Letting Go

Part 3

If this had happened to anyone else, she might have snickered, and thought it a horrible prank, but fate always had a way of playing not so nice games with her. Sure, she'd been having dreams like the one from last night since the accident -the accident that changed her from the demure, conservative woman to a more liberal persuasion. Maybe surviving a fall off of a high cliff can do that, she pondered, but then seeing the man before her, his name escaped her recollection.

He looked like all the others. If she had a type – he was it. Tall, athletic and with muscles that seemed to be carved out of marble. His arms made her believe that he could uphold her curvy frame and his devilish smile made her almost believe that whatever had happened between them was something she wanted to have happen again.

"Are you trying to sneak out, Ginger?" he asked. The towel wrapped around his waist was barely knotted, and his movements of towel drying his coal locks made her almost salivate. Almost.

This was new to her, at least the idea of getting caught sneaking out of her own apartment, and then not remembering anything about the guy -not even his name. Maybe it hadn't been important last night. Damn. It sure was now.

"Uh, no. I just ...had... to head to the store to get some toilet paper. Everyone needs toilet paper right? I mean what is a day without toilet paper being used in it." Yes, the idea of feces was always a way to get out of making a fool of oneself, Ginger berated herself. Instead of giving her that look – the look that means I see through your bull crap and I wanted to crawl out of the window too, he reached out and pushed back a lock of her hair behind her ear. The smallest of gestures that made her question even more -who is this guy.

"You were pretty much out of it last night, and Shelby told me you wouldn't be too much for remembering anything. I'm Francesco, but you can call me Frank." He held out his hand as if he expected her to shake it, which she believed to be preposterous He'd already seen and explored the Grand Canyon, the last thing she was going to do was make herself feel any cheaper by shaking his offered hand.

Instead, she cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, and watched as his hand slowly fell back to his side. Why don't you go get washed up and then we can take care of the problem we have.

Problem, Ginger wondered. Turning the knob on the faucet, she allowed the cool water to run over her cupped hands. Looking up from the mirror, she then saw a smudge of red on her white shower curtain. Grabbing a towel, she dried her hands and then ripped back the curtain.

There she discovered the body of woman lying on a bed of red colored ice.

When Frank had referred to a problem, she'd easily cast it off, compartmentalizing it. There was always a problem. It was a part of life, she assumed, especially since he'd uttered it so casually. She was expecting more of a molehill than the mountain.

Until now.

What had she done?