Her name was Grace and at the time of this story would have been approximately 43 years old. She stood barely over five feet, a well-proportioned lady... with an olive complexion. She wore her curled brunette hair shoulder length with a soft waving bang drifting over the left side of her forehead. Summer months always found her in soft, translucent against the sun, button down the front cotton print dresses. As a youth growing up I had always been attracted to her, she was always pleasant, quiet. While Shannon was upstairs packing for her mini vacation, I used the Fitzpatricks’ phone to call Colin. There was no answer.We started the somewhat longer drive to my house.“You brought the negs, right?”“Of course,” she replied. “How about... ?”“No answer. I’ll call him again from my house, don’t worry,” I soothed.Soon the clumps of falling snow were making audible ticks on her windshield, and the conditions deteriorated significantly as the storm bore down with its full weight onto the. More

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