When No One Believes

Frags

Really Really Experienced
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Apr 1, 2010
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Markus Grant
Age 42
6'1 brown eyes


Nearly a year passed after the death of Markus’ wife before his request for transfer had finally gone through. The overriding power to get out of the city, to get away, overwhelmed him. It meant uprooting his life and his daughter’s life from what they had known in the city for nearly two decades, leaving everything for the country. Even after a year it was hard for him to deal with the death of his wife. Markus had everything set up for the transfer and move. Their furniture, their lives, everything was going into this new two story home in the middle of nowhere. It was a good place to be a cop. There weren’t as many major crimes and the settled down life would finally give him a chance to bond with his daughter. At least he hoped, hell knows the seven hour car ride didn’t do it.

When he turned into the drive he heard the gravel road pop and cackle under the wheels of his tires until he pulled to a stop near the front steps, killing the engine. Putting the car in park he stepped out, walking toward the trunk where a few boxes were stashed. The moving company had come earlier and brought everything in but their personal valuable items Markus brought himself. Unlocking the trunk he let it rise, placing a box under his arm as he walked around the car. A momentary glance was given to his daughter in the passenger seat as he took the stairs. He didn’t know if she was going to help or not; he wasn’t going to ask and he wasn’t going to wait.

Shuffling through his keys until he found the right one he inserted it into the lock of the door, opening it. Leaving the keys in the lock he stepped inside, looking at the wide open berth of the room. A fireplace was at the wall and his familiar furniture of couches and chairs were placed haphazardly around the room. Markus would have to organize those later. But what stood out to him was an organ sitting kitty-corner. He’d been here twice before, asking the realtor about it. The realtor told him it came with the house. Markus figured he could either sell it or at least leave it for decoration while he got the house in order.

Even with the furniture and the boxes stacked in room to room the house still looked big. But these days housing prices were prime and this was very affordable. Probably because it was in the middle of nowhere. Probably because it was a depressed town and the previous owners wanted to flee from poverty. It didn’t matter to Markus, their loss was his and his daughter’s gain. In his eyes, there was no downside.

Setting the box he was carrying on a couch he took one look around the place, letting it sink in that this was now his new home. This was their new home. The only hope he had, other than getting over the past, was that his daughter would be able to adapt. Here was this town and there was little to do. Markus was sure they’d both pay the price for living in the city for all those years.

As he sat on a nearby chair he looked over the room in front of him. It was a large living room, adjoined by a kitchen, a study, a bathroom and a few other rooms. Upstairs were a pair of bedrooms, a bathroom and a few others he didn’t know what to do with. Then he looked toward the door as a breeze came bursting through. There were a few more boxes to get out of the car so he pushed himself up, removing the keys from the door as he passed. Putting them into his pocket he retrieved two more boxes from the trunk before slamming it shut. He’d grab the rest later. With full arms he returned to the stairs, climbing up them and through the door. Setting them off to the side of the entrance he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The weather was getting warmer.

Walking through the livingroom and into the kitchen he opened the refrigerator door to find only a few things in there. They’d have to go shopping tomorrow. Tonight it’d be whatever delivered around here. Markus settled on a coke, taking it out of the refrigerator and closing its cool door. Opening it he took his first drink after nearly two hundred miles. At that moment he doubted anything could feel better.
 
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Sierra Grant
Age 23
5'8"
34DD-25-35

Her dad had been unusually quiet for the entire trip, with Sierra only recalling hearing his voice to wake her up on two occasions, and three other times when he asked what she would like to eat. Apart from that, he was, quite literally, deathly quiet.

But then again, nothing really felt usual again ever since her mother passed away.

.....

Sierra was quite surprised at how quickly she took to the house. She was someone who needed a lot of space, so perhaps it was the expansive nature of the house that appealed to her. But what really drew her in, was the quaint-looking fireplace, and this seemingly soothing emotion that seemed to fill her up when she looked at the organ. It was as if she had known it all her life, even though it was the very first time in her life she was seeing it.

Sierra began unpacking, still with minimal exchanges with her father. The last she saw of him was his lonely figure heading towards the kitchen. So much had changed since mother's death. Sierra felt like she hadn't even laughed for a year, and had to quickly suppress the emotions that began to well up. And so, she turned to what cheered her up - trying on of clothes.

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Sierra pulled on one of her favourite red dresses, enjoying the way it hugged her figure tightly as she walked towards the mirror. One of the parquet planks creaked under her feet, reminding her of the fact that the house was old and possibly falling apart. But nonetheless, the charm of this abode still overrode everything else.
 
Markus stepped into the kitchen, toward the refrigerator. Opening it, he took out a beer. Peeling away at the cap he tossed it onto the counter as he looked out the window, toward the wide open space that he’d just drove on. A long drink followed, quenching the thirst he’d acquired from his long drive. He felt he deserved a break, if not a long one. With a sigh he returned his gaze toward the kitchen. There was so much work to be done and he was on his own to do it. With little hesitation he polished off the bottle, setting it on the counter as he reached for another. Work was always easier, if not more dangerous, after a few drinks.

Setting his sweating, new bottle on the counter he began to inspect the house more closely now that it was his, now that it was theirs. His daughter, Sierra, almost didn’t register. They’d both been in their own worlds and so long it was unimaginable that they’d collide, but in this do-nothing town, it was bound to happen. Especially in this house...

With a sigh he took one walkthrough, traveling up the stairs before heading down again. It seemed in decent condition. At least it was liveable, he thought to himself as he picked up his bottle again. Resuming his walk he nearly stumbled across his daughter. All he could manage was to grumble a, “I’m sorry, Sierra.”
 
Sierra shook her head. After mum's death, her father began to withdraw into his shell in a way that she had never expected. Of course, she knew how much her parents loved one another, but it'd hurt to know that he almost treated as if it was the end of his world, and that she didn't really exist. Or that she didn't matter anyway. If anything, her father formed a closer bond to the beer bottles over the months than any other living person or creature.

Sierra went to the shelf next to the main door, and picked up a few old flyers. Chinese, Fish and Chips, Burgers. The usual. She randomly picked out one that looked half decent, and dialled the number. The ringing went on for close to a minute, and Sierra was about to hang up when she heard some cackling, and then a droning voice on the other side of the line. The voice sounded like she was in her 40s, and she was a little snappy. Sierra tried to order a pizza, but the lady quickly dismissed her, and told Sierra there was only one thing left on the menu. Sierra couldn't be bothered either, and just agreed to it, not even sure what it was she had ordered.

Sierra put the phone down gently, and turned. Her father was now seated facing the fireplace, with his feet up.
 
As he bypassed his daughter he decided to rest for a while. Unpacking could wait until the morning, or at the rate he planned on drinking, late evening. Markus felt he deserved at least that after the long ride in a near-silent car. From the other room he heard his daughter dialing the phone, ordering food for the night. He wasn’t in the mood and while he was sure he’d be hungry after something solid entered his stomach, he wasn’t interested.

His eyes set on the fireplace. There wasn’t anything in it, not even charred remains from the last owners but it was something to look at. He wasn’t up for walking around the house like a zombie and staring out the windows into complete darkness failed to appeal to him. Instead he concentrated on each stone and tool as he took another drink. It was no way to solve the problems he had but it was a great way to try and hide them.

When he heard Sierra’s phone call end, he turned his head a little in the chair so he could see her. With a sigh he spoke up, “Why don’t you come in here and we’ll try to get to know one another until the food comes.” Nor was he much interested in talking but he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Anything was worth listening to even if it was forced conversation with his daughter.
 
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