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Chapter 2

It was supposed to have been her day off. Supposed Hope thought bitterly as she put on her jacket and hunted down her shoes. She shouldn't have picked up her phone. She could have spent the morning leisurely drinking her coffee on the front porch, mercilessly cornering Angie's new bedmate into half an hour of awkward small talk before letting him ride of into the sunrise without leaving even a phone number (the MO of most of Angie's one-night stands). Well, at least she was escaping the inevitable 'Why-Do-Men-Always-Do-This-To-Me?' soap box later that morning.

Hope had a lot of love and appreciate for her friend, but was running out of patience for her doomed escapades with the male species.

Hope found her shoes in the bathroom and looked over herself in the mirror. She took a second to sigh and summon some calm before heading to work. She was being too harsh on Angie. And her job. And maybe even Cowboy Dan/Dean/Dave or Whatever (Angie's bedmate of the night, see Chapter 1).

She was too hard on everyone, but refused to believe she was hard on herself. She couldn't contain a massive eye roll when she recalled the latest forced therapy session…

"Hope, look at me," Dr. Reynolds said. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Hope continued to stare out the window, part of her crusade to studiously ignore the appointment in general. Dr. Reynolds is a kind, older man, and a friend of sorts. He doubled as the town doctor and owner of the tiny local library. She spent many afternoons in that library over summer breaks. She would bring ice cream or candy with her, and sit with him in his office, talking to him for hours about things going on in town- the gossip, her grades, the movies playing at the 2 screen theater. Hope loved this man like a Grandfather, but in the confines of his office- he was the enemy.

Reynolds was not ignorant to any of this. He sighed and leaned forward- elbows on knees.

"We made a deal remember?... I do. It was very unorthodox," he cleared his throat and looked down at his notes. "I would clear you for duty again, for crime scene photography (a random job Hope had picked up to make ends meet in college. It was a small town, and there was no need for a full time staff photographer, so she was called in when needed), if you would open up some more to me-"

"I remember," Hope said quietly, being guilted into taking a more gentle approach in her defiance.

"Good," Reynolds replied. He waited for Hope to continue. In vain.

"Hope Constance Boehm!" he barked suddenly to catch her attention. He smiled with quiet pride inside when his patient jump a little in her seat, and continued in his initial, gentle approach. "I've known you since you were a kid. You practically grew up in my library," he chuckled.

Hope felt a ghost of a smile on her face before she could cover it, and inwardly cursed herself. Reynolds hadn't missed it. Now he knew he had her.

"Hope, I'm worried about you, dear. You've… changed these past couple months. I don't even know if its just grief anymore, or a total personality overhaul. If you can't talk to me as a doctor, talk to me as your friend," he said, finally forcing her into making eye contact.

"Can you tell me about the night Jacob died?"

Hope felt like thunking her head against something again, but instead looked herself over in the mirror. She pushed her long black hair back over her shoulders, and glared at the dark circles under her eyes. "Get it together, dude," she told herself.

"Sorry, I was trying to find my other sock-"

Hope's heart froze and jumped into her throat as she spun around the closest object at hand for a weapon; her target- a half dressed man in the hallway, his hands held up defensively.

They took half a second to give each other the once over- he was hot. He wasn't the tallest she had ever seen. Had green eyes and brown hair.

His assessment did not seem so flattering. He grinned and relaxed a bit. "That's a big bottle of soap for such a little girl."

She broke eye contact for a fraction of a second to look over her weapon. "Anti-bacterial Foam Hand Soap," she read as she gasped for breath. "Cranberry scented with antioxidants. The most deadly of all hygiene products."

The guy laughed and Hope, upon realizing this was Angie's cowboy, relaxed and smiled.

"I think I saw your sock in the uh, kitchen, of all places," she said scooting past him as she headed to the door.

"Kiss Amy goodbye before you leave!" she called to him over her shoulder as she went out the front door. Because there was no time for tortuous small talk, that was the best she could do.

She jumped off the porch and into her car just as her cell went off again. She put it on speaker as she turned on her car and started backing out of the driveway. "Yeah?" she called out to the person on the other line. She knew it was the sheriff- Greg Larson.

"We called you half an hour ago, are you on your way yet or what?" he asked.

"Pulling out now, hold up," she answered, taking care to navigate around a car half blocking her way to the street- a black classic chevy. She would have stopped to admire it, or key it for blocking her in if she had time, but she needed to get across town.

"So what have ya'll found so far? Mike said it was a double homicide. We don't get much of those around here…"

"We aren't sure yet."

"What do you mean you aren't sure?"

"We aren't sure… how many bodies… there are," he said quietly. Hope felt something like a mix of fear and alarm in her belly. "Huh?"

"There's just a lot of… everything..." he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "That's why we need you here yesterday. We got to get this photographed so we can send it to the lab so they can sort it out."