WILL
GRAHAM,
age thirty-five:
a man of
average height,
with dark
brown, slightly
curly hair
and a light
beard.
A college
professor.
tagged; --
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The college professor awoke from fuzzy dreams that felt like memories. Echoes of a past life, maybe. At least they weren't nightmares this time. The anxious man had always been prone to bad dreams; Abigail was often at the center of them these days. Well, he probably worried too much about her. Abigail was a smart girl, she could handle plenty of things on her own.
She wasn't awake yet when he got up, and he let her sleep. She was probably savoring this brief window of time where she didn't have to get up early to go to class.
It gave him a good opportunity, too; he'd been wanting to buy her a gift, surprise her. Feeling paternal lately, he supposed. Will left a written not behind for Abigail, whenever she got up, and headed downtown to go browse through the local shops for something she might like. Rows of windows were dressed with cozy displays, soft glowing lights and cute pine tree decorations. Mostly things that were a bit too shopworn and sentimental for a girl like Abigail. Sporting goods was probably a better place to look, though this time of year those stores would be all geared up with puffy coats and mittens and snowboarding gear. Maybe, if she didn't like ice fishing, she'd like ice skating instead?
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Abigail slept in a little. By the time she got up, Will was already gone. He left
a note in the living room - as he always did. A bit old-fashioned of him, really.
If Abigail wanted to know where he was, she could just text him.
Apparently he'd gone out to 'pick up a few things'. Cryptic. The house felt
strangely somber without his presence. So quiet and empty. The lights were
off, and the antler spread of a stag mounted in the living room stood lonely
vigil over a dark, unlit fireplace. No sense in hanging around here, anyways.
Abigail threw her coat on and decided she would go out too. She didn't leave a
note; Will really could just learn to send a text message. Besides, she was
nineteen - she didn't need to be watched over.
It was cold out. At this time of year, nobody would question Abigail's peculiar
habit of wearing a scarf all the time. That scarf always seemed like it was
hiding something.
Abigail wasn't sure where she was going. She just didn't really feel like being
home alone. Instead, she wandered through town, looking at all the
decorations that had been put up in anticipation of that big ice skating
competition.
a note in the living room - as he always did. A bit old-fashioned of him, really.
If Abigail wanted to know where he was, she could just text him.
Apparently he'd gone out to 'pick up a few things'. Cryptic. The house felt
strangely somber without his presence. So quiet and empty. The lights were
off, and the antler spread of a stag mounted in the living room stood lonely
vigil over a dark, unlit fireplace. No sense in hanging around here, anyways.
Abigail threw her coat on and decided she would go out too. She didn't leave a
note; Will really could just learn to send a text message. Besides, she was
nineteen - she didn't need to be watched over.
It was cold out. At this time of year, nobody would question Abigail's peculiar
habit of wearing a scarf all the time. That scarf always seemed like it was
hiding something.
Abigail wasn't sure where she was going. She just didn't really feel like being
home alone. Instead, she wandered through town, looking at all the
decorations that had been put up in anticipation of that big ice skating
competition.
ABIGAIL HOBBS, age nineteen:
a slender brunette girl with pale,
lightly freckled skin and bright
blue eyes. A college student.
tagged; --
