Disclaimer: Still don't own the Fog...

Sam woke hours later, cursing at herself. She should've been packing, not sleeping. Oh well, she thought. I can't change it now. I'll just do it tomorrow morning, I suppose... She couldn't sleep anymore, so she decided to take a walk along the beach. She put on her shoes that she had left lying by her door and went down to the beach.

She sat on a rock and took off her shoes. Her feet sank into the wet sand as she walked along the beach, her shoes in hand. The waves rolled in gently and lapped at her feet. Looking at the stretching beach, she noticed someone staring out at the ocean. She assumed that the person was probably not armed and dangerous but more likely an insomniac. Her curiousity led her further down the beach and closer to the person.

Finally, she was close enough to see the person more clearly. She sighed. It was the man from the "empty" house. Thinking it would be best to leave him alone, Sam started to leave but instead stubbed her toe on a rock. She let out a cry of pain, breaking the man's thoughts. She sat down to examine her injured foot.

The man obviously recognized her and rolled his eyes. "Do you reporters always look for trouble?"

"First, I'm not a reporter. I'm a photographer." She found that her toe was okay and put her shoes back on.

"Well, sorry," he said sarcastically and held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Second, I wasn't looking for trouble. I don't need trouble. I have it already. Besides, I thought it was someone who wanted some human interaction in their pathetic life. Well, I guess I was right about the needing the human interaction part because nobody should be more antisocial than I am. But, I guess that there is someone..." Sam, partially ticked off and partially embarrassed about her toe, stood up and headed down the beach, back towards the motel.

"Hey, wait. I'm... sorry..."

Sam turned around and eyed him suspiciously. "Really? Because that sounded kind of forced."

He hesitated. "Nick Castle."

She took this to be a peace offering. "Samantha. Nobody actually calls me Samantha though... They call me Sam..." She stopped before she could babble on anymore.

"So, you're a photographer?"

"Yeah. I work for the The Commons up in New York. It's a small newspaper, but it's growing."

Nick and Sam started walking down the beach towards the motel.

"How long are you staying?"

"Until late tomorrow morning." Sam wasn't sure if he was just making polite coversation or what. She had never been very good at telling people's moods.

He nodded. "Back to New York?"

"Yeah. Home sweet home, I guess." More like back to an empty apartment and the lonely dark room. She was like the old cat lady, without the age or the cats.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they had reached the motel, Sam pulled her key out of her jean's pocket.

"'Night," Sam said opening the door to her motel room.

"'Night."

Sam shut the door behind herself. Instead of going to sleep, she packed her clothes and regular camera in her suitcase but left out her laptop and her digital camera. She turned on her laptop and downloaded the pictures from her camera.