For Good

Chapter One

The gentle padding of feet against the damp pavement broke the silence of the cool, fall day. Isabella walked at a steady and confident pace, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets and headphones in her ears. She hummed along and then began to sing.

"I am a poor wayfaring stranger, a-trav'ling through this land of woe. And there's no sickness, toil, or danger in that bright world to which I go."

She stopped, looked up to the sky, and groaned, "Mother Nature is a salty wench." Shoulda bought some more Ibuprofen before I left this morning, she thought as she rubbed her side. She was exhausted and running on fumes. The idea of taking a nap in a ditch was becoming more appealing with each step she took.

Isabella winced, her vision clouded by the wad of black hair that the wind had unceremoniously tossed into her eyes. She tucked the rogue strands back in place a huffed, irritated by the weather and by the pain she was feeling.

The ache and pinch of her cramps stabbed into her with greater intensity than she was used to. In fact, the lack of discomfort during this time of the month was usually something that made Isabella thankful for good genetics. Frustrated, she noted that today was a terrible day to be hitchhiking, which only served to make her more irritated and more impatient to reach her destination.

It usually only took a few minutes of walking along the road before she was able to hitch a ride. Most motorists found a teenage girl to be non-threatening enough to allow in their car. It was looking like her luck had run out today though.

Isabella cursed the several pairs of taillights that zoomed past her, the drivers showing no intent of slowing. She smirked. They must be intimidated. Another stab of pain twisted her face into a grimace. People need to grow some balls, I'm done walking. Were it not for the pain, she could have fallen asleep right there, standing up.

Isabella made a mental note to call her parents when she got home. Her mom was okay if she didn't check in all the time but her dad would send a flurry of texts if Isabella didn't call or text at least once per day.

Isabella pulled her backpack up to readjust, grunting through clenched teeth when the olive green straps pressed uncomfortably into her chest and sides. She pulled the hood up on her utility jacket to block out the wind that had picked up. The chilled air made her shiver. She adjusted her shemagh, pulling it closer to cover her neck to block out the wind.

You're tough, she told herself. She glanced down at her boots and jeans. And you look good, fashion is on point. You got this. Mama didn't raise no punk.

The clouds wept in response, sending a shower of bone-chilling rain down onto her. Isabella cursed under her breath, thankful that at least her boots and jacket were waterproof.

The gleam of headlights broke through the downpour behind her. A white Audi rolled to a stop next to Isabella with the driver's window down. "Need a ride? Looks like it's going to get pretty heavy."

Isabella pulled her headphones out of her ears and stuffed them in her jean pocket. Always erring on the side of caution, she slowly stepped near the car and peered inside to see the driver. She estimated his age to be somewhere in his mid twenties, a businessman, she guessed by the car, charcoal suit, and neatly tapered blonde hair.

Damn, you're cute. The fates smile upon me. All that's left is for you to turn out to be single.

Isabella remained where she stood. She wasn't about to get into a guy's car just because he was hot. Her dad had taught her better than that. Tales of the world's greatest detective were added to Isabella's bedtime stories when she was a child. She liked to think that she had developed some of Holmes' deduction skills. She always joked that she could read a person like she read a book. That kind of an advantage in a conversation was always satisfying.