Bailey was dead. Heart attack, in New York. Ten blocks away from my apartment. Just keeled over in the court room. God, why did life have to be so . . . tragic. Then, not a word about it to anyone outside of the town. The mayor figured that if they kept it quiet, it would help the game. Their god damn hockey game. Bailey died for them, and they didn't care.

It's my responsibility now, and as I stand outside the small sheriff's office, I wonder if taking up my uncle's law firm in the small, Alaskan town was really the honorable thing to do. I am a lawyer, just like my mother, and like my mother's brother, but unlike them, I don't feel sympathy for Mystery. My mother was lucky to get out when she was still young, moving to New York to go to law school; she wanted to be the first female lawyers in Alaska. That, thank God, had never happened. She had met my father at a protest rally against something and had stayed in NYC, where I grew up. Unfortunately, her brother had been a fool. He'd left Alaska, then went back. He said there were good people in Mystery. I just see a small, backwater town, misplaced in the wilderness of Alaska, a good 5 hour drive from anywhere. Bailey went back, and never left. Fell in love, got married, had a couple of kids and never left. I think the trip to New York, which he didn't even tell me about, was his first trip out of Mystery in 20 years, or more.

And now, as I stand outside of my fate, I wonder. I wonder. Climbing the steps, I adjust my jacket and skirt, thankful not to have to wear my winter coat, being May and everything. Even Alaska melts. I didn't bother knocking, since it was a Sheriff's office, just pushed the door open, and right into to something solid, and decidedly male.

"OuF." The grunt came from the half open doorway, and I peered inside, taking in the surprised faces of the desk clerks to my left. There was a shuffle on the other side, and the door was ripped open to expose a man holding a bleeding nose. A very disgruntled, quite large, bearded man with a bleeding nose.

I grinned the second I recognized the face and threw my arms around his neck. He uttered a surprised oath before managing to push me away with out getting blood all over my light blue blazer. His eyes narrowed as he realized just who stood in front of him. "For Christ-sake. Nat Devlin, one of these days, you're gonna kill me."

I stepped inside, closing the door, before rebuffing him. "Now John, is that any way to greet the new lawyer of Mystery? Besides, it's not Nat anymore. Not since those last two years of high school here when I studied in Mystery instead of NYC. Now, it's Natalya. You know that." He smiled his brilliant smile, and turned to find some Kleenex, which one of the clerks was already handing him. It was a tight ship here, and I knew my life was about to get a hell of a lot harder.

John led me into his office where he had me sit down in front of his desk in quite possibly the plainest chair I'd ever seen in my whole life. He fiddled with files for a few minutes, hiding that he was nervous about my being there. I couldn't imagine why. I'd only tried to seduce him when I was 16, no big deal. I winced at my internal thoughts and cleared my throat. He stopped with the hand movement and looked up at me, his hair falling into his face. He pushed it back with a single stroke of his left hand and the familiar gesture struck a cord in me, and I remembered he'd done that ever since Bailey had introduced us in his office, so long ago. "Yeah. I get to be lawyer here, so you better watch who you arrest, and you be sure that you read them their rights John Philip Beibe, or else you'll be in shit up to your ears." I said it nonchalantly, and he took it as such, laughing deeply and richly, but I meant it. I didn't want to be there, with him, in that small town. Not at all.

"All right, Natalya, point taken. You're watching me, but that's nothing new, is it." I blushed to the very roots of my finely coifed hair. It was rude of him to bring up the pictures, but he was everything in a man any woman could want, and the pictures were for an art class. It's not like it was pornography or anything. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here to take over Bailey's place. It was a horrible loss for the whole town, and I'm sorr-"

"Sorry? This town will never be sorry for what happened to poor Bailey! Never! No one even bothered to let me know that he'd died!" By this time, my voice had risen to a quiet shout and I was standing, waving my arms around like a mad woman. "NO one cared to TELL me MY UNCLE was DEAD! NO ONE! Not even you, John, not even you!" I turned and stormed out the door. It hurt like a bitch to have someone as close to me as John had been keeping something like that from me. It felt horrible. I heard his voice, calling my name from behind, but I stalked out through the door, hurt and alone. I ran to my car.

I wasn't lost. No, quite the opposite. I knew exactly where I was, but the board poles and the stands hadn't been there ten years ago. The pond was still a pond, but in the great tradition of urbanization, they'd added poles to hang the boards on come ice and snow, and the works. I parked my car in a huge lot just south, right where the playground for the elementary school I had cross-age tutored at used to be. The playground had been moved over to the east side of the pond, and was smaller then it had been before. Maybe I had just grown. I shrugged and walked to the rail to watch a couple of kids play by the water. They had a sailboat, and were taking turns with controlling it via rope and wind. I walked towards the water, my mind set on a brown runway for the brave polar bear swimmers that dominated Sunday mornings in the summer, and took twenty paces to the east of the dock, coming to a bare spot of yellow-green grass. My own piece of heaven had stood here. One of the only trees in the area that was a willow. How it stood the cold, no one could figure out, but it was said that a spirit had lived in it's old, creaky branches and that it would never die. I guess they were wrong.

"I knew you'd come here." I jumped at the sound and turned to see John, in his signature blue cable sweater, the sweater that managed to sneak it's way into every single picture I had ever taken of him. Sometimes he was wearing it, some times he wasn't. He was wearing it now, with his faded jeans and boots that would forever be the normal attire for the town Sheriff.

"What have they done to my tree Johnny boy. Our tree?" My eyes misted with emotion. What I needed to say was that even though I detested this place, it seemed more of a home to me than NYC. Instead, I took a step forward, and threw myself into his arms, weeping my sorrows into the sweater.

He held me there in those blue covered arms, and I was glad that there would always be strong men like John Beibe. He simply held on, rubbing my back and head with his hands, murmuring reassuring words of calm and assurance. "You know, I did try to get a hold of you." I drew back through my tears and looked, surprised, into his face. "I called you ten times a day for a month, even when we were at the game. I had Donna call. I tried. I really did, but you disappeared into thin air. I couldn't find you."

He was whispering now, and I realized the cruel irony in my life. "Los Angeles. I was taking the bar that month. I had forgotten about that. I knew I was gone when it happened, but I guess I was gone a little longer then I expected. I was distracted half-way through my trip." He was looking at me through his all-knowing eyes, his arms still wrapped around my slight frame. "I am so sorry John. I never meant to yell at you. It's not your fault. I guess I have issues with this town. I hope they go away because I plan on being here a long time."

He smiled and sighed as he did, his arms dropping. "Good to hear it. Now, come on, let's grab some lunch. I'm starved." As if in response to his statement, his stomach growled and I slapped his arm playfully. He grinned and linked arms with me, pulling me off towards the diner on the other side of town, by town hall.

My new home was horrible. One of the newer houses built in Mystery, it could have rivaled the mayor's house, if it had been built properly. What the Realtor hadn't told me was that Dip Gallagher's building company had been the contractors. Dip, who's real name had been forgotten years ago, was a no good drunk who I dated for a few years. Actually, he was my sometimes boyfriend back then, and he wasn't very good at it. He did own a motorcycle though, that I was allowed to take the first ride of the year on, every May 8th. That was a bonus, but he worked a lot. Unfortunately, he had dropped out of school a few months before graduation, and started to drink real bad. Last I heard, he hadn't gotten a degree, or gotten sober. I wasn't pleased about it.

Anyway, the house was horrible. The wood floorings were cheaply done, the insulation was crappie, and I could tell by just looking at the wiring still sticking out of things, that this was not good.

I tested out the water, just to see if it would work, and a disgusting, gelatinous red and green goop splattered into the sink. Nothing else would come out, but I could hear the air moaning through the pipes. Groaning, I made my way to the bedroom, which had no door. It was alright in that room, with pristine white carpet, and white walls. The bathroom was okay too. Gold and white tile. At least they'd gotten that part right. I sighed as I looked around my surroundings, and went to haul stuff in from my car.

I got more then I bargained for, because when I went to open my front door, it opened on it's own, in my face. I stumbled back, my hands going up to my nose, feeling the tell-tale wet stickiness already pooling in my hands that my nose was bleeding. "Ow God dammit." I ran to the kitchen to grab some of the paper towel I'd spied there earlier. I heard my name echo through the house and froze. The bellowing got closer, and I turned to look out the window over the sink. The voice was now in the doorway. "Thank God you're here Nat. I thought you'd gone and died on me." Though deepened with age and time, I still recognized the gravely voice. Turning slowly, I plastered a sugar sweet smile on my face under the hand holding the paper towel to my still bleeding nose.

"Hi Dip, how's it going?" His face registered deep surprise, and I myself was surprised. The boy I had dated in high school had filled out into an amazingly built man. His hair was still wavy and his eyes the same clear green color they'd been back then, but that was as far as the similarities went.

He took a step closer. "Jesus Christ Nat. What happened to you?", he asked as he raised a hand to my face. I was glad to see his distress.

"You plopped the door open in my face. You know, this has to be a habit in this town." He smiled in puzzlement, and crossed the few feet to the sink my butt was leaning on.

"What do you mean?" He removed the paper towel for a second. The nose bleed had appeared to stop, but when he wiggled it to see if it was broken, it started right up again. "Sorry, here ya go." He reached over to the roll sitting next to me on the counter.

"I gave John Beibe a nose bleed this morning doing the same thing." I whispered, waiting for a reaction. John was the reason Dip had dropped out of school. The reaction wasn't as bad as I had thought. He paused, mid tear, for a half of a second, then finished and handed me the towel. I put it back up to my nose, and he leaned against the counter, next to me.

"Good for you." He smiled, well aware of what had happened between John and myself. He smiled then, looking around. "So, what do you think about your new home? It's been a bitch to restore, but I figured I'd start with the bedroom and work my way forward."

I nodded, then stopped. "Restored?" His head bobbed in affirmation. My jaw dropped. "Are you telling me that this house wasn't one of the new houses built during the expansion act back in '99?"

He shook his head, crossing his arms, a habit when he was confused. "No, why would you say that?"

I snorted and ran my hands through my hair. "That's what the Realtor told me when I talked to her about it." He frowned and muttered a small word, which I missed, and chose to ignore. "Oh well. You've done a real nice job on the back bedroom. The bathroom is simply gorgeous. Just what I wanted."

He smiled. "I built it with you in mind." I blushed to my roots. "Sorry, didn't mean to embarrass you." I shook my head and he grinned at me. I suddenly realized how much I missed that smile.

"God, Dip, you have no idea how hard it was to come back here." I gave him a sorrowful look."

"It's Drew, Nat. No one calls me Dip anymore."

I looked at him. "Your name is Drew and you let people call you Dip?" I started to chuckle, but stopped when pain momentarily flashed across his face. "Sorry, Di-Drew. I didn't mean to make you sad, mad, or whatever adjective I just saw." This cheered him up.

"S'okay. I'm cool with it now. My dad used to call me Dip shit, that's why cause in Kindergarten, that's what I told the teacher my name was. I can laugh about it now, because it really is funny." He gave me another one of his heart stopping smiles, and I returned it.

I pulled the paper out of my nose, glad I wasn't going to bleed to death after all. I threw it on the counter. "Well, if you're going to give me a bloody nose, the least you can do is help me with my stuff. Haul it in from the car. I want to have my dresser set up by the time the movers get here with my bed and furniture."

It was almost six by the time we were done with all of my clothing and boxes I'd been able to pile into my small, but modest Neon. We stopped just as the bells in the Church about a mile out of town started to ring. I sighed and leaned on a box that had become a makeshift table for other boxes. "Well, thanks for all your help."

Drew smiled at me from the doorway, where he was leaning. "What are you doing about dinner and board for the evening?"

I shrugged, and sighed again, this time it sounded so pitiful that I got mad at myself for not being happy about starting a new life, after the messed up one I had left behind. "I'm gonna see about my office, and then I'm going to talk to Cynthia. Hopefully, she can put me up for a few nights until my stuff gets here from NYC." He nodded, and pushed off the frame with his shoulder.

"Well, I should be running along. Stuff to do, people to see. You know."

"Yeah. Well, thanks for all the help! It was much appreciated. We got a lot done." He smiled and nodded, moving towards the door to leave. "Wait." He turned around and I pouted. "Don't I get a hug?" I smiled. Human comfort was one of my biggest forms of communication, and I held on tightly to Drew, taking him all in. He had sprouted over the last ten years, at least 6'2" now, as opposed to his 5'6" he kept through his entire high school career. His body had also defiantly filled out, and I was happy for him. I was a little bit of something else also, but I didn't want to think about it. We broke it off and I walked him to his car. "I'll call you later, alright?" He winked and took off. I got into my own car and headed to Bailey's office.