Chapter Text
Amanda hadn’t really expected her whole life to be uprooted at thirty-six years old, and yet here she is. Car packed full of everything worth bringing from L.A, an old junker of a truck sputtering and coughing as she rolls down country roads, and nothing but trees and the endless road stretched out before her. She squints at her phone, map blinking up at her. Still quite a while to go.
Though, it’s a little unnerving that she hasn’t seen another person since that gas station a couple hours ago, it’s also oddly calming. In the hustle of the city, the type of place she’s lived her whole life, it’d been easy to get caught up in the monotony of the day to day. Amanda had never been the type to stop and smell the roses—no, she was stuck wondering what was next, and next, and next.
Out here, there is nothing to do but smell those metaphorical roses. Well, and perhaps actual roses, it’s nothing but wilderness. Amanda has never lived in a small town. Her hometown hadn’t been so small, though she’d glady believed it was back then. Compared to this new place, though? It might as well be a city, too. It’s a bit spontaneous of her, to leave like this, but there’s nothing waiting for her in L.A anymore.
A divorce will do that to you.
It’s nothing that Amanda hasn’t done before. The days of crossing the country in a shitty truck with nothing but a dream and will to make it are long behind her, but she hasn’t changed as much as she’d like to think.
There’d been a job listing. It’d been a miracle Amanda saw it at all, even more-so that she bit the bullet and gave them a call.
A small bar at the heart of a little California town called Creekside. From the scarce photos and google reviews of local businesses, it seemed… quaint. Small, very small. A population of about two hundred people—she’s sure they’re small enough they’d supply the specific amount, had she asked—the type of place where everyone knows everyone, for better and for worse.
The owner of the bar had been ecstatic to get a call from someone out of town. His name had been Shayne Topp—the type of guy where you could hear his smile even through the static connection of a phone call. The bar itself, Smosh Mouth, didn’t seem so different from the other gigs Amanda worked when she was younger. A bit smaller, a bit more rustic, but it was the newest business in this small town.
Above the bar there was an apartment up for grabs too, and Amanda had taken it without question. Cheap rent? Seems like a dream, especially so close to where she'll be working. Being at the town’s centre is just another bonus.
It all seems too perfect.
That’s why Amanda is a little nervous. She’s never had much issue meeting new people. In fact, it’s what she loves—it’s what made her a perfect bartender in the past, after all. As much as she can talk someone to death and back, she can listen like it's her goddamn job. Mainly because it had been, and will be again.
“Creekside, California… 15 minutes away.”
Amanda sighs, hands tightening around the wheel as she leans back in her chair. Not far now. Shayne—her new boss—said he’d be waiting for her out front Smosh Mouth. She couldn’t miss it, apparently. Large yellow neon sign out front, he’d said, lit up light a Christmas tree on main street. His wife would be with him too, though Amanda doesn’t know much about her yet. Just their name—Courtney Miller.
They own the business together—that she’d learned on their little website. It’s been open about three years, and took over the old bar that’d been there for 16 years before it. Creekside was one of those towns, every building had history. Has ghosts, even as modernity and gentrification edged inward.
Then, just when she’s relaxing once more, she spots the sign.
It’s a rusted old metal thing—the likely once shining weight discolours to an off-yellow, lush painted trees colored green and the flash of a blue creek, the name painted in pretty cursive over the top. Welcome to Creekside, est 1836.
Here she is. At last, she’s made it.
Just in time too, for the way her van sputters again as she pulls across a small log bridge. Very rustic, she thinks with a small smile. This is going to be… different. There’s a small parking lot on the way in—outside the ‘Recreation and Community Centre,’ as it states on another deteriorating sign—and she pulls in, grabbing her small collection of bags from the car. The boxes can stay for now, no point attempting to log all of her shit into town. Amanda yanks her small suitcase behind her, backpack tight around her shoulders, and heads to what she assumes must be main street.
There’s a distinct lack of street signs. Perhaps because everyone here knows the town so well there is no need, though Amanda thinks that might violate some state law. Right? Well, she never really became the deeply educated lawyer or skillful investigative journalist her parents had wanted her to be—no point in starting now.
Much like everything else, the roads are rickety and not well maintained. The heel of her boot catches on a crack and Amanda stumbles, only just catching herself on a stray street lamp.
“You’re new.”
Amanda jumps, spinning to the source of the voice. There, leaning against the first building on main street—a florist, actually—is… Some guy. His lips are pursed, and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Which is odd, because it’s not like he’s doing anything. Just standing there—so, really, Amanda thinks he might be free to be anywhere else and still stands there pathetically annoyed. His shirt stands out against the drab, white sliding of the florists—all flowy and frilled, pink and orange blending across his chest and arms. It contracts his disposition, too, face pulled into an almost sullen expression.
“Hah, yep,” she answers with a small shrug, leaning her rickety suit case against the street lamp and fully turning to face him. “I’m Amanda, I just moved here. Like… right now.”
The man hums, and pushes off the wall—he throws a stray glance back at the florist—moving towards her, his eyes pensive and judgemental.
“Chanse,” he says, and after a moment she realises that's his name. “McCrary, I own the florists.”
“Lehan-Canto,” she adds with a smile, holding out her hand. Might as well start making friends as soon as she can, right?
Chanse just frowns, hands still close to his chest, and a moment later Amanda lets her hand awkwardly fall away. Okay… Rude.
“So, uh,” Amanda continues, glancing around. Her eye catches on a Radio Station just across the road— Creek Cast— then looks back to Chanse. “I’m looking for the Smosh Mouth. Could you point me in the right direction, or…?”
“Smosh Mouth,” he says suddenly, flat and disinterested.
She nods. “Yeah, the Smosh Mouth, so can you—?”
“No,” Chanse speaks again, shaking his head with a huff. “It’s just called Smosh Mouth. Not The Smosh Mouth. No one calls it that.”
“Oh. Right… Well, thanks.”
Then he points, raising a brow. Amanda follows his finger, right to exactly what she’d expected to find. A giant glowing sign. She can’t make out the letters from here—the sign partially obscured by a small fountain and statue at the central quarter—but that is certainly the place.
“Shayne’s expecting you,” he then says, hands back to being folding across his chest, and he steps back.
“Did he talk about me?”
Chanse shrugs at the question, seemingly unwilling to elaborate any further as he slinks back towards the florist. Amanda sighs, shaking her head. Okay, so making friends isn’t off to a great start. That’s fine—who is this guy, anyway? Just some guy, that is it. She’s sure she’ll pick up a rhythm soon enough. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll get him on her side too.
The walk down main street is fine, and there right out front, two people wait for her. Blonde, laughing as they talk to one another… Both pretty damn short. Amanda almost laughs, walking up to the couple.
“Hi,” she gets out with a breath, eyes flicking between the two of them.
The man recognises her first, his face splitting into a grin. “Hey!” he greets, glancing at the person beside him. “Amanda, right?”
“That’s me.” She nods, her own gaze darting to who she presumes is his wife. She’s smiling too, their eyes crinkled as they both look at her. “Shayne and Courtney right?”
“That’s us!” Courtney agrees, patting Shayne’s arm with one hand as she reaches for the door with the other. “Come in, come in.”
Much like the town, it’s quaint and small inside. Full of deep oak furniture and a fully stocked, delightfully decorated bar. Small tables spread around the place, a couple of booths lining the right wall as she walks in through the door—a little bell above it, ting! —with simple green cushioned seats. A soft ballad type song croons through the speakers, Amanda finding herself dragged further inside as Courtney takes her hand, pulling her behind the bar. Shayne follows close behind—looking across the interior of the building with a look of pride.
“This is lovely,” she says first, already immensely comfortable behind the bar, letting her eyes flick across everything she’ll be working with soon enough. Well organised, plenty labelled. A gift, really, compared to some of the seedier, badly paying places Amanda had worked when she was too young to know better and too broke to care all that much. “Just… Wow.”
“Thanks,” Shayne says with a sort of shy smile, and then his eyes light up. “Oh, I love this song—”
He moves off towards the other side of the small room, and it’s then that Amanda realises there’s another section. She leans forward to let her eyes follow him as he moves, a small little alcove shooting off the main building. Amanda spots a pool table there by the archway, and a small stage further back where Shayne busies himself—turning up the music, she notices, the ballad getting louder over the speakers.
“Shayne’s getting into music,” Courtney says with a coy smile, her eyes sparkling as she glances from Amanda to her partner.
“Into music…?” Amanda questions with a small laugh. “I didn’t know that was a thing you could get into.”
There must be some joke she cannot understand, because Courtney is laughing like getting into music is the funniest thing in the world. She reaches out to grab Shayne’s arm as he makes him way back over, pulling him to stand next to them, her other hand gesturing to the assortment of alcohol and other bar things —there was probably a correct word for that, but Amanda didn’t know what it was—that Amanda had been appraising moments ago.
“Arasha will be here soon to give you the whole run down of all the little things,” Shayne says, leaning back against the bar.
Amanda is confident she won’t need too much help figuring things out—she’s done this sort of thing before. She wouldn’t go as far as to say bartending is a skill you can never forget, but Amanda certainly hasn’t forgotten anything from those days. Not recipes, not the correct way to mix and pour drinks, not even the silly tricks that make patrons—especially the ones more drunk than buzzed —stare at her with dazzled eyes.
“Arasha?” she questions, still appraising the walls covered in art and plaques and posters. Her eyes land on the corkboard right by the door, various events in town advertised in bold and exciting posters.
Smosh Mouth Trivia Night, Saturdays.
D&D MeetUp, Contact Spencer.A.
Missing—
That last one is beaten up, pinned behind other posters covering up anything left behind, and even then the text is hardly legible from across the room. Amanda furrows her brows, gives up on trying to read it—gives up on analysing the corkboard for now—and averts her gaze back to Shayne, waiting for the answer to her half-question.
“She’s your coworker,” Courtney answers instead, pointing to a photo on the wall.
It’s framed—a posed shot, taken right outside, a small group smiling at the camera. First she recognises Courtney and Shayne at the centre, follows Courtney’s pointing finger to the woman standing beside them. Arasha, got it. There’s three others—the first is a man taller than the rest of them, right next to Arasha, he’s wearing an apron. A chef, probably. The other man Amanda also recognises, it’s Chanse from the florist. Her lips purse at the memory of their earlier conversation, and her gaze drifts to the woman standing beside him. Amanda doesn’t recognise her. Another coworker?
She doesn’t get a chance to ask, as Shayne presses the pair of keys into her hand.
“One is for the front,” he says, nodding to the door behind them, “and the other is for the apartment. The front key also gives you access to the roof.”
“The roof?”
“There’s some flowers up there,” Courtney adds, “you can do whatever you want with them. Pull them out, water them. The place is yours, and we just want you to feel at home. Roof top included.”
“Thanks.” Amanda smiles at the both of them, tucking the keys into the front pocket of her jeans—planning to hook them up to her keychain collection when she gets the chance. It’s been sadly empty since she gave back her old apartment key, it’ll be nice to have her home back there. “Anything else I should know?”
Shayne shrugs, Courtney shaking their head with a smile—and Amanda finds herself looking back towards the little staircase in the corner, leading upstairs.
“Your shift tonight starts at seven,” Shayne then says, “but that’s it. Take a look around, settle in! We won’t keep you.”
“Right, go!” Courtney wraps her arm around Shayne’s shoulder again, the two of them moving from behind the counter, giving her some space she hadn’t realized she’d needed. “We’ll be out for a bit—and Arasha will be here soon. Welcome Amanda!”
She finds herself laughing at their antics as the bell rings above their heads once more—the two of them disappearing out the door with smiles. They’re nice, the kind of bosses you want. They don’t seem to be overbearing, not for now at least, so that’s good. Amanda glances down at her watch—she’s still got a couple hours before her shift starts, plenty of time to settle in upstairs, maybe explore town a bit.
Great!
The stairs creak under her feet as she makes her way up, and she only kinda fumbles with the keys in the door. As expected, it’s small. A studio—a small bathroom shooting off in the main hallway, a spiral staircase leading up to the roof, like the couple had warned her. It’s nice, but not really something Amanda would usually go for herself. She wanders around, dropping her bag on the bed—sliding her hand across the fresh, white linen—and she shudders.
There’s… Something weird about it up here. Something Amanda cannot place, and she wonders if it’s even the apartment or the bar itself, or is it the town? Her skin buzzes, electric with something, rolling across her in waves. It’s vaguely familiar, and reminds Amanda of those dreams she’d have as a kid. Dreams, or nightmares maybe. Night terrors, that was it. The very thought has her shuddering again, and Amanda shakes it away, wondering if it’s just her nerves getting the better of her.
Amanda ventures up to the roof rather than worrying about that for now, thankful for the fresh air as she strolls across the little area. There’s a small table with four chairs, a couple of old beer bottles piled in the corner, and then the little garden area. Small boxes, and though Courtney had been right about the flowers, they’re… Doing a little worse for wear—wilting, dying. Amanda isn’t so sure she’s the type of person to be focused enough to keep a garden like this alive.
It might be worth getting a new hobby though, so far away from home. In a new home.
Amanda pushes herself from the thought, unwilling to let that uneasy feeling of homesick-ness sink in just yet. Those are the type of worries better left when she’s snug in bed, no responsibilities lying ahead until the morning. Right now she wants to get well acquainted with this town, Creekside. Courtney and Shayne are nice, really nice, and though her conversation with that Chanse guy hadn’t gone well Amanda is hoping it's a fluke. If everyone in town folks to Smosh Mouth then surely most of them are as nice as the couple that owns it.
Or at least, Amanda hopes so.
She makes her way back downstairs, through the small apartment and back to the bar. It’s still quiet, opening hour and her shift still a ways away—Courtney and Shayne nowhere to be seen, but there is someone behind the bar. Amanda can only see the top of their head, dark black hair peeking over the edge of the wooden bartop. Her boots creek against the staircase as she steps down and they perk up, eyes emerging first—a deep brown, eyebrows raised in what Amanda assumes is surprise—and then the rest of them.
“Hi!” The person smiles—wide and white and toothy, and she rests her arm against the bartop. “I’m Arasha. You must be Amanda?”
“Right.” She smiles back, making her way over and sitting down at the bar on one of the middle stools. “You my new coworker, then?” she asks, already knowing the answer, and somehow Arasha seems to smile wider as she nods.
“Sure am, I’m here to teach you the reigns.” Amanda relaxes further, watching as Arasha moves smoothly across the bar. “How’s your bartending experience?”
Amanda shrugs a little, a grin on her face, already liking this girl. Yeah, she thinks she’s going to get on here just fine. “I did it on and off since I graduated high school,” she says, sighing a little at the memory of those days. They’d been far from perfect, far from good even, but there was a simplicity to them. Before marriage and divorce and before Amanda uprooted her whole life because everything she’d built for herself seemed to fall apart too easily. “So, I’d say pretty good.”
“Nice.” Arasha grins at her. “I’ll give you the simple tips then,” she continues, sweeping her hands across the bar. “Liquor is here, taps are all neatly labelled here. Court and Shayne keep the main glasses here—but there’s extras in the back. You shouldn’t need to head into the kitchen too much, but Trevor usually works in there when it’s open for the night, and he’s a whiz so he’ll help you with anything extra.” She ducks, and Amanda leans over the bar top, watching as she pulls open a cupboard in the far left corner, revealing a nice stock of cleaning supplies. “This is where you’ll find everything you need for closing shifts—though I’ll be handling those before you're settled. And… I think that’s everything.”
“Very succinct,” she comments, genuine, as Arasha stands back up. “Thank you. Moving to a new town… It’s a lot—nice to see a friendly face.”
For a moment Arasha stares at her, and then something changes in her gaze. Like something clicks, and she laughs, leaning forward again. “Ah, have you met Chanse, then?”
“How did you—?” Amanda starts with a laugh.
“Chanse is…” Seeming to struggle for the words, Arasha shrugs with one shoulder—smile falling, not to a frown but to a flat line on her face. Her eyes fall to the side, and Amanda follows the gaze. She’s looking at the corkboard. Hm. “He’s a bit jaded, but he’s a sweetheart when you get to know him. Trust me, pretty much everyone in Creekside is far more happy-go-lucky than him.”
“Good to know.” Amanda swallows, unable to deny her curiosity piqued by whatever Arasha might have been looking for on the corkboard. She keeps that to herself though, unsure of what she’d be wading into asking something so bold. “I was actually thinking of having a look around town before my shift started. Do you have any tips about that? Where I should go first or…?”
“It’s a small town, Amanda,” she interrupts again with a laugh, shaking her head a little. “Just walk around—anything that gathers your interest, have a look. Like I said, most people are friendly. Most. Plus, I’m sure the mayor will come calling for you soon enough for the grand tour— him or his assistant.”
“Mayor?”
“You’ll see. Anyway, I won’t keep you.” Arasha pats her shoulder. “I can get everything set up in here for when you're set to open. Go have fun! Explore!”
“Okay, okay!”
She makes her way towards the door, feels compelled to stop by the corkboard. Amanda’s eyes drift across it once more, drawn away from the events advertised, and instead landing on the missing persons poster she hadn’t been able to read earlier. It’s hidden behind the rest of the posters—clearly it’s been up a long time, bleached by sunlight, fading and a little torn, but for whatever reason no one working at Smosh Mouth had thought to take it down.
Amanda reaches out with her finger, scratches her nail across the paper as she leans closer, at last getting a good look at it.
The woman’s face matches the photo Shayne and Courtney had shown off earlier, and Amanda swallows, unnerved at the fact this person has been missing for two years now. They mustn't have found her, if this poster still being up on the wall is anything to go off.
“That’s Ang,” Arasha says suddenly, startling Amanda from her stare, breaking through the silence.
She turns to look at Arasha, brows raised as her hand at last falls away from the poster. Amanda stays silent, hopes it might get Arasha to tell her more, and, well, it’s a good technique
“She used to work here—before me even,” Arasha continues with a small, almost sad smile. Her eyes dip down towards the bar, away from Amanda, as if in a memory. “Angela trained me, she was so… She was always so alive, you know? Loud and expressive and…” her voice trails off, and she clears her throat and looks back at Amanda now. “She went missing two years ago, we never found out what happened to her.”
“Did the police stop looking?” Amanda finds herself asking, moving back towards the bar, towards Arasha where they stand again, face to face.
Arasha shakes her head with a small, humourless sort of laugh, more a breath than any substantial noise. “They never looked to begin with,” she says quietly, as if talking too loud might break something. Maybe the memory she still seems trapped in, as Amanda looks in her eyes. “Young woman leaves in the middle of the night, there wasn’t much to look at. Chanse didn’t stop looking though, he’s the one who made all of those,” she points back to the corkboard, gesturing loosely to the mess of papers, “missing posters. They were canvased all over town for a while, before everyone except Chanse gave up. I think Shayne and Court keep the poster of her there just for him, because they know what it means to him.”
Suddenly, Amanda feels way less annoyed at her earlier conversation with Chanse—understands what Arasha meant, about him seeming jaded. Amanda can’t even blame him, after something like that… The thought nearly makes her shiver, and she wonders how close he and this missing girl were. Even Arasha still seems shaken by it, years on and having not have pushed as hard for this girl to be found.
“We all miss her,” Arasha says then, voice louder, pulled back from where she was and fully in front of Amanda once more. “On her birthday we always do a little celebration in here—not nearly as loud as she was, but it’s nice to remember her. I hope she’s in L.A, or some other big city like she dreamed of.”
“Me too,” Amanda says, despite not knowing this girl. “And I’m sorry that happened, it sounds… Awful.”
“It was,” she agrees with a nod, looking at the cardboard once more. “But Creekside moves on, like it always does. We all have. Except…”
Except for Chanse, Amanda concludes, and neither of them have to say it. She steps back, dusting off nothing from her shirt, floor creaking as she approaches the door once more.
“Well, I should have a look around,” she says with a smile, nodding to Arasha as her hand closes around the door handle. “It’s nice meeting you, Arasha. I look forward to working with you.”
“You too. And welcome to Creekside!”
She laughs, winking as she slips out the door—still not used to the ringing of the bell—and sighs when she steps out onto Main Street. Gosh, where to start?
It’s pretty packed for a small town in terms of buildings, Amanda finds as she wanders down the street, simply taking in each of the buildings. First she passes one of the buildings she saw on her way in—a little Radio Station and Record Store combined into one, The Creek Cast. Much like Smosh Mouth, the bright red light beams on top in neon, and Amanda simply peers through the window. In the back is a small booth, someone sitting at a microphone, back turned to her as they speak. A couple others bustle around, looking at vinyl records and CDs. Amanda should stop by sometime, she thinks.
The rest of the street is much of the same, adorable little stores all neatly lined up. Board AF, a tucked out of the way boardgame and bookstore between a small diner and the florist— McCrary’s, the very same one Chanse had been lingering outside of earlier. There’s even a costume shop, which makes Amanda smile as she peers at the eclectic collection of wigs in the front window.
Amanda thinks she actually could fit in here, might actually find she likes it. It’s nothing like anywhere else Amanda has lived, it feels so deeply authentic even from the small glances and few people she’s met so far. Her eyes then spot the town hall on the furthest side of town, quite small but still larger than anything else around here. The road diverges there, one way back the way Amanda came in—the other, rows and rows of houses. A few of them are painted delightfully bright colours, splashes of blue, orange and pink scattered among the white and grey sliding.
Creekside really is quite charming, huh?
~~~
As far as first shifts go, it’s damn near perfect, if Amanda’s being totally honest.
Smosh Mouth is quiet, and it being a weekday helps with it being a slow night. It allows Amanda to find her footing, to figure out how she and Arasha can work around one another—and she’s also getting along pretty well with most of Smosh Mouth’s regulars too, which is a win in her book.
“Can I get you two anything else?” she asks with a smile, collecting the two empty glasses from table four and turning to look at the two customers sitting there.
“I think we’re good for right now,” Tommy says, Tommy Bowe, as he’d introduced himself. He works at the Creek Cast along with the woman sitting across from him, who introduced herself as simply just Olivia. Amanda can tell, his voice sounds perfect for running a radio—and Olivia has that perfect customer service smile down too. They’re really nice, from the little Amanda has spoken to them tonight. Welcoming, too. “But thanks, Amanda.”
There at the bar, nursing a whiskey as Amanda works on cleaning the glasses, is another person she’s met tonight—Spencer, who owns that adorable book/board game store. Amanda finds himself already charmed by his sweet smile and ridiculous sense of humour, and good taste in drinks too. She’d recognised his name from that poster, had suggested maybe she could join their D&D group, to which he’d excitedly agreed.
Of course, Amanda knows nothing about D&D beyond the general pop cultural presence she’d consumed coincidentally, via osmosis essentially, but she knew how to charm people. Besides, if she actually goes through with that suggestion, it could be a good way to make some real friends.
“How’s the drink?” she asks with a wry smile, propping her hand up on her hand as Spencer takes another sip—and he grins back, all adorably goofy, and it makes Amanda feel at least a little normal again.
“It’s great,” Spencer says, licking his lips after he swallows the rest of the whiskey—and Amanda is sure it’s a trap for her gaze, but she falls for it happily anyway. “Hey, uh… Would it be okay if I gave you my number?” he asks suddenly—and the question makes her hand itch, right around her ring finger, where her wedding ring once sat not long ago. Amanda isn’t sure if Spencer can sense that, but he adds, “I mean, I can send you the details about the D&D game I run. If you’re still interested?”
“Why not?” Amanda says with a shrug, pulling a discarded receipt from under the counter and folding it over, sliding the blank piece of paper over to him. “It’ll be nice to have a friend or two in town, right?”
It sets a nice boundary between them, for now at least. It’s not that Amanda is opposed to dating again, it’s just… A little fresh. So fresh it almost feels like a betrayal, though Amanda knows that sounds utterly stupid.
Of course, Spencer is the type of guy to carry a pen with him—and he nods, happily scribbling down his number and handing it back over to her.
“I’d be happy to be your first friend here,” he says with an easy smile, standing and pulling on his denim jacket, sensing the boundary Amanda has carefully laid down. “Thanks for the drink, Amanda. I look forward to your text.”
Amanda just winks as he walks away, slipping the number into the front pocket of her jeans. Before the door even shuts behind Spencer there’s a whistle from behind her, and Amanda knows who it is as their hand lands on her shoulder.
“First day in town and you’re already scoring dates?” Arasha asks with a teasing lilt, wiggling her brows. “Good for you, Amanda.”
It makes her laugh, and she shakes her head, shrugging with one shoulder. “I don’t know… It’s just a friend thing, for now.”
“Ooh, for now, right.”
“I just got divorced,” Amanda admits, and Arasha’s eyes widen a little at her words, but she doesn’t say anything. “It’s part of why I moved—so I’m not quite ready to jump back into the sea yet, you know?”
“No, I get it. I was just kidding around,” she says, and Amanda can tell she means it. “Spencer’s a nice guy—awesome friend, at that. You pick them well already.”
“Good to know.”
They close up soon after, Amanda and Arasha working together to clean once the last customers—Amanda thinks one of them is called Alex?—have left. She bids her new co-worker goodbye, locking the door behind her and at last retreating to the apartment upstairs. It’s still a bit of a mess, only half the things in here unpacked, some of her things still waiting in her car to be moved. Soon. That’s a task better left to a fully energized Amanda, better for an Amanda already starting to settle in.
Except, well, soon after she falls asleep, she finds it's not quite as easy as she’d hoped it would be. Definitely not as easy as her first day in this new, cute little town. Night Terrors are no stranger, they were worse in her childhood, had faded as she got older and moved away from her parents home. Still, they’d pop up every now and again, but then she had… She had her husband to help her calm down.
Now, she doesn’t, though.
Amanda wakes with a scream, clutching at her bedsheets and she quickly rushes out the bed, into the bathroom shaking the remnants of her ghost filled nightmare with a sigh. She splashes her face with cold water, back in the land of the living and staring daggers at herself in the mirror.
It must be the stress—of moving, of the divorce and all the finance issues that have come with it, and Amanda finds she’s missing her family on the East Coast too. In L.A it had been easy to forget how she missed them, surrounded by people, happily married, but now it all comes rushing back.
Before she can think, she’s calling her mom’s number, sitting anxious on the edge of the bath as her leg shakes, the noise ringing next to her ear.
“‘Manda?” her mom answers, sleep-filled and sounding annoyed already. “It’s 4 in the morning.”
“I know,” she says with a sigh, shaking her head that she thought this was a good idea. It’s unfair, but still, hearing her mom scold her on the phone is enough to calm the rapid beat of her heart in her chest. “Sorry, I just… I was feeling homesick—I just got to the new town and I…”
“I get it, baby,” her mom says, and Amanda hears ruffling. She recognises the distant rumble of her mom’s boyfriend’s voice, then the click of a door as her mom walks away. “You’re away from both your homes and you're alone.”
“I’m really lonely mom,” she admits, voice shuddering with unshed tears. “What if that feeling never goes away?”
“It will,” she responds, and she sounds so sure that Amanda can’t help but believe it. “We’re all here back home, you’re welcome back here anytime you need. Your sisters miss you too, you know that. Divorce is really hard, I know that better than anyone, but the only way through it is through.”
“Yeah… You’re right.”
“Of course I am. Now, go back to sleep, ‘Manda. It’ll be easier tomorrow.”
“Good night mom.” Amanda makes her way back towards her bed, sitting down as she says, “and thank you. You always know how to make me feel better.”
“It’s what I do best. Now, let me get my beauty sleep.”
“Okay,” she says with a laugh, nodding as she lies back on her bed. “Bye mom.”
“Night, baby.”
Amanda feels lighter already, and falls back asleep—no nightmares waiting for her after that. She thinks that might be the end of it, waking the next morning and working on her very first breakfast here in Creekside. It’s just cereal, but it feels more like a treat than anything else—cereal for breakfast? It might as well be desert! It also feels good to be in her new kitchen. Though, it is only a few steps away from her bed…
Except, well, it still feels as if someone is watching her. That same static feeling—the very same Amanda thinks might have been following her since she got here. Yesterday Amanda had put the odd feeling down to nerves, or maybe simply a change in the air, the water, anything really. It doesn’t feel like that now, though–the hairs on her neck pricking up as she settles down on her new sofa, and her shoulder twitches.
It really does feel as if there’s another person in this room.
She lays the spoon down in the bowl, watching as it sinks into the milk and the clumps of healthy cereal. This isn’t right.
Amanda turns her head, hoping to quell her fears, to prove to herself there is no one here. She looks over her shoulder, expected to be greeted by the empty kitchen she just left, and—
“Hi!”
“Holy shit!” Amanda falls forward off the sofa in a panic—cereal and milk spilling on the floorboards. There goes desert for breakfast. There, in the kitchen, stands a woman. “Who—? What are you doing here?”
The woman frowns, and she shrugs, looking around. “I’m actually not sure,” she says, sounding far too relaxed for Amanda’s liking. “One moment it was dark, and then…” She gestures with her hands, flicking out all ten of her fingers. “Poof. I’m here. Weird right?”
“This is my home,” she says, standing from where she’s fallen and rounding the sofa—cautious as she steps towards the strange woman. “How did you even get in here?”
That electric feeling hits her again—now all the little hairs across her skin prick up, and she shudders, stopping where tile meets wood on the floor. Suddenly, as she truly looks at this woman, she recognises her. Actually recognise her.
It’s the face from that missing poster downstairs. The girl everyone in Creekside seemed to miss, the girl no one spoke about but all thought about. Angela.
“Funny story,” Angela says with a bright laugh, waving her hand and Amanda watches with an intense stare—watches as her hand fazes right through the cereal box still sitting on the counter. “I think I’m a ghost—and I’m pretty sure I’m haunting you, since you can see me and I’m pretty sure no one else can.”
“Ghost…” Amanda swallows, stepping closer still and tilting her head. It… It makes sense. "Oh, duh."
“You’re… You’re not scared of me?” Angela questions with furrowed brows, and Amanda almost laughs.
“No, I…” She smiles, standing up straight. “I’ve seen ghosts before. Not for a long time—not since I was a teenager, but, I’ve seen them. I just didn’t expect to see one here. After so long too.”
“I’m just glad you can see me, to be honest,” the ghost replies with a shrug, walking back and forth in the kitchen–pacing almost. “It’d suck tits to be a ghost and just have everyone ignore me.”
Unlike most movies and TV shows, real ghosts are translucent at all, as Amanda has learned. They appear pretty much like regular humans, except you can’t touch them and they can’t touch you without a lot of concentration. In the past the ghosts that came to Amanda had been trying to move on, and Amanda thinks this might be no different.
Suddenly, her stomach twists, as a realisation sets in.
If Angela is a ghost that means…
That means she’s dead—and Arasha’s hope she might have made it to L.A never came true. Angela is missing because she’s dead, and Amanda doesn’t even know this girl, but she finds that profoundly sad.
“I popped back into Creekside yesterday,” Angela explains—and Amanda nods along, realizing that must have been when she arrived in town. “I tried to talk to anyone, everyone, but they all just ignored me. I… I don’t remember dying or anything, but… I had to assume something happened, and then with the whole,” she wiggles her hand back and forth through the box again, “not being able to touch stuff helped me figure it out. Plus, Chanse seemed really bummed out so I could only guess.”
“No one knows you're dead,” Amanda says suddenly, unsure if this is the best course of action but not knowing what else to say. “They all think you’re missing—or that you left town.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah.” She watches as Angela’s pacing comes to a stop. “I just moved here, so I—”
“Do you think you could help me figure out how I died?”
“What?”