I seem to be slightly behind. Enjoy this installment.

I own nothing you recognize.


The moment Randall stepped out of the house he regretted it. Not because of a bystander, but because the hot air was thick like soup. The humidity weighed down his every step. The walk to Emerson's truck, although only a few feet, seemed entirely too long.

Her trusty tow was a rusting powder blue Chevrolet, whatever that was. If he had to guess he'd say it was an old model, probably even considered ancient, with a rounded shape and wheel wells that reminded him of bubbles. In peeling black letters "Diebold's Towing" had been pasted across the door, her phone number down the arm of the rig. When she opened the door and gestured for him to get in, he discovered it had a bench seat upholstered in baby blue vinyl. He was surprised to find the interior nearly spotless compared to the outside.

"So how exactly is this going to work?" he asked, rolling his gaze toward her as she climbed in behind the wheel.

"It works, just let me get the key in and show you," she answered, assuming he doubted the old vehicle.

"Not that," he almost snapped. The heat and humidity were making him kind of grumpy. "This shopping trip."

"Ah! Well, you can disappear and I have one of these." She reached onto the dash and held up a headset, obviously so she could take hands-free calls. Emerson looked rather proud of herself for coming up with the idea. "Now you start thinking about what you might want to eat. It's kind of a drive. We're going into civilization."

He turned into invisibility so that he could watch the road trip. The driveway itself was long. It was a gravel path cutting through the handful of acres in front of her house, which were littered with a series of rusting scrap cars in various states of disassembly. The unevenness of it made the truck rock, the rigging clanking together, the tow hook swinging precariously from side to side. The trees nearly touched the vehicle when they reached the driveway apron, causing eerie scratching sounds against the decomposing metal. Emerson pulled out with hardly a glance in either direction.

The road was hardly traveled on and covered with potholes. It wound through the woods and spat them out on a stretch of nothingness. They drove through the tiny town she lived on the edge of in hardly any time and were back on the dusty country roads speckled with the occasional building or two. Eventually the truck boarded a ramp onto the highway. He'd be lying if he said the concept of taking the old rusty thing to a high speed didn't scare him.

As if picking up on his anxiety, Emerson reassured him, "Don't worry. If I didn't trust it I wouldn't be driving it. I know you think I sound like it, but I'm not stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid," Randall replied quickly, raising his voice as the rigging shook and rattled.

"Please, soon as words come out of my mouth people think I'm stupid." She made a "pshaw" gesture to indicate it didn't bother her much. "In fact, I seem to recall you starting to call me a stupid something or other."

"I was annoyed by your stubbornness. I mean, who cuts their foot and tries to walk on it five seconds later?" He squinted and pursed his lips as the concept confused him.

"People who spent most their life running after youngins. Don't you remember your momma putting you first?"

"Yeah, yeah." He waved her off even though she couldn't see it, and he was probably thankful for it.

"They turned out okay, although cuz they were my brothers I might have smacked them around a little too much. I'm not the only one in my family who's stubborn, Randy."

"So I have to hit you with a newspaper to smack some sense into you?"

"Oh hell boy, your momma ever give you the wooden spoon?"

"A few times," he replied, amused that this was what they had in common.

"Did she have a spoon in each hand?" She seemed slightly horrified at the thought of facing four spoons at once.

"It was efficient to have four spoons when cooking. I was a good kid though. I didn't see it too much."

"Good kid, huh? Didn't stray down the bad path til later?"

"Not until college."

"College. I've heard that's where shit goes on. Never went, scraped through high school cuz I never had time to myself. Graduated with nothing special."

"I had honors."

"This ain't a pissing contest, boy."

"I know, I'm making conversation. You seem to like to snoop around, so I'm saving you the trouble."

"Snoop?" she repeated incredulously. "Think, if you had some stranger living with you, you'd want to make sure they weren't a con or a rapist or someone with a habit of bludgeoning people in their sleep."

"Yeah, okay." He was half poking fun, half seeing the validity of her statement. When he finally looked out the windshield again, he saw that she was pulling her truck into a spot in the back forty of the lot. Upon getting out, he discovered it was because she had to take up part of another spot to keep her back end out of the aisle. Randall felt a rush of anxiety standing next to her.

"Least it hasn't rained, else you'd be tracking through the drink," she commented, donning the headset.

He wrung his hands. There didn't seem to be too many people here judging by the amount of cars, but still, there were people here in the first place. Based on the south in his world and the episode with the trailer, the residents of this town would likely shoot first and ask questions later. Just stay invisible and everything will be fine, he told himself.

Emerson beckoned for him to follow, and together they walked through the parking lot to the entrance. The store was big and brightly lit, and smelled like cleaning solvents. It was a contrast from the supermarkets in his world, which always had the cloying scent of rot. He grabbed at the tail of Emerson's shirt as she leaned over a shopping cart.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked gruffly, glancing around for ideas. "I want cereal, and milk for my cereal, and apples, and let's make soup even though it's hot."

Emerson was hardly one to be picky, leaving him to decide what they ought to buy in order to stay within budget. He discovered that her favorite food was fried potatoes and that she despised oranges because as someone who worked with their hands the fruits caused more pain than they were worth. She was someone who liked foods with everything – pizza with lots of toppings, salads involving four food groups. The soup they'd make tomorrow evening was due to have several ingredients and she seemed intent not to leave anything out.

"Hey, ain't it Ms. Diebold," a voice spoke up from behind them as Emerson glanced over the produce section to see if she'd forgotten anything. She grunted in greeting and attempted to flee for the aisle containing bread and jams. "Hey, I got to talk to you, we ain't talked in a while..."

Randall dared to look up at the man who sounded even more backwoods than Emerson. He seemed pleased to see her, smiling with a mouth that contained all of three teeth. He was wearing a plaid shirt and overalls cut off at the knees. There was a hat decorated with what he recognized as fishing lures on his head.

"I wonder why," Emerson murmured to herself, leaning over the shopping cart in preparation to sit through whatever rambling may spill from his mouth. "How you been, Randy?"

Randall jumped a little and squinted at the hick bearing his name. He suddenly felt dirty. Emerson reached around to where he was still clutching her shirt tail and patted him sympathetically.

"Oh, I been quite fine, Ms. Diebold. But I got a question to ask yeh. You 'member a while back, down in the swamplands, those dern Hatfields opened the closet and there was the funny looking gator?"

"They done drank the first draft of moonshine, Randy, everybody knows that gives you problems," Emerson replied, trying to distance herself from the man and continuing her path toward the bread.

"Nah, listen, Ms. Diebold," he protested, following the two of them and stopping when Emerson stared hard at the top shelf to try to push his voice out. "Few nights ago, I done opened my closet, 'cept it wasn't my closet!"

"Uh-huh...reach me that, will you, Randy?"

Randall, used to the request already, grabbed the loaf she was pointing at and dropped it in the cart in a flash. To his horror, the hick also tossed one in, albeit less gently than he had. Emerson didn't seem to notice.

"That ain't the strange part, Ms. Diebold," he carried on, also unaware of the fact that there was twice as much bread as needed.

"Yeah? Randy, that." She jabbed her finger at the other side of the aisle and once again the item was doubled. Randall bit his fingernail. Both were oblivious.

"When I opened it, there was some kind of thing inside! Some kind of furry monster thing!"

"Monster thing, huh?" Emerson repeated, sounding uninterested as she continued pointing to things she was too lazy to get herself. Randall wondered if he ought to return the extras, but he doubted being able to relocate the constantly moving cart. Besides, floating grocery items might pose a problem. "I don't know what to make of that, Randy."

"Hell, I don't either, Ms. Diebold. But I figure, you been all over Marion County in your wrecker, you hear anything like it?"

"Nope."

"You ever hear what happened to the funny looking gator?"

"Nope, why, have you?"

"Naw, I just figure you might've."

"Well, I haven't. Is that all?"

"Yeah, I reckon so. Thanks for your time, Ms. Diebold."

"No problem, Randy." As the man walked away, Randall glimpsed Emerson poke her tongue out at him. "Jeez. So, how you been, Randy?" she joked over her shoulder.

"F-Fine," he replied without hesitating.

After proceeding though the checkout, Randall found himself once again wringing his hands in the parking lot. "Emerson," he began as she loaded the groceries into the bench seat with no where else to put them. "Does that man have kids?"

"Kids? Him? It's damn horrifying to think he's got himself a wife, what makes you think he's got kids?" She then started muttering to herself that she didn't remember buying so many things.

"I was just wondering," he shrugged.

"Well, Randy, don't go thinking yourself into a spot," she advised, closing the passenger door and walking around to the other side. "Now, we're going to be a little squishy in here."

The thought of being that close to Emerson simultaneously made his skin crawl and his stomach go flip flop. Squishy turned out to be an understatement, as he found himself on her lap. Her warmth was under and behind him, her arm unavoidably brushing his side as she maintained a one-handed grip on the wheel.

"Oh, jesus, I'm sorry," she cursed as she compulsively tried to put her hand on her thigh as she removed it from her gear shift. It ended up on his leg instead. The touch probably would have made his stomach do that ridiculous flip flop thing again if he hadn't been steadily "thinking himself into a spot." He didn't even notice they'd arrived back at the pink house until Emerson cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, removing himself from her lap and revealing himself in the cover of darkness. "Do you want me to help?"

"Naw, don't you worry."She waved him on after tossing him her ball of keys. He made the assumption that pink key equaled pink house and let himself in, holding the door open until she had brought all the stuff inside.

"I'm going to the restroom," he informed. Although he'd intended to lean over the sink and splash excessive amounts of water over his face in an attempt to clear his head, he found himself standing in front of Emerson's closet door.