Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie by Mae Ronan Page A

so fell a moment later onto all fours, and took the bag up in her mouth. She started, then, towards the tree-line, which she intended to follow as near as she could to the fork at Junction Road. From there, she would slip through the shadows to the underbrush at the West-hand of the road – and run it all the way to Wiley’s Diner.
     
    ~
     
    She knew not entirely what she was doing; for, as mentioned, her design was as of yet unfinished, and had not been clear to begin with. So she only went on with what she had come to decide fully upon, and ran with the light of the moon upon the grass, to her left; and the shadows of the darkness through the trees, to her right. She came quickly to the three-way junction, and dashed to her place on the appropriate side of the road, so as to continue on the remainder of her journey unseen.
    Quick as she was, the entire distance was completed in a shorter space of time than it would have done, were she to be driving that unreliable, unresponsive, disrespectful heap of metal, which suffered her further not even to be painted in a singular colour. There was a warm and pleasant wind created by her prodigious speed, which whipped all round her ears. She felt a portion of her despondency begin to drift away, upon that gracious wind; and so was in much improved spirits, as she darted into the open field which would open up behind the diner, and thence leave her a clear pathway to her objective. Full of shadows, most thankfully, was this field, and she delved into perhaps the deepest part of them, some half a mile from the diner itself, to change her shape, and dress herself carefully. Her bag, emptied of its contents and having served its full purpose (and threatening perhaps to lend her something of a conspicuous air), she threw down to the ground, to lie lonely for some indeterminate length of time.
    Taking care to ascertain that her pathway was clear of ears and eyes, so that her strange appearance from behind the building might not be noticed, she rounded the diner, and mounted the concrete walk that stretched towards the entrance. This she followed to its end, and passed through said entrance, with so very much silence and grace, that she sincerely doubted her arrival to be perceived by anyone. These two elements she continued to impose upon her movements, as she took a seat at the end of the full counter. Her own stool, at the counter’s extreme right-end, was the last to be had; for all the others were full of both truck drivers and gloomy-looking men (the latter of which could be said to constitute the greater part of the former category, and indeed not even to be a group within itself), the rigs and vehicles of which occupied the sand-filled lot at the left-hand of the diner. Some drank coffee, and feasted upon suppers consisting solely of breakfast foods; the sort of suppers of which some people tend to be so fond. Some drank bottles of pop, and scarfed down in rather an animal-like fashion plates full of hamburgers and French fries. Some, however, had nothing but a small cluster of shot-glasses before them, emptied of whatever strong liquor seemed to be hid there beneath the counter, specifically for their own benefit.
    Nessa sat in rather a hunched fashion, beside a very large man in a red cap, who was occupied with a specimen of the aforementioned, thoroughly American meal of dead-cow-over-round-bread. On her opposite hand, atop the counter, sat a large glass box filled with doughnuts and pies, which hid her quite as effectually as did the red-capped fellow. Positioned advantageously as she was, she glanced furtively about the diner, searching for a sight of her objective. There, she saw the blue-haired waitress. There, she saw the waitress from whose mouth flew angry woodpeckers. The mousy-haired waitress was not to be seen; and Nessa took this to mean, that perhaps what she wished to see, was not there to be seen, either.
    A front of heavy disappointment was just beginning to