Hey again, thanks to my one reviewer! (Any more!) I know y'all read this but didn't review!

Anyways…I don't own 'em, I just write about 'em.

Chapter Two

I ended up getting out fifteen minutes late, and after peeling off my frozen clothing in the crew bathroom, shivering all the while; I threw on some jeans, shoes, and a sweatshirt.

My dad was dealing with some customers when I got home, so I slipped upstairs to our apartment and climbed into the bathtub. The hot water soothed my tired, tight muscles, and I relaxed indefinitely.

I woke to a soft knock at the door. "Lauren, are you in there?"

"Yeah, Dad. You have to go? I'll get out."

"No, no, it's okay. The shop is closed. You want spaghetti and meatballs or Rice-a-roni for dinner?"

I grimaced; my Dad isn't what you'd call a "cook". He's more of a "mad scientist" when it comes to food; that is, if it looks colorful, and smells okay, it goes in the pot. I'd made scrambled eggs many times after we dumped an awful mess into the trash.

"I'll make something when I get out of here, if you want to relax, Dad." It was the safest way, especially when I was hungry. Make it yourself; chances are you won't go hungry. That was pretty much my motto when it came to eating at home.

"Okay." I could hear him shuffle away, and after the creak of his easy chair in the living room, the laugh track of a sitcom. Then the announcer on some sports event. Probably football; it was Monday night.

Having napped and cleansed all in one, I emptied the tub and pulled on my clothing. Then, squeezing out my strawberry blonde hair - at the moment, being wet, it looked auburn - I put it up in a messy bun and secured the front section back in twisties before pinning them down.

Then, sufficiently decked out to my taste, or enough for an evening of lounging about the house, I headed for the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. There wasn't much. That, of course, I already knew, though; tomorrow was grocery day, so everything would be a bit sparse around the house.

I finally settled on mini pizzas. They were simple to make; diced tomatoes and mozzarella cheese on half a bagel and broil them in the oven for a bit. I usually doused them in spices, too.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard the high-pitched whine of the TV shut off, and my dad wandered into the kitchen. He pulled the oven door open a little.

"Yum," he exclaimed. "It's good to have you cook."

"I know," I replied with a snicker. "If I didn't, they'd probably hospitalize me for anorexia."

He laughed. "Is my cooking really that bad?"

I nodded. "It's okay, though. Be glad you have me or you'd probably kill yourself on your own food."

The oven timer interrupted the banter that Dad and I could have kept going for several minutes. I pulled out the bagels and we sat down to eat.

Dad was washing the dishes in the sink; it was 7:30. He had tried to rope me into it, but I refused, reminding him that I'd done the dishes last night, and besides, I made dinner.

I started toward my room, hearing my volume of Shakespeare calling my name. Before I could get there, I heard Dad make a disgusted noise in the kitchen.

"Oh, Lauren, I just remembered that I forgot something in the shop office. Could you go get it for me?"

I rolled my eyes and turned around. Dad was forever absentmindedly leaving things where they fell. "Sure. What is it?"

"It's a yellow envelope, page-sized. Got my name on it."

"Okay, I'll go get it." I slung on my coat - the hallway between our shop and our home wasn't heated - and put on my tennis shoes. Then, bracing myself before heading out into Chicago winter air, I opened the door.

It was freezing out there, but no more than I had suspected. I jogged down the stairwell and took the door into Quaint and Remarkable, my dad's antique shop.

I went back to the office, but something smelled funny. Like…I don't know, but it was putrid. I wondered if Dad had left one of his sack lunches in the garbage and forgotten to change the trash. Whatever it was, it was disgusting.

I opened the door to the dark office, and from somewhere I heard these weird noises. Almost as if I were outside. But not outside in Chicago. Here someplace else.