June returned to her seat by the massive wall of windows, now stained with night and the mustard glow of the streetlight beyond. Unzipping her backpack, she neatly tucked the shirt and flower beside her book. 

"Check out the clock," August commented, sinking into the bucket seat beside her and crossing his ankle over his knee.

The second hand was spinning now, ticking over the numbers. It was already 5:30 PM. Despite the fact that the world was waking up again from it's enchanted sleep, the air was still unbearably stuffy in the depot. The warmth of the day had yet to cool in the oven like space. June leaned back in her seat.

"Hopefully the depot guy will be back soon. So we can light into him for how late our bus is," she groused, stifling a yawn.

"If you weren't with me, I'd risk hitchhiking. I do it all the time."

She swatted his knee and gave him an incredulous frown. "That's not smart, August Kamenski."

"You sound like my mom."

"And she's right."

August gave a Devil-may-care laugh and draped his arm around the back of her chair, pulling her close. "Okay fine. I wasn't going to anyway tonight. If I was alone, maybe. But I like hanging out with you, June Wilde."

June yawned again, not catching it in time. Her eyelids were getting heavy. She leaned her head against the crook of his shoulder.

"What is it about this stupid place? It's like that cursed castle in Sleeping Beauty where everyone falls asleep, except it's a beat up, bus depot."

August tugged a hand around the slope of her shoulder and pressed his chin against her hairline. "Take a nap then. I'm wide awake. I'll let you know when our bus gets here."

"Okay. Thanks."

He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head as she closed her eyes and fell asleep with her ear pressed to his chest, his heart beat reverberating through her foggy conscious.

June startled awake at the sound of exhaust brakes screeching from an eighteen wheeler rolling down Main Street behind her. She was cold and stiff, her neck screaming with a pinched nerve after sleeping in an odd position.

And she was alone.

Bleary eyed, she scanned the space around her. August was gone. So was his black duffel bag. Rubbing her eyes, she blinked across the empty room towards the clock. It now read 6:00 PM. She'd only dozed off for a half an hour. The radio was playing a new song from Lady Gaga over the intercom.

Did he leave without saying goodbye? Maybe he was in the bathroom. But why would he take his bag with him? 

June rose to her feet, rubbing the crown of her spine. At least the bus employee was back behind his counter. His beat up chucks were propped up on the shelf in front of him as he flipped through a video game magazine. He loudly slurped his Coke as she approached. She cleared her throat and he glanced up lazily.

"Excuse me, but where is the 4PM for State University? It's two hours late."

"Yeah, I know it. Sorry about the inconvenience," he said, putting his feet on the ground and closing his magazine. "It's always late. It should be here soon though."

June bit her bottom lip, her forehead furrowing. "Okay..." She took a step back, but then paused. "Hey, there was a guy waiting out here with me a minute ago. We are both taking that bus. I wouldn't want him to miss it."

"I didn't see a guy when I left. I was only in the bathroom for five minutes. When I got back, it was still just you out here, half-asleep over there."

"... there was no one?"

The guy gave her an incredulous smirk, then nosily sipped his soda again. "Yup. Just you. The whole afternoon."

"Th-thank you." 

Numb with confusion, June made it back to her seat. With trembling hands, she opened her backpack. They were still there. She pulled the concert tee and the flower onto her lap. But something was off. 

The cotton t-shirt was yellowed and soft with age, the logo much more faded than before. Then there was the paper flower. As she lifted it, the petals fell apart. The tissue was crinkled and brittle, like it had been made thirty years earlier.

"What..." June breathed, her pulse picking up. Inexplicably, tears sprang to her eyes.

She looked back at his empty seat. A newspaper lay where August had been only a half hour earlier. Swallowing hard past the knot in her throat, she picked it up. Her stomach dropped at the headline.

BODY OF MISSING TEEN FOUND AFTER TEN YEAR SEARCH

June gasped a sob as she smoothed her fingers over his crooked grin gracing the photo beneath, blonde curls smothered under a red, backwards cap. Scar at his temple on display. It was a school photo. He was wearing the t-shirt in her lap.

The body of eighteen year old Mr. August Kamenski of Franklin Township was found in a remote area after he was reported missing ten years ago. His remains were discovered purposefully buried under rubble in an abandoned quarry. It is believed he was murdered, though police have no suspects as of now. Mr. Kamenski was last seen at Willaby Bus Depot around 5:30 PM on the night of September 9th, 1999. It is believed that he tried to hitchhike after his bus proved late. No belongings were found on the body except..."

June rocked in her seat, the delicate paper petals whispering to the floor. What was happening? He was just there with his arm around her. She could almost feel the warmth of his body, his breath teasing the messy strands of her hair. With an agitated jerk, she turned towards the diner behind her. It was lit up and waitresses with trays moved past the windows. An elderly couple tottered from the front ramp and held hands as they meandered up Main Street in the early evening.

With an audible moan of bewilderment, June flipped the page of the paper.

(cont from page 1) ...for a roll of undeveloped film. The pictures were believed to have been taken that day. They are mostly comprised of the same young woman pictured below. If you have any information pertaining to the young woman's identity, please contact..."  

June looked down at herself on the black and white page. Her eyes were dilated in surprise, lips parted, flower in her hair. The movie theater lights glowed behind her in the suspended half-light of that odd, little town. August had been right. It was a good picture.

The intercom crackled on, cutting short the tired single from Maroon 5. 

"Ladies and gentlemen. The 6 o'clock for State Univesity is now ready for passengers at Dock 1. Safe travels and thank you for riding with Greyhound Trailways," the bored employee droned into the microphone, even though June was the only one in the depot.