"Ms. King, this is Matthew Carter, Mayor of Maryville. How are you this fine afternoon?" "I'm fine, Sir, thank you for asking. I hope you, too, are doing well." I try my hardest to contain my breathing, keeping it steady since my lungs sting from my sprint-race with Sebastian. I lift myself off of him and he quickly gets up and adjusts his shirt, which is already damp with sweat. His eyes bore into me, but I give him a big smile in return that sets him off. "I am, I am, thank you. I'm just calling in regards to our lovely county fair that kicks off tomorrow. We're aware of Sebastian's presence here in Tennessee, and would love for him to attend the opening festivities." "Why, Sebastian would love to go," I respond. Sebastian's

"Remember, Sebastian. Don't say anything stupid. This is a family affair," I say while putting pressure on my heel, trying to put the super glue to its use. We've been driving long enough to now reach an actual street, with other cars sharing it along side us. Sarah, for most of the car ride has been walking Sebastian through where he will be going and what he will be doing. Most of it consisted of walking through animal barns, volunteering at the face paint station, and even doing a meet and greet. The meet and greet is what frightens me the most, however. I slowly but surely release the pressure from my heel and tug on it lightly. The heel doesn't move from it's base, and I smile, relieved. "Just ten minutes away from the de

I walk into the main house feeling like a hollow shell.An image of Garrett burning paintings, Sebastian's paintings, with a maniacal smile on his face plays over and over again like a broken CD, but I can't bring myself to believe it. Garrett, the man I have worked personally with for years would never do something like that. But if that's the case, there isn't a logical reason why Loretta would lie to me. Especially since her reaction to the memory was so organic I felt it like I lived the experience with her.Maybe the reason I can't believe it is because Sebastian shows no sign of connection to such a traumatic event. And that, is the reason none of this makes sense. There are a billion pieces that I have yet to uncover, but Loretta was kind enough to give me a hint, a head-start, on figuring out the entire story and why it's

April 4th, 1999, Beverly Hills, California "Leslie, sit up straight, your posture is making my head hurt." My mother stares at me with the utmost rigor in her eyes. When I do lengthen my back and sit up straight, that hardness never leaves her black irises as she continues to stare at me as if I'm subhuman. It isn't my fault, I try to tell her—my developing breasts not only give me back pain, but make me reluctant to stand up straight in fear of being mistaken of "showing them off." "We need to take you to a chiropractor. That did little to assist you," she tells me, taking a sip of her wine. My little sister, Samantha, doesn't say anything at my mother's words at the restaurant table. How could she, really—she's

"Ommmm....ommmm...."My hands at heart center, I take deep breaths and try to find my inner Yoga warrior. Emphasis on the word "try", since my stress level is so up the roof I can feel the gray hairs pushing out of my scalp.The early morning summer breeze rushes through the front porch of the guest house as I channel all of my negative energy into the wood beneath me. But it isn't working. Because no matter how hard I try to get rid of the dark, clouded aurora that last night in North Carolina left behind, it still lingers in my mind about the chaos and disaster we left behind at Oliver Epps's birthday party."Sun salutation," I instruct to myself. I stretch my arms above my head and behind my shoulders into "waterfall" pose before bringing them in front of me, touching my toes, then