I wake up slowly, taking a refreshing breath and letting it back out, while my brain processes through the events of yesterday. I remember the strange town, the odd people, the nice old lady, the Inn, but I have a strange feeling that I am forgetting something, like when you know you need to do something, but you can't figure out what it is.

   My stomach gurgles, and I vaguely remember Rosemarie telling me about breakfast in the kitchen. I decide I'm hungry, so I pull myself out of bed and stumble toward the bathroom. I turn on the shower and step in after I strip my clothes off. The hot water instantly calms me as it runs down my back, through my hair, and leaves little droplets on my pale skin. I still have that feeling, but I can't place my finger on what I'm forgetting.

   I pour the little bottle of hotel shampoo into my palm and slather it in my tangled hair. The suds run down my shoulders  and coats my body in bubbles. I haven't had a shower in a while, so this feels AMAZING. I mean, I cleaned up with the baby whips and wet paper towels in public restrooms, but I wasn't able to use hot water.

   I condition the ends of my hair and lather my body with lavender scented body wash. After rinsing off, I turn the knob to the cold side, which turns the shower off. Grabbing a towel and drying off, I step out and head back to the room to get dressed. My bag sits on the floor, which has all my clothes and painting stuff in it, and I notice the small, childlike pink backpack next to it.

   That's it! That's what I was forgetting! I need to bring the backpack back to the little girl, but I have no idea how I'm going to do that. After all, I don't have a car, and the address reads county road something-or-other, which I'm guessing is out there a ways.

    I peak out the little window by the bed to see what the weather is like today. The snow has lightened up, so I might be able to make it out. I decide to make my decision after breakfast, since I tend to make unwise choices when I'm hungry, but first I need to get dressed. Unzipping my slightly damp bag, I dump the contents of it onto the floor.

   In the pile there are two pairs of paint splattered jeans-including the ones I wore yesterday, a couple of different shirts, underwear, two bras, a bag that contains deodorant and a toothbrush, a comb, extra socks, my favorite book, a good quality paintbrush, some paints, and my art notebook. My jacket, that and gloves lay on top of the pile, still wet from the snow storm yesterday. I don't own any make up, partly because I'm saving my money for the important stuff, but partly because I don't really need makeup. I believe that there's more important things in life than trying to look pretty, plus lots of make up makes you look plastic. Real beauty comes from the inside, where your soul sits.

   I put on underwear and a bra, then pull a white sweater over my head. I slip into my jeans while stuffing everything back into my bag. I have a feeling that I am going to be here for a long time, and therefore I should unpack, but I don't feel comfortable doing that. I don't like staying in one place to long because it makes me feel nervous. I spend my days preparing for the thing that will make me leave, and when it comes... I run, fast. I'm just not strong enough to face it, whatever it may be, and I don't have anybody to help me through the rough times. I wish my father could be there, but he is obviously to wrapped up in himself to give carp about me. I love him, I really do, but it's time to move on from his train wreck of a life because he doesn't have the heart capacity to love me back. A tear slips out of my eye, suddenly. I furiously wipe it away, angry at myself for being such a baby.

     God, Danielle! Get a freaking grip! I say to myself in disgust. I move on to brushing my hair.

     After a long fight with my hair, the black locks are finally tamed and dry enough to be covered in a warm hat. My stomach rumbles, frustrated at me for taking so long, so I through open the door, ready to face the day. The smell of bacon reaches my nose through the hallway, and I'm already halfway down the hall when I realize that I forgot my jacket. I reluctantly turn back to grab my coat, deciding that I need to get out anyway, whether I bring the backpack back to the little girl or not, so I grab it and sling over my shoulder as I run out of the door.

    The kitchen isn't actually a kitchen, rather a gathering place. There are a couple of tables, a portable microwave, a mini fridge, and a salad bar that has been converted into a breakfast bar. The bacon is on the breakfast bar, but there's a line, although it isn't very big. The Misty Woods Inn doesn't have many customers. Somehow, I don't take that as a bad sign.

    I spot Rosemarie talking to an older guy, about forty, and I rush over to her. It's now or never... I wait until she finishes her conversation.

   "Um... I was wondering if I could borrow you car? Well, if you have a car... because I want to return this backpack to Abigail, the little girl. The address is given, and-" I pause for a breath realizing how stupid I sound.

   "Of course, honey. Where will you be driving to? I don't want it to be too far out. You never know what could happen in this weather," she smiles at me, and I smile back, reading her the address. Her skin pales when I tell her, but she doesn't say anything back.

    "What's wrong?"

    "Nothing, sweetheart. Just be careful, okay?" She hands me her keys.

    "Yeah, okay," I say over my shoulder, picking up a piece of bacon," I will."

     I walk out the door, wondering what had made Rosemarie so anxious.