Hmm… the socks seven to … the chime on the door sounded, as a soft wind from outside crept into the small gas station. The old man glanced up from his newspaper, finding the customer standing before him, staring off at the photographs on the wall behind his chair. "Can I help ya miss?" She was a nice looking little thing, this scruffy creature from the road, who's only real color came from the tank top and stitched jacket, probably not a day near her early thirties, and yet not as pretty as his wife had been back in her youth. But still - this one held an air about her that hardly left her looking homely, if'in I met her in a graveyard I'd of thought she was a ghost or something, the look on her was one of awareness. Nothing like those empty headed little things that got lost on their way up to New York for their photo shoots, but whatever it was she seemed like she knew what she was doing. Wish my son had married a girl like this…

"I'm looking for Red Ridge." Her gaze never left the wall as she spoke, fully engrossed with whatever photograph had caught her attention. Must have been pretty important, if it looked like she was going to burn a hole into the wall if she concentrated anymore.

The clerk placed his newspaper down, studying the dusty girl that stood patiently before him. "The town? Just seven miles down the road."

She shook her head slowly, her blonde, nearly white hair swaying with the movement. "No. The care center."

"Care center? The hospital?"

The girl offered up an amused smile, finally looking at the clerk with blue eyes. "Not the hospital in town, the old hospital."

"Oh, you mean the Borehamwood place."

She eagerly nodded, "That's the place, do you know where it is?"

The old man shook his head, any quicker a movement would have knocked the reading glasses off their perch upon his thin nose. "Nah, can't say that I do, miss, that road was overgrown when I was a young'en. Only the kids go up there now to cause trouble. But why would a girl like you want to know where a burnt up loony bin is? If'in ya don't mind my askin'"

She seemed to pause, giving an answer some thought. "For the same reason your wife loved to go to the shore every summer, Henry. A chance for some lovely photographs, and being with the family." His eyes widened as he turned to search the wall for any photo that may of helped her glean that information - how did she manage to know his name - let alone that, how was she able to sound so much like his wife? Right down to the slight tilt of her head and warm smile upon her face of her mannerisms.

The man sputtered, finding nothing that helped her, just old graying photographs of a lonely stretch of beach and ocean. "How? Di-"

Turning back, he found the store empty, not even the chime on the door had sounded when she had left. The only thing proving she had even been there in the first place, and had not been some daylight hallucination was the crumpled five-dollar bill, still warm to Henry's cautious touch resting upon the countertop.

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Truthfully part of her felt a little guilty for doing that to the old man, but it couldn't have been helped, what with his wife talking so much behind him and old Henry just starting to ask questions. None of which she was willing to answer just yet, considering the lack of answers on her part. At least his wife seemed like a nice enough lady, but she could really bend your ear when she knew someone was listening. Ghosts get sick of talking to themselves after a while she supposed as she got back onto her dented old motorbike. Finally all fueled up for the remainder of the trip; she paused to pull the blue helmet, the familiar color of her name; that had hung off the side of her seat back onto her head. But they certainly did know how to look out for their loved ones. With luck perhaps it would give the old man reason to leave for a while to be with happier memories, because news of his son would reach him soon enough.

It was a good thing that Blue had finally reached her destination before evening fell, with luck there would be a small motel with a shower and bed already rented out and awaiting her arrival. She was grateful, any longer on the road with those lonely thoughts would have done her in for good in the dark. Edging back onto the road she was off once more, the erratic patches of empty fields and heavy woods flashing past her eyes as she gunned the bike's engine.

Welcome to Red Ridge. "A nice place to live."

Oh that was priceless, she thought as the sign quickly came into view and the first traces of civilization began to show. Why did places like this always have a dire need to call themselves cute two worded names? Places like 'Red Ridge', 'Green Cay', or even 'Willow Grove'? It struck her as the sort of place that would close the schools on the first day of deer season, with its ancient fifties wholesomeness that hung so thickly like an inner city smog. A quaint little town that used to cater to the mental well being of the large cities around it. Really more like hide those from the society that bred them, considering the practices of mistreatment and overcrowded conditions of Borehamwood. Hell, a majority of asylums during that day in age were the same way back than, its what the bit of land and rotting buildings was now that helped it stand out from the rest. Even though the asylum itself was well out of public eye - buried out under a thick blanket of trees, long forgotten to those outside of this town, there still were those who made it a point to know everything about it. Her employer for one, though he seemed rather unwilling to share any information she might have gladly welcomed, whoever it was that wanted her out here certainly had a strange sense of humor - that or a hell of a lot of money to waste.

Tromping around in a burnt up asylum looking to locate and confirm the presence of a highly volatile spirit of a mad man that may or may not be there still, oh yeah, she couldn't wait to see the punch line.