Sweeping down the dark night sky, the meteor past over Randal's pickup truck, looking like a firework before it burst. It played out against the Milky Way galaxy, which stretched from horizon to horizon. Randal lay on the hood of his truck, staring up, and brushing the shaggy blond hair from his eyes to get a better look. It was a thrilling sight, and well work getting out of bed at one in the morning to see.

He lay there for a full two hours, watching the meteors falling, out of the corners of his eyes, without seeing another as good. In his mind he imagined that the meteor had been some kind of good omen. Lord knew he needed one about now. His lanky frame was clad in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, and ended in a pair of worn cowboy boots.

After awhile, he pulled his truck back onto the old country road, and out of the stubble of a harvested corn field. Soon he was headed home, and back to his bed. The old truck kicked up dust and gravel along the road as he traveled, running full out in his assurance that no one else would be up a this time of night. The Ford truck still responded like a champion, despite being ten years old.

Up in the distance, only a few miles from the main street of the tiny town of Halon's Crossing, he saw hazard lights blinking. He slowed down to see what was the problem. It would not do to ignore someone in peril this late at night.

The recent model Nissan Sentra wasn't exactly ideal for travelling down a dirt road, but it was the only car Natasha had. It had dutifully made the trip up to the farmhouse where her cousin had just a day prior gotten married, which is why she felt justified in ignoring when the check engine light came on an hour into the journey back. Truthfully, she knew absolutely nothing about cars and was hoping to hold out until she could reach someplace, but luck wasn't on her side. She could feel the melancholy seeping in as the car slowed to a stop completely unbidden, refusing to move again. Her choices of what to do next were limited, considering that she wasn't entirely sure how close she was to the next town and that the last place she had seen was the gas station she had stopped at two hours before.

Sighing, Natasha gave up on trying to coax the car into a response, popped the hood, and stepped into the cool night air. Clear as it was that her trip just became even longer, she was even more grateful for her decision to wear a comfortable green tank top and baggy gray sweatpants. She noted the slight breeze that had picked up since her departure and was now rustling her long black hair. It prompted her to grab her denim jacket from the passenger seat, swiping it on as she walked to the front of the car. Leaning over, she stared at the systematic network of machinery. This went on for about twenty minutes before she admitted defeat, unable to visually find anything amiss and at a complete loss.

She'd just gotten back into the car and was laying her head helplessly on the steering wheel when flashes of light caught her attention. Natasha looked up through the windshield to the impressive sight of the meteor shower. That she had something to watch made her feel slightly better about being stranded for the time being. The next few hours crawled by with Natasha watching the sky as she wandered around with her phone out as she tried to latch on to some cell service with no success. She entertained herself trying to guess how close to her spot they were landing.

It wasn't long after the shower ended that she called it quits with her phone and schlepped back to the car, throwing herself back into the driver's seat. Although she doubted anyone would drive by at this time of night, she put back on her hazard lights and leaned back into the seat with the door slightly ajar. She hadn't been in that position for too long before headlights illuminated her rearview mirrors. Gray eyes widening in pleasant surprise at her own good fortune, she stepped back out of the car and waved her arm, hoping to coax the approaching driver to stop.

Randal spotted a modern automobile parked along the side of the road with it's hazards on, and saw a figure come out of the driver's seat and start to flag him down, in the middle of the road. His high beams flew forward revealing a female form with black hair and wearing a denim jacket.

He knew passing by wasn't an option. His mother had raised him better than that. He pulled his truck up past the parked car, slowly, being careful to avoid running down the motorist, before parking along side the road and throwing his own hazards on. One of them flickered on and the other didn't it seemed he had some work to do on the old truck, though he had not spotted the problem yet.

He approached the woman cautiously, his mind filled with the tales from the evening news. Even his country county had seen an influx of gang and drug activity recently. He did not worry about handling one woman physically. After all, he worked out on his bag every night. Still, who knew who might be laying in the back seat of the car, and if they might have a gun. Boxing did not stand much of a chance against the cheapest Saturday night special.

"Ya having some problems there, ma'am?" His voice held a slight twang to it, though not as much as that of his parents'. He had gone away to university in Illinois and lost some of his accent in the process. He held up his hands, showing them to be empty. "I'm Randal Watson. Want me to take a look at it?"

Natasha wouldn't allow any apprehension to overtake her relief as she watched the truck slow down, raising a hand to shield her eyes as it's high beams lit up herself and her surroundings. If she had let this person pass, then what was to guarantee that another car didn't drive up with someone much more dangerous at the wheel? Not to mention that she wouldn't be able to stay in the same situation long before the hazards drained her car's battery.

The guy that stepped out of the old truck wasn't huge, which helped to alleviate some residual worry. Despite the short distance between them, she still couldn't tell much more about him than that in the dark. A lifetime of sports, namely soccer, meant that she might at least have a chance running away. Appreciating his efforts to show himself as harmless, Natasha also hadn't forgotten how she herself must look, standing outside alone in the dark. She smiled at the stranger as he spoke, trying to make herself look as unsuspicious as possible.

"Please, that would be very helpful," Natasha answered calmly. She wasn't from the area, having been raised in a very far off larger city most of her life, but she happened to have an accent herself. Although her mother was originally from this small town area and her father was Russian, Natasha was born in London and lived there until she moved to New York for university years ago.

She waited until he was closer to hold her hand out for a handshake. "I'm Natasha Velev. Thanks so much for stopping. I don't really know what's wrong. I mean, the check engine light came on quite a while ago, but I couldn't really do anything about it."

Randal rubbed his hand self consciously on his jeans, before taking the offered hand, thinking that she was probably pretty, though it was hard to tell completely with the night being so dark. She definitely wasn't a local, what with her accent and car. He almost kicked himself for not getting his flashlight out of the truck, or turning the truck to face her car. Letting go of her hand, he turned.

"Be right back. He opened the passenger side of his truck open, and pulled a heavy, rectangular flashlight out of the passenger glove compartment. Turning it on, he returned to the stranger, Natasha's, car. Could you hold this up for me ma'am." He held the flashlight out to her

He was not a car mechanic, much to his regret at this moment, but he managed to keep his old truck running without to much help. He started to check the engine over, by the light of the flashlight, pushing his hair back out of his eyes at times. It certainly seemed to be running hot. After a few minutes of poking around he called out to the stranger, without looking up from the engine.

"When did you last get the oil changed?" He pulled the metal rod up and noted the lack of black residue on it. He didn't have oil in his truck, but he did have a hauling hitch, and there was a garage in town, connected with the only gas station. He knew that Rosco would still be on duty, but Henry, the mechanic, was most likely home sleeping. If they got some oil, he could change the oil easily enough, if that was the main trouble, assuming that the lady simply couldn't do the job herself.

To his mind, it would be simplest to drive the lady into town to pick up some oil, and then drive her back out, but he was open to her wishes. He knew it probably hard for a big city girl to trust strangers much, even if everyone in town nice folk.

At that moment, a police siren sounded in the distance, breaking virtual silence of the country night. Randal could not tell which direction it was coming from and wondered what was up. People wouldn't appreciate being woken up this time of night, but Deputy Reynolds was a stickler for regulations. She turned on her siren at the slightest provocation. He just hoped it wasn't another meth lab or something of the sort. The state police had busted two in nearby towns, in the past two months.

She took the flashlight without a word and stood next to him, holding it up for him. The light illuminated him a little better, allowing her to make out that he was blonde and had an attractive face, but past that point she turned her attention to what he was doing with the engine.

Initially, she couldn't really tell what there was of importance to look at, so a part of her was worried that she was aiming it oddly. Fortunately, he soon started moving his hands, and so she tried to be more direct by pointing the flashlight where was touching. She wanted to ask him about what he was doing, but she kept silent because he seemed to know better than her what to look for, and she didn't want to irritate or distract him.

"Er..." she was startled by the question, and somewhat more startled by the fact that at first she couldn't quite remember the answer to the question. She paused for a moment, hoping all the while that the pause didn't make her look like an idiot, but she eventually recalled. "Around 18 months ago, I would say. Is that very bad?"

The siren's made Natasha look around, even though she couldn't pinpoint which direction they were coming from any better than he could. she couldn't see any red and blue lights, but they still sounded pretty nearby. Sirens starting up at this time of night wasn't too uncommon either New York or London, but she had no idea what that would mean for a town as small as this one. "Is that something we should be worried about at all? "

Randal straightened up front under the hood and scratched his head for a moment.

"I wouldn't worry to much. What ever it is the police can handle it. There's not to much that goes on out here at night. Probably some good old boy is driving drunk." He did not want to worry her. "As to the oil... yes would be bad." He tried to keep any trace of derision out of his voice. His mama did not raise him to belittle women under any circumstances. His father had never been the most loving or talkative of men, and he owed his good nature to his mother's love and raising. Besides, he had plenty of things he didn't know much about that she probably would know, like flagging down a cab, or riding a subway, though he could not imagine what it would be like to ride in a box, fifty feet down.

"We can try changing the oil, and if that doesn't get you on your way, there's a mechanic's shop open in the morning. I could run and get you some oil, you could ride along with me, or we could tow your car, if that's what you want." He pointed to the rear bed of his truck. "Got a hitch and a chain. I don't much like leaving you out here on your own anyways, unless that's what you want." It wouldn't be as smooth pulling her car as calling the tow truck in the morning, and might scratch up the bottom of her bumper a bit, but it could be done.

He waited for her to make her decision, as the police siren got closer and closer. His mama always said to say a quick prayer, when he heard a siren, because you never knew who it was sounding for. He figured that was about right. Though he wasn't much of a praying man, he said a quick prayer anyway, to make his mama happy. A white and black sedan with a red headed driver and a flashing siren moved toward them out of the darkness, and then bulleted past, heading in the direction he had seen the especially bright meteor earlier. He waved at the fleeting car, wondering again where the deputy was headed. They only hand one sheriff and two deputies, and Deputy Reynolds almost always worked the graveyard shift.

Okay, so it definitely was bad. Natasha couldn't tell if he was judging her at all, nothing really stood out in his demeanor, but she thought he most likely was. If the roles were reversed, she probably would be. Her brow furrowed in indecision as she thought over the options. She was unsure which choice would be the best to make, given the circumstances of it being so late. She'd already lost a solid three hours of progress on her journey back home, so at this point, the fastest option wasn't necessarily the most important.

"Well..." Natasha started to try and formulate an answer, but she was interrupted by the sirens getting louder. The lights were now visible, and she watched silently as the car approached and sped past. It was clear that Randal knew the officer that was driving, but she didn't bother asking as there were still bigger concerns on her plate.

The police car speeding by reminded her that staying out at this time of night in an area with no street lighting definitely wasn't her best option, even if he came right back. Getting into a car with a stranger was a strict no-go in the city, but she could see how in a smaller town area it would be considered more hospitable. On one hand, she didn't want to leave her car sitting out, but on the other hand, even with as little as she knew about cars, she could tell that trying to drag her car along in that old truck was going to make the trip to get the oil a little less smooth.

"Well, I guess I'll just ride with you to get the oil and then we'll see what happens after you change it," Natasha finally decided. Feeling a little guilty and self-conscious, she added, "Thanks so much again for doing this. It's so late, you must just want to get home."

Randal nodded. "It's not a problem Ma'am." The siren has vanished now. He waited for Natasha to lock her car up, and then opened the passenger's side door of his truck for her and waited for her to climb in, before climbing in himself. As the truck came to life, the radio broke into the middle of a Hank WIlliams Jr. tune. Randal did not turn it off, but did turn it down in deference to the woman's city ears.

He kept to nearer the speed limit now, as stones spat against bottom of his truck like hail. Around them, to the East and West, stretched cultivated fields in full bloom. They created a dark corridor which the truck sped through. "So, what brings you to Alabama ma'am." He wasn't exactly prying, but his curiosity was peeked. She certainly did not fit the stereotype of women around her. Her accent curled his toes a bit and made him wonder if she had a boyfriend back home. He still had not gotten a proper look at her in adequate lighting, but he was aware of her physical presence.

The one street town was ten miles away, down past the mill. As they neared town, the road improved a bit. He knew that the town itself was properly paved and they would hit that street soon enough. He felt somewhat embarrassed by his little town, as seen through her eyes, though he would have defended it to his death. University had been an eye opener, after a lifetime spent in his home town, and he was aware now, in a way that he had not been before, how very small it really was.

Natasha gave him a smile before heading to her car, she snatched up the messenger bag she had in the passenger seat for the drive before locking up the car. She muttered a quiet "Thank you" to him as she climbed up into the passenger seat of his truck. She couldn't help but internally marvel over the amount of chivalry she had been shown in the one encounter. She couldn't help when her nose crinkled a bit at the unfamiliar song that came on after Randal started the car, but overall his country boy charm was proving enjoyable.

Her mouth twitched from her holding back a smile at him calling her "ma'am" again. She normally thought of it as something to be a title for women who were quite a bit older than her, but coming from him it was actually endearing.

"Well, right now I live in New York, but actually my mother is from Alabama," Natasha answered. Gesturing behind them, she added, "My aunt and cousins live a couple of hours out that way. One of my cousins just got married and I was down here for the wedding. Usually, it's them coming to see us though, so this is the first time I've been out here."

She noticed the growing smoothness in the road, telling her that they were getting closer to their destination. Not that she didn't see the potential appeal in living in a small community, but Natasha was definitely a city girl. Even driving so for long without seeing much change had been a bit unsettling for her, although it wasn't awful or mind blowing. "I basically slept the day away and then left late tonight - well, last night, I suppose - thinking that that way I could drive straight and reach New York by evening, but that obviously wasn't in the cards."

Smiling at him, she asked, "Do you live out here? I mean, I can tell you're southern but yours isn't the thickest accent I've heard all week either, so it made me wonder."

They were quickly approaching the town. The old mill rose up as a metal monstrosity, against the night sky, to their left, as they passed it. It was still lit up, since the work was never done there. Randal was glad he had gone to university, rather than settling for a mill job like his father. His father worked the night shift, and would still be there, toiling.

"So, some of your family's from Alabama. I wouldn't have figured." He gave her a white grin, as the Hank Williams Jr. song ended and gave way for a Walmart commercial. "My accent was softened when I went to university. I attended the University of Chicago, where my speech stood out like a sore thumb. I guess I changed how I speak a bit as a result. People around here tease me, saying I sound like a Blues Brother. Fact is I have a few cousins living in Alaska, working on oil rigs, so I guess I shouldn't be to surprised.'

In the distance the town could be seen, though it wasn't lit up like a larger town. The neon sign for Rosco's Gas and Go stood out in the darkness, as the only point of light besides the stars and the waning moon. He still couldn't read the sign so they had a few more minutes.

"So, how was the wedding. I assume the bride was beautiful. They always are. Did you do a lot of dancing?" He wondered how good a dancer she was. The girls around here were into line dancing, but he didn't figure that a big city girl would be in for that sort of thing.

Natasha eyed the mill as the car approached and then passed it, leaning over a little so as to see it out of the driver's window. It was impressive to her how large and imposing the old structure was up close. She had actually had the same reaction on the way up to her cousin's house as well. Between the endless miles of fields and the fact that the lights inside the mill were still on, it wasn't hard to guess that the mill played an important part in the town's economy.

She raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued when he mentioned having attended the University of Chicago. Usually one would envision someone going to such a highly ranked school to have come from a place with a really industrialized set-up. Some additional respect for him seeped in, but she didn't mention it because she herself knew how annoying it could be when a person started goes on for too long about how impressive a person is for doing the unexpected.

Natasha leaned back into her own seat when they a little farther away from the mill. What she assumed was town was coming up now. She recognized the Rosco's Gas and Go from the drive up. Now that she was actually stopping there for a purpose rather than just driving through to get elsewhere, it occurred how little there was to this town. A person could easily walk the length of it in not much time at all.

A startled laugh escaped Natasha at the question, "Well, I did do some dancing," she answered. However, she was referring to the slow dancing and those universal modern dances that young people all over the country were doing. "Sometimes though... well, I enjoy dancing but suffice it to say some of the dances weren't exactly my cup of tea. I used those opportunities to go get a drink and save myself from looking foolish."

Turning to him with a smile, she added, "You're from here, though. Was there a huge difference between those college parties and clubs in Chicago and the parties you were used to back home?"

"Yup, they sure were different." The fact was that he had hated the clubs in Chicago and had avoided them after his friends dragged him out to them the first few times. He hadn't really liked the wild partying either. Sure, he and his friends had gone down to the crick with a bottle of "borrowed" whiskey, played their music to loud on the truck radios and danced with their girlfriends by the moon light. Chicago parties were worse though. People simply made out where they were, did drugs openly and drank enough that they could barely stagger home. He had never drunk enough to loose control of himself. His father had drank enough for both of them, during Randal's growing years. He did not wish to be like his father and to loose control of his faculties. "Around here we take things a bit slower."

"Looking foolish when I dance is my specialty. The secret is to dance as if no one is watching. Truth is, they probably aren't. Their to busy having a good time to care." The sign for Rosco's was fully readable now and soon they were pulling up to a neatly kept little service station with an old time gasoline pump and a giant Pennzoil sign in the window. Beside it, in an attached building, was a garage, with its big metal doors closed up for the night.

A man came out of the building as the truck dinged in beside the gas pump. He was a middle-aged fellow wearing overalls and a John Deer cap. His long, narrow face lit up as he spotted Randal. "Hey ya there Randy. Fill 'er up?" He leaned over a bit and peered into to interior of the truck. "Can't say as I know yer lady friend. Evenin' miss."

---

Across the fields, out at the Thompson farmstead, Renee Reynolds pulled per squad car up to the white ranch style house. Everything seemed peaceful, but the distress call from Molly had been horrible. She had said that Mike was after her with a butcher knife. She had said his eyes were evil as well, before she had screamed at the dispatcher through the phone, and ran off.

Renee exited her car carefully and retrieved her shotgun from her trunk. She wasn't taking any chances, and had taken the time to put on her ballistic vest as well. It hardly seemed possible that Mike had turned killer. He was such a quiet, gentle man and an usher at the Baptist church for God's sake. Besides that, he, like everyone else in town, had firearms registered with the police, and probably a few that weren't. She moved toward the house quickly, watching the windows for shadows.

Renee was a slender woman, with long red hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore blue jeans and a brown deputy's shirt with a shiny tin star. Her oval face bore a pair of thick, black spectacles, which gave her a studious, serious look.

Trying the front door, she found it open. She shoved the door open with her hip, her shotgun held ready, and called out. "Police! Come on out peaceful like, so we's can talk about this Mike."

Natasha simply nodded, sensing that "slower" was what Randal preferred when it came to those parties. The parties in New York and London weren't very different at all, the main differences being that the people were older and that Natasha had more incentive to be much more careful about the crowds she ran with so that she didn't screw up, lose her scholarship, and have to be on the first plane back to London. Luckily, it wasn't hard to find people who had similar reasons to be cautious.

A sigh of relief escaped her as they pulled into the service station lot. As nice of a time as she'd had in Alabama, she was itching to get home. She wasn't surprised that the man at the station knew Randal, but she had to wrestle back any signs of amusement at hearing the man address him as Randy. She had no clue whether he preferred Randal or Randy, but the nickname hadn't been expected after how he'd introduced himself.

"Good evening," she answered cheerfully, ignoring the raised brow she received for her accent. "My name's Natasha Velev. I'm not actually from here, but my car stopped a few miles back and Randal here was nice enough to stop and give me a hand. He says I need an oil change." Looking between the two men, she added, "Would this be where I would have my car brought if the oil change turns out not to solve the issue?"

---

Mike Thompson had checked out quite a while ago, though his body remained active. The majority of the Thompson house had been thoroughly trashed by Mike's hands. He continued his search although nothing of much use had been found aside from a few tools stored in a desk drawer filled with many other meaningless items.

A voice halted his reckless perusal. The voice, most definitely not belonging to Molly Thompson, was completely unfamiliar to the creature inhabiting Mike's body. It followed the source anyway, seeking a new course of action now that the search had proven useless. He stepped over where Molly's body lay in her own blood, several small, spider-like creatures scuttling atop her.

Mike continued in slow measured steps from the hallway and out into the open living room and kitchen area. The cracked door was in sight now, several more of the spider-like creatures rested along the door and doorjamb. As he moved closer to the door, Mike made a noise of acknowledgement, beckoning the newcomer inside.

Natasha simply nodded, sensing that "slower" was what Randal preferred when it came to those parties. The parties in New York and London weren't very different at all, the main differences being that the people were older and that Natasha had more incentive to be much more careful about the crowds she ran with so that she didn't screw up, lose her scholarship, and have to be on the first plane back to London. Luckily, it wasn't hard to find people who had similar reasons to be cautious.

A sigh of relief escaped her as they pulled into the service station lot. As nice of a time as she'd had in Alabama, she was itching to get home. She wasn't surprised that the man at the station knew Randal, but she had to wrestle back any signs of amusement at hearing the man address him as Randy. She had no clue whether he preferred Randal or Randy, but the nickname hadn't been expected after how he'd introduced himself.

"Good evening," she answered cheerfully, ignoring the raised brow she received for her accent. "My name's Natasha Velev. I'm not actually from here, but my car stopped a few miles back and Randal here was nice enough to stop and give me a hand. He says I need an oil change." Looking between the two men, she added, "Would this be where I would have my car brought if the oil change turns out not to solve the issue?"

---

Mike Thompson had checked out quite a while ago, though his body remained active. The majority of the Thompson house had been thoroughly trashed by Mike's hands. He continued his search although nothing of much use had been found aside from a few tools stored in a desk drawer filled with many other meaningless items.

A voice halted his reckless perusal. The voice, most definitely not belonging to Molly Thompson, was completely unfamiliar to the creature inhabiting Mike's body. It followed the source anyway, seeking a new course of action now that the search had proven useless. He stepped over where Molly's body lay in her own blood, several small, spider-like creatures scuttling atop her.

Mike continued in slow measured steps from the hallway and out into the open living room and kitchen area. The cracked door was in sight now, several more of the spider-like creatures rested along the door and doorjamb. As he moved closer to the door, Mike made a noise of acknowledgement, beckoning the newcomer inside.

Natasha simply nodded, sensing that "slower" was what Randal preferred when it came to those parties. The parties in New York and London weren't very different at all, the main differences being that the people were older and that Natasha had more incentive to be much more careful about the crowds she ran with so that she didn't screw up, lose her scholarship, and have to be on the first plane back to London. Luckily, it wasn't hard to find people who had similar reasons to be cautious.

A sigh of relief escaped her as they pulled into the service station lot. As nice of a time as she'd had in Alabama, she was itching to get home. She wasn't surprised that the man at the station knew Randal, but she had to wrestle back any signs of amusement at hearing the man address him as Randy. She had no clue whether he preferred Randal or Randy, but the nickname hadn't been expected after how he'd introduced himself.

"Good evening," she answered cheerfully, ignoring the raised brow she received for her accent. "My name's Natasha Velev. I'm not actually from here, but my car stopped a few miles back and Randal here was nice enough to stop and give me a hand. He says I need an oil change." Looking between the two men, she added, "Would this be where I would have my car brought if the oil change turns out not to solve the issue?"

---

Mike Thompson had checked out quite a while ago, though his body remained active. The majority of the Thompson house had been thoroughly trashed by Mike's hands. He continued his search although nothing of much use had been found aside from a few tools stored in a desk drawer filled with many other meaningless items.

A voice halted his reckless perusal. The voice, most definitely not belonging to Molly Thompson, was completely unfamiliar to the creature inhabiting Mike's body. It followed the source anyway, seeking a new course of action now that the search had proven useless. He stepped over where Molly's body lay in her own blood, several small, spider-like creatures scuttling atop her.

Mike continued in slow measured steps from the hallway and out into the open living room and kitchen area. The cracked door was in sight now, several more of the spider-like creatures rested along the door and doorjamb. As he moved closer to the door, Mike made a noise of acknowledgement, beckoning the newcomer inside.

Deputy Reynolds stepped into the house carefully. She thought that she should call for backup, but again this was Mike Thompson. Surely there was some sort of mistake. "Come on out Mike. She moved carefully across the entry way and into the front hallway. It looked like a miniature tornado had hit the inside of the house. Drawers were pulled from the writing desk in the front hall and papers scattered across the floor.

When he did not comply, she leveled her shotgun and stepped from the hall into the kitchen. Molly's body lay on the floor, in a pool of blood. "Oh shit." She fought back her own bile. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw something scuttle behind the refrigerator. It was a scene straight out of a CSI show and there was no sign of Mike, other than some bloody footprints. Shit....

She realized that she really was in the house with a killer, and she had been a fool to come in alone. She quietly started back toward the front hallway, determined to go back out to her car and call the sheriff. This was to much for one deputy to handle.

---

Randal nodded, as the thin man held a hand out. "Please as punch ta meet you miss. Name's Roy Jenkins, but folks round here call me Jinx, on account of how much bad luck they have when playin' cards with me. This is the place alright. Old Rosco will be able to fix you up in Randy here can't."

Jinx was amused. Randy had taken to calling himself Randal in university, but no one in town took him seriously about the name. They had all known him when he was in diapers, after all. "Come on inside and we'll get you all fixed up."

Randal smiled at Natasha in assurance. Jinx has seen the way that the boy hovered over the girl, and looked at her. She sure was a looker, to be sure, but he was a married man. Still, everyone in town would be happy if Randy found himself a girl, instead of staying all kind of odd hours at the school, grading tests and tutoring students.

Mike remained completely silent as he watched the deputy survey the rubble that had become the Thompson's living room. He watched and waited, wanting to see if the red-haired woman would find anything useful in the house where his own search had proven fruitless, but what really kept him immobile is was the firearm grasp firmly in her hands.

He was disappointed when the woman didn't even bother to really search, but alarm bells went off in his head as she turned towards the door, apparently giving up on her search for him as she became suspiciously preoccupied with a new intent. Instinctually, he knew that he should not let her get away because she would somehow bring unwanted attention to the house. Trying to interact with her would be useless as she had clearly already determined him to be Molly's murderer.

Taking advantage of Renee's distraction and turned back, he grabbed the knife that not even a full hour earlier had been used to slay Molly, and carefully and quietly moved toward the deputy. He hadn't let her get too close to the front of the house before he pounced, wrapping his free arm around her throat and squeezing while pressing the knife in his other hand into her side.

In a hoarse murmur, he questioned, "Where are you going so soon, Deputy?"

---

Natasha took a moment to admire Randal's smile, returning it with one of her own without even a quick though about it beforehand. His smile was nice and genuine, and it seemed that he was easily developing an effect on her. He kept making her smile over and over again with what appeared to be little to no effort on his part.

Following behind Jinx into the store, she couldn't help but feel like Randal was hanging back kind of close to her, but at the same time, the thought had her biting back a grin rather than feeling uncomfortable. In the light of the service station, she could see his features more clearly. What she saw combined with his overall sweet disposition since he'd first stopped to help her had her hoping she was right about the attention rather than pushing it away.

Natasha glanced between Randal and Jinx and then around as they walked inside. "What exactly... Well, what I mean to say is pardon my ignorance, but what exactly is it that we're looking for to put into my car?"

Rosco held up a plastic container of Castrol brand motor oil. "This should do ya." Randal nodded. He did not know if it was any better than Pennzoil, but it should work fine. Rosco crossed over to an old manual cash register. "That'll be $6.78. Anything else I can do ya fer?" This gas station did not have the row upon row of products of a modern gas station. There were two coolers, one with beer and one with Coke products and a small stand selling plastic wrapped snack cakes. On one wall was a calender with a bikini model on it, from 2012.

Randal pulled a sixteen oz. bottle of Coke out of the cooler. "You want one Natasha? My treat." As far as Randal was concerned, he would rather buy her a nice steak dinner than a Coke. She seemed like a nice girl, and now that he could see her in the light, he realized that she was gorgeous.

---

Renee froze as she felt the knife in her ribs. "No where Michael. What's going on here anyway? Molly doesn't look so good." She was sure he had gone insane, and did not wish to rile him up. "How about we go outside and talk about this?" She could feel sweat running down her neck and back. She had never been so scared before. Suddenly she felt something crawling up her leg. She kept a firm grip on her shotgun as she considered shoving the butt of it back into his stomach. The only problem was that if she did, there was a good chance that he would end up cutting her with the damned knife. She ignored the feeling of something creepy crawling on her.

Natasha merely shrugged and nodded when he held up the Castrol oil container. She couldn't tell the difference of one from another in terms of quality or purpose, but she felt at this point that it was safe to assume he knew what she would need after he found for himself that she needed an oil change. She glanced all around the store as she followed Randal to the cash register, giving the bikini model poster a raised eyebrow before looking away and shaking her head in amusement.

Following Randal up to the counter, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on it, watching his movements. She wondered if he worked out. He looked slim, but he wasn't scrawny... When he took out a coke and offered it to her, she jumped minutely while her eyes snapped back to his face. Giving him a weary smile, she added "I wouldn't mind one actually, but you don't have to pay for this stuff on top of everything else."

---

Mike gave a condescending chuckle as if Renee had just done or said something foolish and he found it mildly entertaining. "There ain't nothing to talk about Renee. Nothing 'going on here' either, is there? Molly was feeling under the weather. She started getting a little eccentric, so I put her to sleep."

Mike watched the creatures crawling around, knowing it wouldn't be long before one latched onto the deputy. He only needed to wait for the effects to take. "Ya know... It's been so long since you come up to me after church to chat. You must have some thing's you want to get off your chest." He tightened his arm around her throat and pulled her back to punctuate his command. "Drop the gun and come on in. Kick the door closed."