sometimes the solitary voice...

Fade in.


Lightning lacerates a starless sky.


Its momentary illumination betrays the face of a young woman, her pale skin a stark contrast to the night.


She shivers as the icy wind whips the hair across her face and rips at the edges of her long coat.


Her trail weaves an intricate pathway through the cold, oppressive landscape of towering concrete and steel.


Suddenly, the sound of her footsteps is stolen by a crash of thunder.


Fear rips down her spine as a large figure emerges from the darkness just feet from her destination.


She refuses to slow her pace, yet her heart quickens with every step she takes.


"Wait." A deep voice. Throaty, still almost sultry.


Fear clutches her. Her breath catches in her throat.


"A lady shouldn't have to get her own door."


In a haze of relief, she steps, foggy eyed, into the the warmth of the coffeehouse where she works.  Standing dazed in the doorway, she regains her wits to turn and find the man has disappeared into the darkness.


She makes her way through the unfamiliar faces to the kitchen.  Finally, her body begins to relax. The smell of coffee and recently baked cookies serves as a greatly-needed relief after the pressures of the day. Even in the aftermath of Valentine's day, with cupcake and (homemade) truffle orders that were stacked sky-high, she still finds relief mixing up a batch of homemade chocolate chunk brownies. "I love my job," she thinks to herself as she moves toward the cupboards and begins arranging various ingredients on the table.  Looking down, she notices a slip of paper underneath the mixing bowl.  Moving it aside, she slides the paper out to find it is a letter--no return address.  She tears open the envelope to find a small slip of paper inside:


"Flash news: You are not the only place in Plainview that makes homemade truffles."


She turns the page over. Nothing on the other side.... 


The thing is, she and her baking partner had spent the few days before Valentine's day hand-making truffle...after truffle...after truffle.  A tedious business. But also a delicious one.


Due to some information they had formerly acquired, the girls knew that the candy store in town did not make their own truffles. So, naturally the two assumed their bakery was the only place in town that did, and advertised as such.  Apparently they were mistaken! Somewhere within this concrete jungle that is known as Plainview, cloaked in secrecy, lies another homemade truffle lair.  Yet the operator of said lair remains unexposed, unrecognizable to the public eye, and he (or she) has been affronted.


Another clap of thunder rang out, causing the lights to flicker.


An involuntary shiver shot down her trembling body.  She drew in a deep breath, debating her next move and considering the past week's events.  You know, perhaps this is somehow linked to the severed horse head that somehow found its way into her bed earlier this week....


(*title a quote of frank miller)

 - jess