Scattered

  * * *

  A few days later, Rebecca arose to the sound of birds chirping and a soft wind rattling the panes of her window. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was nearly ten in the morning. Being an early bird, she never woke up so late, but she attributed her tiredness to her familiar surroundings. She hadn't realized how much she missed sleeping in her old bed. As she reclined, the mattress sunk in adjusting to her body weight. With no pressure on her joints, her sleep was peaceful.

  Getting dressed and heading downstairs, she encountered her mother in the kitchen. "Hi, Mom," she said, sneaking up behind her and giving her a hug. "What are you doing?"

  "Good morning, darling," her mother replied as Rebecca stepped away. "Just getting my shopping list ready. I have to run to the market to pick up some things for dinner. We are having lasagna tonight."

  "Sounds good," Rebecca commented as she opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

  Her mom shifted her attention from the counter, where she was writing, to her. "I hope you don't mind being alone for a bit. Your brother went to the gym to get his workout in, and your dad is at work."

  Rebecca shook her head and smiled confidently. "No, I don't."

  "It is just that your dad doesn't want you to be alone, and I feel bad leaving you," her mother said, reaching out and giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "But I won't be long. Less than an hour."

  She nodded, taking a gulp of her juice. "It is fine. I am just going to check out my art studio. I'll probably be busy with that all morning and won't even notice that you're gone."

  Her mother smiled brightly. "It is nice to see you getting back into your old routines," she told her. "My friends down at the art gallery have been asking for more of your paintings. The other ones sold so quickly that they can't wait for any new stuff."

  Rebecca smiled, suddenly feeling excited. "I would love to paint again. There is nothing like putting your work on display for everyone to see."

  "Well, the money isn't bad either," her mother said with a coy smile.

  Rebecca laughed.

  "You made a huge chunk of change with the sale of your last paintings. Your dad was quick to put it in trust," she said. "You are setting yourself up for a huge nest egg later on."

  "Well, I just enjoy painting and will leave the money up to you," Rebecca responded, putting her cup in the sink.

  With a hug and a kiss, Mrs. Ardsley dashed out the door, and Rebecca found herself alone. Suddenly nervous, she felt her limbs quiver. She realized she hadn't been truly alone for over a year. Although she had her own room in Brookshire, it was never completely private. Bed checks were the norm at night. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she felt her nerves begin to calm.

  Looking for a distraction, she went upstairs, finding her way to the room at the end of the hall. When she entered, she felt her heart jump in her chest happily. Everything was exactly as she left it.

  The room was located over the garage so it had large windows on each side, allowing for plenty of natural light. Neglecting to put curtains up, she had unobstructed views of both the front and back gardens. The walls were painted bright white which was perfect for hanging drawings or other paintings. In the center of the room, there was a long metal cart which was surrounded by four metal stools. She used this table as an island, housing cans of brushes and drawing pencils. Below the counter of the island, she kept butcher block paper and canvases of every size. On the far wall, her oak easel stood like a ghost under a tarp. Beside it, there was another metal cart she used to hold mason jars filled with replacement brushes, oil paints, paint thinners, blending oils, soaps, her glass palate, and other knick-knacks.

  Taking her time, she walked towards that side of the room and paused at her easel. Uncovering it, she found a nearly completed painting that caught her eye. The image was that of the gazebo located in the center of a local park. The structure had always fascinated her with its stark white posts against the lush green background of the park and its delicate gingerbread molding framing the roof.

  She recalled it with a smile. It was her favorite place to lounge since the lake was nearby. It was a place that held many warm memories for her.

  Glancing at the table beside her, she saw detailed photographs she took of the structure. These photos were used to aid her in visualizing her painting. Throwing the pictures back on the metal counter, her hand brushed an object, causing it to fall to the floor with a loud bang.

  Looking down, she saw a small cardboard box had landed on the floor, scattering its contents. Flipping over the box, she found that it held photographs. Upon closer examination, she recognized the pictures as the ones which hung on her vanity.

  One image caught her attention. It was of her and Danica. Sitting on a blanket with their arms entwined in a hug, each of them smiled for the camera. They were a few feet from the gazebo, having a picnic in the park.

  The afternoon sun caught Danica's blond hair, making it appear as if it were glowing orange. Her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled brightly, exposing nearly all of her front teeth.

  Rebecca remembered that warm summer day when they couldn't think of anything to do but go for a swim in the lake. They prepared a picnic for afterwards and just sunbathed the day away.

  The memory left Rebecca feeling warm inside.

  She smiled sadly, returning the snapshots to the box and placing it back on the table. As she did, she noticed an old newspaper. It was folded so its front page story couldn't be seen. Its pages had yellowed over time. When she picked it up, she realized it was a copy of, the high school newspaper, The Gainesville High Journal. Danica wrote articles weekly for the newspaper so it didn't surprise her to see an article written by her friend on the front page.

  The article was about the gazebo in the park which was set ablaze.

  As her heart dropped, Rebecca searched for the date of the incident. It happened just before her memory loss. Glancing up at the painting briefly, she suspected she painted the structure as a tribute of some kind.

  The article went onto say that police suspected arson because they found residue from a highly flammable substance. Danica wrote that there could possibly be a link between this arson case and a number of unexplained fires in our area.

  An article pertaining to crime within their small town was not an uncommon subject for Danica. She wanted to be a serious journalist and writing expos?s was her way of building up her credibility. While other writers wrote about cheerleader recruits and jock injuries, she reported on the cruel world outside of school walls.

  Still, the story troubled her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but a sense of dread overtook her, and she began to shake. Something was not as it seemed. Could it have to do with Danica's death? What other unexplained fires took place in the area? It felt like a memory was on the verge of being revealed when she heard her name being called.

  Coming back into reality, Rebecca realized her mother had returned and was calling her. Placing the newspaper back on the table, she ran downstairs.