It's fate that they found each other. Indigos are naturally drawn to one another through the threads of destiny. And for Hemlock Godfree, that's exactly what he is... an Indigo. Even if he doesn't know it yet. As a part time ghost hunter and full ti...
Only in Wyoming would it be frosty in the morning, a heat wave in the afternoon, and then rain at night, he thought, ducking under the cover of a closed Western attire store's doorway. Shaking his head from side to side, the water droplets from his hair landed on the nape of his neck and dripped from his cold nose. His breath huffed through the air in little clouds. Biting his lip, he tugged on the edge of his dark gray shirt, trying to dry his hands. Hemlock's black jeans were slightly bagged from the rain. Peering around the block, he wondered how many people were caught in this mid-night rain. Images of the evening flurried back into his mind and he felt his face redden in the cold. I just wanted to try dating again.... He shook his head once more, trying to erase the embarrassing thoughts of the evening, as well as releasing a new wave of water droplets that were turning his tips to icicles. He rummaged through his coat pockets for his wool beanie but came up empty handed. The sidewalk looked like a mirror of the sky; a quivering pool of reflections as rain constantly hit it. The arid, crisp smells of Half Moon filled his nostrils; crushed sagebrush, diesel smoke, wood burning fireplaces, and autumnal wet aspen leaves.
He had seen things tonight. Again. And it had gotten worse. He was what Angrim, his older brother, would call a bad "Sixth Sense" remake. Lifting the collar of his hoodless coat, he ran out into the rain again, taking large strides in the direction of his apartment. The sound of huge droplets hitting the hard nylon of his coat's outer shell gave him a slight sense of ease, at least. It was relaxing to hear the sound of rain upon his clothes, the old brick street, and the gushes of water spewing from the gutters. He slowed his jog to a brisk walk, trying to unwind and enjoy the empty street around him. Downtown Half Moon was basically a tourist draw, except for the few dive bars and tacky gift shops scattered around its lonely blocks. It was filled with bougie coffee shops, steak houses, gun stores, and the rest were shops featuring Western attire and cowboy "authenticity" that made Hemlock want to gag. Even though he could feel the uncomfortable friction of wet clothing against his skin, he continued to take in the cloudy ginger sky as he walked. The rain was getting colder by the minute and the electricity in the atmosphere gave him shivers. The distant thunder, flashes of lightning, and flurries of snow that came rolling down the mountain tops told him that the storm would only worsen as the night went on.
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He climbed the steps of his apartment building, which at one point had been a hotel in the 1800s. He quickly fumbled in his wet pockets for his keys, making sure he hadn't misplaced them somehow. Pushing against the heavy wooden and steel door, he entered the quiet lobby of the apartment building. Hemlock shook his head; sending water everywhere and lept towards the tiny wooden stairwell towards the 5th floor. The fluorescent light at the top of the staircase flickered, hungry for a new bulb, sending shadows that looked like splintered fingers down towards the lobby. He felt, with each ascent, his knees starting to slow, as if his instincts were resisting him from reaching the top. My anxiety is bad tonight... I need sleep. When he got to the 3rd flight of stairs, he rested one hand against the wall and rubbed his neck with the other, trying to get his tense muscles to relax. All he wanted was a boiling hot shower, some dry clean clothes, and his bed.
