Sebastian 'Bash' Walker is a partying Good-Time bloke who landed a full ride scholarship from out of The Bush of the outback in Australia to Magnolia Falls University. Magnolia Falls is located in Cajun Country, Louisiana USA where the food is hot...
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"Fucking idiot!" I yell out after I've calmed myself down a few miles down the road from the gas station from hell. Some douchebag on a motorcycle almost rammed right into me.
"What the hell." I lean up in my seat and check the rearview mirror to be sure the motorcyclist didn't turn around to chew me out for his awful driving.
I'm burning up, I'm literally a pool of sweat, so I reach forward to turn the AC on and my fingers find the hole where the broken knob had been previously. "Why, God? Why kill her here?! In this fucking hell hole!?" I scream out.
Slamming on the brakes, I yank the wheel off to the shoulder and throw the gear shifter into Park then jump out. I wipe my damp forehead with the back of my hand and begin to pace back and forth along the length of the large vehicle.
My red converse mat down the long reeds of grass as I trail quickly back and forth in an attempt to get the sudden fear and frustrations out.
I knew coming here was going to be hard. I knew being here in the last place she was alive was going to bring me to a low point. But I can't sit back anymore, not knowing has to be worse than knowing what happened to her.
About the only thing God has done right by my sister is allowing her body to be found.
Besides that traumatic morning where I came home to the police at the homestead and mom and dad wailing on the couch, identifying Foxy's body was the worst day of my life.
I couldn't let my parents go through it. They were in worse shape than I was, especially my dad. There wasn't any sort of attempt of us 'holding' it together for the sake of the cops or Magnolia Falls News stations. We were a fucking mess.
I volunteered to identify her at the morgue before an autopsy was done. And seeing my beautiful sister like that still haunts my dreams.
A sheet had covered her naked body below the neck, but I had to be shown her face to make the identification. The investigators had a hunch it was Foxy based on her wrist tattoo, but a family member had to be the one to properly identify her.
Her face was... My manic thoughts begin to spiral.
"Why did this happen to her?" I bury my face into my hands, trying not to picture how she was bloated due to being in Bayou and hardly looked like my Foxy.
I inhale a deep breath and lean back against the hot vehicle and focus on the Louisiana landscape before me. "Get it together, Aspen." I exhale a shaky breath. I've had over a year to be a cry baby- to get it all out. I promised myself on the drive across the midwest that I'd stop the crying.
It is imperative I stick to my rules.
Rule one: Find a job where the gossip will be spread.
Rule two: Find a place to live.
Rule three: Find out which frat party she was at the night she died.
