Hunter stewed at his desk, staring at the pile of paperwork on the desk in front of him. Reclining in his chair, he ran a hand over his scruff, trying to massage out the kink in his jaw. He felt irritated, and he felt thiiis close to telling everyone in his vicinity to shut the fuck up so that he could focus on his god damn paperwork – which he’d started and stopped about a dozen times thus far. The annoying whirring of the space heater was driving him off the wall, along with the rattling of the photocopier machine which was supposed to have been fixed last week. It was snowing again, and a blizzard had been forecasted to arrive by nightfall so he wanted to get everything done and over with before the worst of it hit.

They didn’t end it in the car. Worried for Sarah’s safety in the house, Emma forced Hunter to drive her back to the house. The car ride back was silent, but not awkward. There was simply an intensity and restlessness in the car, that wasn’t there before.
            She was still fiddling with the buttons of her jeans when he parked in front of her car, not looking at her as she unbuckled the seatbelt. Her skin felt like it was on fire.

The drive back to her house consisted primarily of Sarah probing into Hunter’s life incessantly, without shame, and Emma cringing into her palm.
            “So, how old are you?”
            Hunter’s response was nonchalant. “29.”

Emma had never felt so antsy in anticipation of the end of her shift. She kept looking over at Sarah, who was doing what she did best, chatting up a storm with whoever was around as she waited for Emma to finish waitressing. She still couldn’t believe it and had half a mind to believe that she was hallucinating. Sarah was here! Here? In Harbordale? The two sounded mutually exclusive. Sarah was one of her oldest (and kookiest) friends and had been there for through thick and thin. But what was she doing here? She was supposed to be traveling around the world, not in the north east of Canada.

Emma woke up the next morning with a slight headache pinching at her temples, feeling dazed and exhausted. The hydro and gas people had been in to fix the electricity and hot water, and the police officers had taped essentially every part of her house. Adamant at feigning some semblance of bravery, she’d slept at home – not wanting to depend on anyone, or trust anyone for help. She was done with that. The fact that Kat had left the note for her had left her with a bad feeling in her gut, making her feel ashamed, regretful and embarrassed. She’d trusted her so easily, having been so desperate to make friends. She should’ve known that she’d always be an outsider here – and that it was foolish to think otherwise. She almost didn’t blame Kat for having done that. Who was she to Kat? Kat had family here, friends here and someone had offered her money to leave that note there. Apparently, Emma was Harbordale’s most hated, so why would have Kat declined the offer? Clearly, they hadn’t been real friends or anything.

For being a cop car, the patrol unit came by incredibly slowly. Emma had paced for maybe the hundredth time in the living room before she heard the crunch of tires on snow right outside on her driveway.        

             She looked back at Hunter who was fiddling with the old TV box in her living room. It was one of those ancient machines that still had a retractable antennae on the top and a dial on the right hand corner used to change the channels. She took a moment to admire the moment, and the hunky man furrowed in concentration as he tried to fix the piece of junk. Once she’d committed the image to memory, it was time to get to business. 

Having had the heater running, his car was toasty warm which was an escape from her momentary exposure to the silently chilly and still night. Rubbing her hands together to generate some heat, she watched him from the passenger seat as he talked at length with Nick. From the snippets of drifting conversation she could hear, Nick was waiting on having the station legalize some papers in some sort of complaint he had filed against someone a while ago. She could see Hunter trying to placate him from his body language alone. He had that uncanny and annoying way of calming someone down, with his mere presence. She could see Nick relaxing throughout their conversation, his stiff posture unwinding and his shoulders dropping. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

             Jackson sighed, his chair creaking as he sat. Papers and manila files were cluttered on the desk he was borrowing, and the sole lamp on the table looked like it was ready to burn out. “Emma, I solve homicides for a living. Just who do you think you’re fooling?” 

       “Ah, shit,” Emma flailed around in the bathtub, head pounding, world spinning, mouth dry and throat scratchy, until she finally managed to grasp the side of the tub and hoist herself out. Hoist was a strong word. She sort of rolled, lifted and pushed herself out of the rub to her knees on the bathroom floor, holding her head steady in her arms. “Why is the world still spinning?”