Authors note: This is Not an incest story. It's a fictional murder mystery story that contains non consensual sex. In the last chapter, I will explain how the story relates to me in the real world.
Also, I'm currently in the process of revising this storyline.
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"Looks like it's going to snow, Garret," I say, wiping my hand across the cold glass.
"My son said it was in Philadelphia," he says, glancing out the window.
"I hope it doesn't snow here."
"Everything is beautiful covered in it," he says.
"It's going to complicate things."
"Hahaha... Only if you have arthritis like me," he says, chuckling. "You'll be fine."
"I think this is my stop."
"Maybe l'll see you on the return trip."
"That depends on how long I have to be here," I say, rising from my seat.
"Well, if you're ever in St. Louis, look me up."
"I can't make any promises, Garret."
"Well, enjoy your stay, Amanda."
"If that's possible," I say, scooting past him.
Cold air slices through my suede leather jacket when I step off the bus in Front Royal, Virginia. Snow flurries cling to me as I scurry across the street to a restaurant with my backpack. After the long, boring bus ride from Denver, the only thing on my mind is a hot cup of coffee.
A tiny door bell chimes when I open the door followed by the smell of stale cigarette smoke. The door closes behind me while I sweep my eyes through the place. Strangers glance over their shoulders to see if I'm someone they know, then return to their conversations.
I could care less, but I'm not here to socialize with anyone. After scuffing my shoes on the floor mat, I take a seat at the counter. Soon, a young waitress approaches me.
"I'm Jessica," she greets with a friendly voice.
"Hey," I murmur.
"What can I get you?"
"Coffee - uh, cream and sugar, please," I say, rubbing my hands together.
"Would you like a waffle or something?"
"No, just coffee," I say, glancing up at her.
"I'll be right back," she says, darting away.
The local newspaper on the counter perks my interest when she darts away. After putting my long red hair in a ponytail, I thumb through the pages, waiting for her to return. Minutes later, she returns with a steaming cup of coffee, sits it front of me, and moves along to check on the next customer.
"Mind if I sit here," a voice from behind me asks.
"Not at all," I mumble, burying my face in the paper.
"I'm Scott," he greets, sitting down next to me.
"Alright."
"You aren't from around here, are you?"
"Denver - where the mountains are taller, and people mind their own business," I quip.
"What brings you to Front Royal," he asks, flagging down a waitress.
"I looking for my brother," I say, putting the paper down.
"Does he live here?"
"He went missing last week hiking through the mountains of Skyline Drive."
"Sorry to hear that," he says.
"What can I get you, Scott," a waitress asks.
"I'll have my usual, Susan," he says, glancing up at her.
"I didn't catch your name," he says.
"Amanda," I say, sipping on my coffee.
"That's a beautiful name."
"Thanks."
Before long, Susan returns with a hot cup of coffee and a glazed doughnut. After sitting it on the counter in front Scott, she runs off to chat with Jessica and another waitress at the other end of the counter. His eyes follow her for a bit, then he turns his attention to me.
"Anyway, there was a young woman reported missing in the mountains last week," he says.
"Yeah, I just read about that in the paper," I mention.
"She's the only one that I know of around here who's reported missing," he adds.
"I hope they find her," I say, turning to look at Scott.
His clothes smell as if he's worn them for more than a few days. The wool hat covering his oily, short brown hair reeks of sweat and his left hand is bandaged. Despite the repulsive body odor, his rugged good looks and neatly trimmed beard seem oddly familiar. It's as if I've met him somewhere but can't quite place where. Maybe it's my mind playing tricks on me after the long bus ride.