Olivia found Bed and Breakfast just fine. After renting a room she grabbed her over night bag, and her private briefcase out of the back seat. After flicking on the light, she turned on the tv for some back noise. Setting her stuff on the bed she settled into her nightly routine. About a half hour later, she stepped out of the bathroom in her tank top and shorts, and sat her the old briefcase on the round table next to the window. She pulled the curtains, and sat Indian stile in the chair. She opened the briefcase and did what she had done every night since she'd found the briefcase, over two months ago.
She had been cleaning out some of the last few boxes, left from the move, when she found this old briefcase that she didn't recognize. She looked at the box, on it where the words "S. Benson" on the side. This was the only box of her mother's belongings she had. But she had never seen this briefcase before.
She went into the living room and laid the old thing on the coffee table. Opening it she became engrossed in the contents. Pictures, tons of pictures. You could tell they were old. Only half of them where in color. Some where sepia, and some black and white.
Not knowing where to start Olivia picked up the photo on top. It was of a lady with dark brown hair(almost black) with equally dark eyes. She was holding a baby, Liv recognized as herself. Turning over the photograph she read the names Regina, and Olivia. Olivia was confused. Regina? She looked through more of the photographs and found many more of this Regina. More with her mother, more with Olivia as a baby.
Olivia grew increasingly confused when she found a small stack of pictures containing her mother, herself, Regina, and and older woman Cora, which was followed by the word mom, in parentheses. Could it be? Was this Cora woman really her grandmother? Serena had never talked about her family or friends, certainly never about her childhood. Looking at this picture she could see similarities between her mother and Cora, even her mother and Regina. But there were only photos and letters. She had been deliberating on whether the read the letters, she felt it was too personal, but on the other hand it could reveal who these people are.
As she sat in the small motel room all alone she felt a strange certainty that she should read the letters. Like she was meant to. She picked up a letter and started to open it. *What is going on with me lately. These are just old pictures. I'm not meant to read the letters. I must be going nuts!* she said standing up. She double checked the dead bolts and went to the bed.*I just need some sleep, and my head will be clear, in the morning* she thought as she pulled back the covers. She grabbed her gun, and slid it under the pillow, just in case. And she drifted off into a dream filled sleep.
