PART I
Strange. Her alarm didn’t go off this morning. She checks the time. Shit! She jumps out of bed and sprints to the bathroom for a quick shower. The jeans and DKNY sweater she wore last night are on the couch-they’ll have to do. She’s more than fashionably late, which, unfortunately means no time for fashion.
Abby Dabby does a once over in the mirror. Horrendous! But, there is no time for make-up. This is truly disheartening. Clothes were one thing, but Abby hated to go anywhere-grocery store, walk in the park, the gym-without make-up. Abby simply hated her face.
Abby wanted (needed ) to be seen, which she was when she was fully made-up. Abby was an artist, her face was her canvas. With her sensuous, glossy lips, smoky eyes and flawless skin, she was a walking masterpiece.
Make-up made her. She was dead without the contour and color-the foundation.
It wasn’t like she didn’t try to make her way in the world “bare-faced”, it’s just that when she did, nobody saw her.
Not today.
Thankfully, there was nobody on the street. Nobody anywhere. Not even Ms. Shoforealya who enjoyed her penthouse vantage point, from which she could dispel the latest gossip. Goleft was a ghost town, reminiscent of those old Westerns she enjoyed watching with him, where tumbleweeds rolled about and saloon gates swung open and closed in the breeze. Gunslingercomelately would stride into town, challenge someone, win and sit at the bar sipping his victory whiskey.
There was no Gunslingercomelately today. No whiskey. She could use a shot or two right now. Where was everybody? She walked along and along…every saloon was empty. Deserted. The way bar stools and benches were scattered looked as though people tried to leave in a hurry.
Why was she the only one walking around Goleft? Normally it was a boisterous town, repelete with the trappings of a boisterous town. Booze. Women. Men. Booze. Poker. Yet, the town was as deader than a doornail meant to silence
Back and forth she paced until she noticed the “Missing”poster stuck on the telephone pole outside the saloons. Abby didn’t look too closely at the picture she pulled off the pole but after looking at the missing girl’s plain, nondescript face and features, she felt the urge to act. The missing girl looked vaguely familiar. She could shop the photo around town. Someone had to know something.
How could a girl from a small, tight-knit family community like Goleft simply up and disappear without a trace?
Why?
PS: I promise not to leave you hangin. I need to find her too.
My Power. My Pleasure. My Pain. 