ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴 𝔅𝔬𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 - ᴀ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀʏ ᴀᴘᴘʟʏ ꜰɪᴄ

𝟎𝟐. ɢʀɪᴍ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

Dallas' eyes flicked open as the car rumbled along a particularly bumpy patch of road. Groggily, she removed her earbuds, still blasting Bon Jovi. How she managed to sleep through that, she had no idea. Dallas shoved her sketchpad- currently doubling as her pillow- into her backpack and looked out the window, blinking the glaze of sleep from her eyes.

The road was worn, more gray than black. Deep green trees lined the path; a chorus of pine, maple, and oak singing in the breeze. The sky was overcast in a blanket of clouds, hiding the sun from Dallas who had her cheek pressed against the cool glass to gaze out the window. Dallas had to admit, it was quite beautiful. Almost like a painting. She tried to commit the scenery to memory, keeping her eyes wide to capture every aspect so she could turn it into just that.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Her mother commented. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, but Dallas knew she was speaking to her.

And the appeal to paint it was gone. "It looks like it's gonna rain."

Dallas' mom turned to face her daughter, graying ginger hair swishing over her shoulder. Her thin lips pulled down in a frown. "You love the rain."

"No, I don't," the girl spat. She shifted closer to the car door, refusing to give her mom the satisfaction of meeting her eyes.

"But-" her mother was relentless- "you used to sit on the porch swing during thunderstorms to sketch. I thought-"

"'Manda." Dad's voice was tired and commanding. "Just drop it."

A tangible silence fell over the car, thick and suffocating like breathing in marsh sludge. Dallas turned back to the window, counting the houses as they sped by. Each one was as worn down as the rest of town with faded gray and brown walls broken up by the occasional lemon yellow door. It was quiet here. Dallas didn't like it. She'd grown used to the constant hustle and bustle of California. Crestview, Oregon was the stark opposite.

The car's turn signal clicked in a syncopated two-count beat as the Bairds turned up a winding road. Gravel crunched beneath the car's wheels. Dallas watched a silver alley cat scamper out of the street, twitching its tail indignantly as if to chastise her father for being such a reckless driver.

"At the fork, take a slight left and your destination will be on the right," an automated voice advised from within Jared Baird's cellphone. He obeyed.

The gray Volkswagen lumbered through the remaining distance. The school yard was encased by box hedges with a black, wrought iron fence sticking out from the middle of the bushes. Dallas' father rolled down his window and punched a six-digit code into the keypad mounted on the fence post. The gate screeched as it opened, welcoming Dallas into her new prison cell.

The road, a gravel path that hardly even qualified as a road, wound around a red brick building and widened into a parking lot suited for no more than a few dozen cars. Half of the spots were taken; one, Dallas noticed, by a black police cruiser.

She grumbled silently to herself. If there were cops or security guards here all the time, it'd be a lot harder to sneak out without getting caught, but that'd be a problem for future Dallas. Procrastination was her friend, preparation, on the other hand, was not.

The gentle purr of the engine quieted as her father parked the Volkswagen next to a little red car. Shoving the door open, Dallas stumbled outside, shaking out her tired limbs.

Two enormous brick buildings towered over her. Three rows of windows lined the school's front of the biggest building. Dallas caught a glimpse of someone peering out at her from the second floor, face shrouded by dark curtains, but it vanished before she could decide whether it was really there or just a figment of her imagination.