a man had jumped out at her from an unobserved alley, and had nearly killed her. Three stab-wounds later, Grace had found herself in a hospital room, begging her Captain to give her another chance. She had recovered far quicker than her doctors and peers expected, and had won her way back into the fold quickly with dedication and hard work.

With a little bounce in her step, Grace mounts the three stairs that led to the front door. Making sure her badge was visible, she pulled the screen door open and knocked on the wooden door behind it. After three consecutive knocks, Grace feared it would have the same result, and was about to leave when she heard the locks disengaged inside.

The front door opened and a teenage girl looked out through the screen door with questioning eyes. "Hello. Iam Detective Grace Cowan with the Woodland Police Department," the dark woman said, holding her badge up for the girl, who peered out at it. "Is Ray Lambert at home?"

"Thatas my dad." The girl shook her head. "Heas in Florida."

"When did he leave for Florida?" Grace asked, keeping her voice casual.

The girl shrugged. "A week ago, maybe."

"Do you know why he left?" Grace brought out a small notepad from an inside pocket of her blazer, clicking her pen into the ready. The girl watched her movement before returning her gaze to the detectiveas eyes. Grace wrote down the girlas explanation, that her father had gone on a short vacation suddenly, taking his new girlfriend with him, and that she was house sitting for him, in the week before she headed back to school to start her junior year.

Grace left the residence ten minutes later with an explanation of why Rayas cell phone was not being picked up. Apparently his carrier did not have nation-wide service, or so the girl said. Either way, when Ray Lambert came back from his "sudden vacation", theyad be waiting for him.

Chapter 7.

A dripping sound was the first thing she became aware of. Something dripping, and not too far away. There was also a great deal of pain in her head, mostly toward the back, a little to the left by her ear. She tried to get a feel for her body, where she was. She realized she was very cold, something chilling the entire back of her body where it was pressed to it. Was she naked? The sting against her backside and upper shoulders made her think so.

Suddenly, Julieas chin was grasped in a vise-like hold, her head turned to the right, making her throbbing skull scream in protest. She started when puffs of hot breath, smelling of garlic, met her face, making the eyelashes of her left eye flutter.

"Beautiful," a voice whispered, sending more hot air to wash over Julieas face. She tried to open her eyes, but stopped with another groan. The act made her head pound even more. "Shh, shh," the voice cooed, soft fingertips brushing over Julieas closed lids. "Get some rest."

With those words, Julie fell back into blackness, the cold disappearing, and the pain fading to blissful peace.

Part 3.

Remmy looked up the rather imposing set of stairs from the second floor, up to a closed door at the top. The staircase was narrow, and Remmy wondered how furniture would be moved up there. The weight of her backpack reminded her that she had no furniture, but surely she wasnat going to be sleeping on the floor?

Mounting the stairs, Remmy ignored the squeak of the old wood under her booted feet, one hand reaching out to run along the wall to keep her balance. The octagon-shaped window at the top of the stairs shone distorted colors down on the brunette, the colored glass etched and random.

Remmy slid the key shead been given into the lock, turning and pushing the door open. The space wasnat huge, but it wasnat tiny. It was certainly larger than a motel room. With heavily slanted beamed ceilings, Remmy would have to be careful and remember to duck in those places. The front wall was lined with small windows, another octagon-shaped window, three times larger than that at the top of the stairs, sat in the middle. It sent red, green and yellow colors shooting across the wood floor.

Against the wall all the way to the right was a kitchen unit, complete with small fridge, two-burner stove and a sink. Cabinets lined the walls above the sink and stove. Just beyond that was a curtained off area, which after further exploration, Remmy realized it was the bathroom-toilet, pedestal sink and a stand-alone shower stall.

Remmy turned, her back to the curtained bathroom, scanning the rest of the empty space. There was plenty of room for shelves on the walls, plenty of room for a bed area and a living area. It was nice, and the price wasnat bad.

aWhat do you think?a Joan asked, suddenly standing in the open door of the space. Remmy glanced over at her.

aThree hundred, huh?a The manager nodded. aThat includes your heat, electricity, anything like that. If you want a phone, youare on your own, but all other utilities are included. And,a she held up a finger, aDoug can wire cable up here, too, if you want it.a Remmy smirked. aThat would require me to actually own a TV.a aHow much stuff do you have?a Remmy patted the pack on her back. aYouare looking at it.a aOh! Okay. Well, thereas a thrift shop downtown, and Iad be more than happy to take you down there, if you want. Get yourself set up.a Remmy sighed, thumbs hitching in the front pockets of her jeans. aI really appreciate all this, Joan, but I donat have the money to do all this right now.a She looked around the space, wistful. aWish I did.a Joanas footfalls echoes in the empty room. She slung an arm around Remmyas shoulders. aWeall figure something out, kid. You game?a aYou sure?a Remmy countered. The blonde grinned with a nod. aOkay. Youare on.a Later that evening, Remmy sat on her new/used couch, feet propped up on a scarred, but incredibly cheap, coffee table, watching her new TV. She squirted some more of the sticky aloe into her palm, gently rubbing it over her badly sunburned face. She didnat think that repaying Joan and Doug for her new furniture set up should be so painful. In all fairness to them, Doug had warned her to put some sun block on before shead been sent out to mow the yard and pull weeds-she hadnat listened.

The deal had been made-Remmy helped around the house and yard for three months-and the brunette was glad shead done it. She looked around her new digs with something like pride. A bed-full-sized-all her own, with matching dresser, courtesy of the local Goodwill. She also had a small, two-person table to eat her meals, and a full living room, replete with four foot high bookshelf and wooden TV stand to go with her couch, coffee table and 19a TV. It was even in color! If only shead known that thrift stores could be so fruitful, though it wasnat like she stuck around anywhere long enough to buy anything, and she certainly couldnat lug a couch down the next nameless highway.