Day 9 - 1097 Words (5)
The gate in front of him swings open, as if nudged by the wind, and he strolls into the yard, up the steps onto the porch, then inside through the front door.
The young blonde woman gapes after him. She knows with certainty that she locked the door when she left, a deterrent to the teen and preteen boys in town who would inevitably want to explore inside once they realized she had no intention of returning. They always told stories of her mother's house, of strange noises and sightings of translucent beings, all of which only fueled Sophie's overactive imagination.
That man had just [strolled] through as if no lock even existed!
With her breathing now accelerating and her pulse thrumming painfully, she turns and sprints in the opposite direction of her house. She runs past the bus stop, and keeps running until her legs will carry her no further.
That man must be linked to those things from last night. It's too much of a coincidence.
She realizes belatedly that she had passed directly through the driver of the car's line of sight. Why didn't he chase her? What if he had alerted that man, and they were looking for her right now? The could be a moment away, ready to pounce!
Tears burn Sophie's eyes. The last twenty four hours have been so hectic and full of adrenaline, she feels completely emotionally drained. A tree off the deserted road -- one in a cluster of others -- provides a resting stop and a haven out of view of any passersby. She plops unceremoniously onto the leaf ridden dirt, curling into a ball, trying desperately to breathe deeply and reach a zen place.
She needs a new plan, that's for sure. Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hasn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast. Her original plan for a farewell feast as Betty's All Night Diner is out -- too many witnesses, too many people who would know who she is and where's she been. She'll have to go to the bank and then a fast food place. Not exactly a meal of champions, but she'll have the chance for a better dinner when she's out of Daybreak and in another city. Once she gets some food, she figures she'll hop a bus -- or maybe the train -- to Oakland, where she can figure out where to start her search for Moira.
A familiar rumbling down the road alerts her to the imminent arrival of the bus. She knows Mrs. Hannity, the driver, better than anyone else in town, seeing as the young blonde never got her driver's license and thus took the bus everywhere. She hops to her feet, slinging the satchel back over her shoulder and rushing onto the side of the road where Mrs. Hannity can see her. Sophie waves her arms, smiling guiltily at the old woman as she visibly clucks with grandmotherly annoyance and pulls over to pick her up.
The Daybreak City Bus Number Four presents with the [beauty] and class of an elderly retirement home beauty pageant contestant: Her rusted, fetid metal frame remains a ghost of her former gleaming, sky blue self, crafted in the 50's and hardly gussied up -- except for the occasional trophy or decoration attached her or there -- since then. She seats twenty four, soft, peach tinted leather seats now moth eaten and rough like sand paper, seems frayed and steel frame pitted and freckled with metal rot. Only the first window on the passenger side still opens, the others long ago melted closed. Many a good fist fight has been initiated over the occupation of the seat beneath that window on the baking summer days one often sees in Daybreak -- anyone who ever realized that the seat behind the seat beneath the open window was the best for a good breeze kept that tidbit of helpful information to themselves. Number Four roars good naturedly -- not to mention ear-splittingly loudly -- the same way Sophie imagines a deaf great granny would. Numbers Two, Three, Five, Seven, and Eight are no different; the six buses still operating in Daybreak are like peas in a pod.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't that vagabond, Sophia Longwell," says Mrs. Hannity, yelling to be heard over Number Four's engine. She grins toothily at Sophie, her wise brown eyes narrowing with mischief. "I haven't seen you since--" She stops, suddenly contrite. Everyone in town knows how hard Lena's death hit her daughter. "It's been a while, Sophie. I was getting worried you had gotten yourself into some real trouble!" The older woman raises an eyebrow in suggestion.
Sophie shakes her head, blushing as she slides three quarters from her pocket into the toll kiosk. "No more trouble than usual, ma'am," she shouts back.
Mrs. Hannity huffs, "How many times have I told you not to 'ma'am' me, young lady?!" She waves Sophie over her shoulder to the cabin of the bus. "Now go sit your ass down. Number Four is feeling feisty today!"
The bus jerks forward just as Sophie reaches the first available seat, toppling her into it. The bus whizzes down 37th street toward Sophie's house. As it passes her street, she slumps down into the leather, peeking over the bottom edge of the dirt and dusted clouded window. The lexus is gone, the street empty. Sophie's stomach drops.
Rain drops begin to splatter against Number Four's windows during the twenty minute drive to the shopping center where Lena's bank sits.
Sophie loves all kinds of weather; but sunny days, when the sky is the bluest blue and no clouds can be found, when the sun's rays blanket the world with warmth, are her absolute favorite.
Rainy weather, like today, when the clouds dapple everything with sprinkles -- or sometimes even marble sized droplets, if they're lucky -- and peoples' faces are rosy, their hands cradling hot chocolate or coffee... those days are a close second.
As Number Four jerks to a stop, Sophie stands and moves to hover beside Mrs. Hannity. She feels a swell of emotion -- she'll probably never see the old bat again. She impulsively launches forward, enveloping her in a hug.
"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Hannity," she says when she pulls away, again yelling to be heard.
Mrs. Hannity stares quizzically at her, confused by this random display of affection, but she smiles gently, somehow seeming to understand. "Anytime, Sophia."
Sophie [hops] onto the sidewalk, waving vigorously as Number Four pulls away, then hurries to the bank.
The young blonde woman gapes after him. She knows with certainty that she locked the door when she left, a deterrent to the teen and preteen boys in town who would inevitably want to explore inside once they realized she had no intention of returning. They always told stories of her mother's house, of strange noises and sightings of translucent beings, all of which only fueled Sophie's overactive imagination.
That man had just [strolled] through as if no lock even existed!
With her breathing now accelerating and her pulse thrumming painfully, she turns and sprints in the opposite direction of her house. She runs past the bus stop, and keeps running until her legs will carry her no further.
That man must be linked to those things from last night. It's too much of a coincidence.
She realizes belatedly that she had passed directly through the driver of the car's line of sight. Why didn't he chase her? What if he had alerted that man, and they were looking for her right now? The could be a moment away, ready to pounce!
Tears burn Sophie's eyes. The last twenty four hours have been so hectic and full of adrenaline, she feels completely emotionally drained. A tree off the deserted road -- one in a cluster of others -- provides a resting stop and a haven out of view of any passersby. She plops unceremoniously onto the leaf ridden dirt, curling into a ball, trying desperately to breathe deeply and reach a zen place.
She needs a new plan, that's for sure. Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hasn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast. Her original plan for a farewell feast as Betty's All Night Diner is out -- too many witnesses, too many people who would know who she is and where's she been. She'll have to go to the bank and then a fast food place. Not exactly a meal of champions, but she'll have the chance for a better dinner when she's out of Daybreak and in another city. Once she gets some food, she figures she'll hop a bus -- or maybe the train -- to Oakland, where she can figure out where to start her search for Moira.
A familiar rumbling down the road alerts her to the imminent arrival of the bus. She knows Mrs. Hannity, the driver, better than anyone else in town, seeing as the young blonde never got her driver's license and thus took the bus everywhere. She hops to her feet, slinging the satchel back over her shoulder and rushing onto the side of the road where Mrs. Hannity can see her. Sophie waves her arms, smiling guiltily at the old woman as she visibly clucks with grandmotherly annoyance and pulls over to pick her up.
The Daybreak City Bus Number Four presents with the [beauty] and class of an elderly retirement home beauty pageant contestant: Her rusted, fetid metal frame remains a ghost of her former gleaming, sky blue self, crafted in the 50's and hardly gussied up -- except for the occasional trophy or decoration attached her or there -- since then. She seats twenty four, soft, peach tinted leather seats now moth eaten and rough like sand paper, seems frayed and steel frame pitted and freckled with metal rot. Only the first window on the passenger side still opens, the others long ago melted closed. Many a good fist fight has been initiated over the occupation of the seat beneath that window on the baking summer days one often sees in Daybreak -- anyone who ever realized that the seat behind the seat beneath the open window was the best for a good breeze kept that tidbit of helpful information to themselves. Number Four roars good naturedly -- not to mention ear-splittingly loudly -- the same way Sophie imagines a deaf great granny would. Numbers Two, Three, Five, Seven, and Eight are no different; the six buses still operating in Daybreak are like peas in a pod.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't that vagabond, Sophia Longwell," says Mrs. Hannity, yelling to be heard over Number Four's engine. She grins toothily at Sophie, her wise brown eyes narrowing with mischief. "I haven't seen you since--" She stops, suddenly contrite. Everyone in town knows how hard Lena's death hit her daughter. "It's been a while, Sophie. I was getting worried you had gotten yourself into some real trouble!" The older woman raises an eyebrow in suggestion.
Sophie shakes her head, blushing as she slides three quarters from her pocket into the toll kiosk. "No more trouble than usual, ma'am," she shouts back.
Mrs. Hannity huffs, "How many times have I told you not to 'ma'am' me, young lady?!" She waves Sophie over her shoulder to the cabin of the bus. "Now go sit your ass down. Number Four is feeling feisty today!"
The bus jerks forward just as Sophie reaches the first available seat, toppling her into it. The bus whizzes down 37th street toward Sophie's house. As it passes her street, she slumps down into the leather, peeking over the bottom edge of the dirt and dusted clouded window. The lexus is gone, the street empty. Sophie's stomach drops.
Rain drops begin to splatter against Number Four's windows during the twenty minute drive to the shopping center where Lena's bank sits.
Sophie loves all kinds of weather; but sunny days, when the sky is the bluest blue and no clouds can be found, when the sun's rays blanket the world with warmth, are her absolute favorite.
Rainy weather, like today, when the clouds dapple everything with sprinkles -- or sometimes even marble sized droplets, if they're lucky -- and peoples' faces are rosy, their hands cradling hot chocolate or coffee... those days are a close second.
As Number Four jerks to a stop, Sophie stands and moves to hover beside Mrs. Hannity. She feels a swell of emotion -- she'll probably never see the old bat again. She impulsively launches forward, enveloping her in a hug.
"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Hannity," she says when she pulls away, again yelling to be heard.
Mrs. Hannity stares quizzically at her, confused by this random display of affection, but she smiles gently, somehow seeming to understand. "Anytime, Sophia."
Sophie [hops] onto the sidewalk, waving vigorously as Number Four pulls away, then hurries to the bank.