bachmanhq-blog

[bachmanhq-blog]

The entire day seemed weighted down by the inevitable event which now had him sitting at a small kitchen island. It was hard not to recall the previous moments they shared here: nose deep in calculus or AP chemistry. Attempting to tuck his long legs underneath he wrapped his knee on the corner and did his best to act like it didn’t happen. Just like old times. Accustomed to being placed in stressful triggering situations he’d say this would have to rank somewhere up there. A session that may very well tear at an old wound which he just assumed to leave the calloused scar be. With that being said with each moment they spent together since she’d returned felt as if they were on waited time.  

Leave it to Alyssa to not dally, but dive into the heart of the matter. It was evident by her mannerisms she struggled in this as well. Naturally, he was a bit taken aback by her words and thought this conversation was going to take a very different course. Softly tapping the tips of his fingers on the counter he’d been expecting to apologize, but instead saw she was in a place of regret over her own actions, and finally for the right reasons. Treading gently he chose his next words carefully not wanting to fracture gentle truths. “I wish you had, but I wish a lot of things had gone down differently.” It was difficult, but he finally managed to lift his gaze to catch her amber hued eyes. “I wish one of us would’ve had the ability to pull back before we demolished our friendship.” Dropping his eyes momentarily again to the surface of the island before he added to the list regrets. “Wished I had known it was your first time,“ this had long been a point of contention within himself because he knew things would’ve gone very differently if he’d been privy. 

Tracing her silhouette up until he gazed into her soft eyes again he dug deep liberating the next words from the dark recesses where it slumbered. “I think the hardest part was to see the regret on your face every time we passed in the hall, or the denials when I attempted to approach. My feelings for you were very complicated back then, and to know you considered me a mistake tore at me. I didn’t know how to fix that. I’m not even sure I can fix it now.”  

     NO LONGER WAS the tea burning her. Instead, her fingers have gotten numb from the truth that thickened the atmosphere between the pair. His translucent vulnerability froze every nerve in her body, and Alyssa Bachman was caught in a moment of time with no seconds ticking to encourage movement. She wanted this, though. She wanted to talk about what happened long ago; therefore, she should have been mentally and physically prepared for the interaction and honesty. The truth was not only to be eaten from her palm, but, instead, it had to be served alongside him. She was not the only individual present in the past; he was there. He was gonna have his share of the situation, and, for some reason, Alyssa was not prepared to hear Ryan tell his part of what happened---to hear his feelings. 

     Setting the fragile mug down, her posture straightened in stance, and she nibbled her lesser lip in thought. If only one of them in the room could have withdrew from the situation thirty years ago, they would not have to have this conversation. But, it is often demonstrated that the adolescents cannot ignore the animalistic drives of biology, and that is what happened. Alyssa had a plan, though. She was going to save herself until she was married. Her Catholic mother preached the idea and lifestyle from a young age, and she had every intention to follow through until she was happily married. When she lost her virginity at only eighteen with Ryan, she overreacted. She got scared. She got nervous. She got depressed. Her purity to the promise was out of her plan, and she was doubting what else she would ruin just like that.

     But, it’s important to note that Ryan was not the mistake. She recalls being very fond of the younger blond, for he was always very kind to her, and they shared great memories. Driving around town listening to the classics while laughing at some silly joke, eating greasy foods late at night when studying kept them up, and sharing inside jokes that they could whisper during class. To say she did not have a slight crush on the guy would be lie---after all, she wouldn’t just sleep with a person with no intention. The mistake was that she even caved; that she slept with someone without the ring and approval of God above. 

     “You weren’t the mistake, Ryan.” She spoke quietly, her voice shaking, for the emotional brunette was already resting on a weak spot. “I should have never made you think that was the case because it’s far from the truth. If I had to lose my virginity to anyone so soon, I’m glad it was with you.” She had to chuckle at that, as it was an awkward thing to even think about. “I was scared. I had this whole plan since I was just a little girl. I was going to be the president---that was the plan. I was going to be valedictorian, move to New York, get married, have kids, and I was going to conquer the American Dream. I only accomplished two of those things. I had to learn later on that the plan was a disaster to begin with, but eighteen year old me did not want to think that. The plan was everything.” Taking a deep breath, Alyssa had her chocolate hues on Ryan ahead, completely trained on him, “But you were not the mistake, and I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

[bachmanhq-blog]

     LAST NIGHT HAD been one of the best in recent history. Not only did he get to wrap himself close to Alyssa after months of separation, but he also got to spend quality time with friends, such as Winnie. Last he saw of his cousin was when Jackson purchased a ticket to New York City for the holidays in order to spend a Christmas in the Big Apple like many superficial do throughout the Internet. He was able to get out of Pickaway Creek for a month, and he was able to hook-up with high class northerners who had more class in one hand than half the girls available in his hometown. Seeing Alyssa in their small town was odd, to say the least, for he was already adjusted to her new image, but it was nice to have her around for however long and to introduce her to friends in his adult life. 

     It was around eight o’clock when the pair---Jackson and Winnie---returned from the barbecue to their apartment building. He made sure to take his time with each step, for he did not want to send the blonde in into a household where he knew the dynamics were toxic. There was no way Eric, the said beloved boyfriend, is someone as all-star most of the townsfolk would like to believe. Jackson simply does not have a good feeling about him. 

     Fiddling a pin against the top of the table, he hums a song beneath his breath as he read over documents sent by the bureau above them. Recently, the team had to analyze teeth that law enforcement sent them, and now the Digital Evidence Forensics team are looking into computers and cellular devices of suspects that are often found in the forest of the town. It was a long day, and when he caught sight of a familiar blonde walking into the building from the available window looking out, he sighed in relief that she was even yet living. 

     “You are not bothering me,” he shakes his head, spinning his chair around to face the doe-eyed female, “I was just reading boring papers.” Standing up, his tall physique towering over, he offers his gentle smile to eliminate any ounce of fear that often accompanies his height. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Closed Starter: @bachmanhq

Last night had been one of the worst in recent history; before she even had time to set her purse down Eric had come rushing out of the living room. What ensued for the next hour was a sad attempt to defend herself both verbally and eventually physically. There was just no way to leave when they were in the thick of things. Any attempt would’ve only escalated things. It wasn’t until she woke up with him apparently riddled with apologies and easy solutions did she realize something had to change. Granted the accusations were exaggerated there was a small kernel of truth underneath it all: Winter was definitely too attached to Jackson.    

It was with much regret that she left the clinic that night in hopes of catching him at work because it had been made very clear that Eric finding out she’d seen him again would not end well. Walking in she did some chitchatting with Fran about the exquisiteness of bishon frise before she was escorted back to the lab. She pulled at the sleeves of her sweater which she wore over her scrub top: a bit untimely given summer seemed to come early. Instinctually, still beaming at the sight of him it no away negated her tear-swollen eyes. Letting a deeply rooted sigh out before she started, “Heya, sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk?”

[bachmanhq-blog]

CLOSED || @det-lindholm

      LEANING FORWARD, her elbows against the island across the center, Alyssa nibbled on her lesser lip as she fathomed the upcoming topic she specifically invited him over to discuss. It has been a conversation meant to be shared for many years now, but the pair pushed it aside when they decided to not remain in contact. Their friendship completely shattered due to one incident that should have, in theory, made it richer. But, the reality was that losing her virginity to Ryan Lindholm was not expected, and she ran off that night playing the following days as if she did not know who he was---like it never happened. She’s at fault for it all.

      Taking a sip of her tea, she took a deep breath before she held the courage to speak up, “I should have never just ran out that morning. We should have, I don’t know...we should have talked about it. But, I was young and scared. I was confused.” 

[bachmanhq-blog]

so this is the scarf he picked out with the assistance of ‘the ever so nice’ boutique owner.

(never mind the fact that it’s summer time. He’s such a clueless dude. It’s totes okay if she doesn’t like it). 

“as soon as it gets to fifty degrees, i will be wearing this scarf each consecutive day. it’s beautiful.” 

[bachmanhq-blog]

hello everyone! it’s cece, again, and i bring to the dash the ever so lovely jackson bachman. i apologize that this post took me a decade to post, but here i am finally from the dead, and i am ready to share my love to you all. feel free to message me through im or discord whenever for plotting.

the bachman surname was always one that sheltered a family of tradition. the rather large family had to work hard in the small town to not only prove their worth because of the color of their skin, but, as well as, their low income status. from that family, though, their prestige did not last long which disappointed the family to an extreme. one son ended up marrying a woman who belonged to a rival family (very romeo and juliet like and this is alyssa’s parents), and one daughter ended up falling off the tracks into the warmth of drugs and alcohol. 

the daughter ended up dropping out of high school at the age of sixteen, and she had jackson the same year. she is unaware of who the father is, and, till this day, jackson wonders who his father could be. alyssa once joked that, “whoever he is, he must have had beautiful eyes.” since then, jackson likes to imagine that his father did. 

TW DEATH his youth was troubled, for his mother was not reliable. the frail, young lady was always on a high, and her slurred words were taunting and daunting. jackson tried his best to help her out into better health as well with the bills, but, eventually, he got tired of having to drive her around and look around town for her limp body. too tired that some nights he would slip into alyssa’s bedroom and cry quietly as she knew very well what was wrong. this play, though, ended when he was sixteen, and his mother was found dead from an overdose in her last lover’s home. 

jackson was quickly adopted by alyssa’s parents---his uncle and aunt. having been raised on the opposite side of town in a trailer, he was in a bit of shock to be in an environment more suited for a child. his aunt and uncle cared for him greatly like their own, and alyssa was his rock. at school, many confused the pair to be twins when in fact they were just cousins. 

when alyssa went off to new york to study at an ivy league, jackson was left behind to study at a community college, for his grades were not exactly the best due to not having the interest; finding classes to be a bore, not because he wasn’t smart, because he was, indeed. 

TW ALCOHOL AND DRUGS at the age of nineteen, jackson fell off the tracks just like his mother. he desperately wanted to call alyssa during the cold nights in which he would be lost in town near a bar, but he knew better. he could not call her and ruin her chance of success. he did not want to ruin her life like he was ruining his own. he drank like a sailor and experimented with drugs, and he was involved with a group of friends who only encouraged him to fall deeper. it was not until one night when he was walking on the side of the vacant road, tipsy as one could be, when a car pulled up beside him, and it was his uncle. his uncle took him back home, and he was quick to put jackson into a sober house. he wanted the best for his nephew. jackson is nothing but grateful of his uncle. 

jackson stayed at the sober house for two years until he was sure enough to control himself around alcohol and drugs. when he got out at the age of twenty-one, he went back to school, studied hard, and he was able to study enough to go to a better graduate school in the state where he would be qualified to be a forensic scientist for the town of pickaway creek. 

jackson lives in a one room apartment with his bulldog, Baxter, and he seems to be one of the friendliest, encouraging figure you’ll ever meet. he can be very optimistic, and he is completely against the sins of drugs and alcohol. jackson, though, does have a bit of anger problems that he has been sorting with anger management classes, so that is a bit on the rocks.

well, there you have it. i do adore him, and i hope you do too! some quick plotting ideas:

maybe when he was nineteen, off the tracks, he could have done drugs with your character, partied with them?? anything along those lines.

at the same time, he could have also had a child that he may not know about? that would be angsty!

he played a sport in high school, i still don’t know which sport, but we can sort that out if you are interested?

a friend he wants to help by getting them to stop drinking. he becomes a preacher when he tries to talk to them of the bad alcohol brings. 

maybe a half-sibling because his mother did get around???

[bachmanhq-blog]

what is alyssa's bestseller about?

MAN IS POWER

THE NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLER

A bewildered crescent dwindled over the surface of the moon, pools of the forgotten stars further lost within the depth of the galaxy. In the darkness, a shadow looms over lanky positions sloped over the terrain of the unpaved roads. Anthropocentric hands print the dust of a destiny which calls for man to be the extreme leader of every facet of life. The world continues day by day to record the rich history of humankind: When have one ever paid a cent to read the daily paper for a story on a raccoon being glory? It’s always man manifesting the eminent executions shaping each passing epoch.

       Hazel hues doze onto the mahogany table centered in the enclosed room. Beige walls, a painting of a man lingering on thoughts, flowers all calling to the plastic aesthetic, and there’s a crimson fabric draping over the half-opened window. The room is one many fear. A sense of familiarity, a sense of organization, a sense of common sense; they were all notional qualifications in the theory of Silas Neumann. The room was daunting to any client who stepped over the boundary of admitting there is a wrongful digit in their series of codes. Pressing control+alt+delete was not rebooting the system, and blue screens flickered before his eye. Soon, he became tired of the loading, and he was in desperate need of an update to the software.

       A woman sits adjacent with a tinge of anomalous overlapping her coal orbs. A seven second observation was all it took for Silas to fill the pages of her story. A young, naive immigrant with feet that could paddle the ocean blue for hours where the center of the world became her home. Ocean currents tilted her petite physique into a bending figure to play with, but a smile still sailed across with the breeze. Storm currents. Lightning strikes never made her flicker, and the bursting, roaring funnels of clouds never pushed her under the pressure—squeezing her lungs into collapse. She kept swimming, unaware of the mystic brutality underneath. She was naive unlike Silas who has shaken hands with Poseidon.

       “What’s on your mind, Silas?” It was a question that traumatized the mind, for truth ventured over into a quick minute advertisement. No subliminal message went unseen. Truth: Nothing was on his mind. Curse the child for ever being preoccupied with the silly doodles of the perfect life. Curse the child for ever being polite to authoritative parents who only tugged on his polo collar. Curse the child for never listening when they told him that life is a set of expectations to oblige. Curse the child for tiring out his core, the fuel out of maximum; curse the child for falling off the tracks that he no longer had a thought to process. What would be the point?

       Averting his focus upward, a chill shuffled to take a seat beside the twenty year old. Brushing fingertips, the pale male stiffened as his coffee stained lips drenched into a flat line. His foot tapped. His mind was now racing on what to say. Any other would ask the question, and he would riddle a faulty statement, but, with the therapist, he told the truth. If he could admit to himself that he needed guidance, he might as well accept the guidance. That was logical.

       “The barista delivered me a French Vanilla Latte when I ordered a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato.”

       Little did the therapist note on her notebook that the response was more than just a filler to avoid the question provided. He did answer the question: Even the barista ignores my power.

[bachmanhq-blog]

[bachmanhq-blog]

Jackson Avery: a confused man with an apple

[bachmanhq-blog]

LOWELL WOLFF

                             T H E years had certainly been kinder to her. she looked good– happy, even. he felt a tab bitter, but the feeling dissolved almost immediately. even in the smallest ways, when they’d been kids, she’d helped him a lot more than he probably ever thanked her for. “this thing is ancient. and a death trap,” he pointed out gently, his smile catching and keeping neatly along his features, “but, i can take a look.” his tongue dragged gently along his lips in contemplation, slowly shrugging his jacket free of his shoulders. he dropped it back on the hood of his truck, fingers fast in rolling up his sleeves. most days, he dressed as he pleased for work. but he was under review, again, and he had to make sure that he was adhering to every rule, lest a small mistake drive in the final knife that would kill his career. “it’s been a while… you look good,” he offered before he leaned over the engine to take a look.

      AS MUCH AS she pleads that returning to pickaway would be never, she somehow found herself back in the small town. contrary to mainstream beliefs, though, she did not fly over in hope to rekindle her former friendships and to cuddle back with her mother on the couch. the draw to the town was a supernatural thrust that had her linger on the thought of purchasing a ticket. she dropped everything back in new york … for what? she should be happy to see her friends like wolff, but, at this moment, alyssa could only wonder why she came back. “i’ve been telling my dad that he should have another car. i understand he wants to keep this around for the value, but he should have another vehicle that he can actually use to get around town.” a chuckle rolls off her tongue as she shakes her head, only imaging her father’s reaction through the phone when she lectured him. wolff’s next comment, though, had her press her lips firmly together as she went to cross her arms over her chest. alyssa should feel bad for just leaving and never returning, but who could blame her? she has a far better life in new york where she is a published author with a group of friends and a job as an editor as well. she finally made it. “i no longer fashion the messy curls; i think that’s what changed it all for the good,” she joked, “but, thank you. you don’t look so bad yourself. life has been treating you well, i assume?”

[bachmanhq-blog]

RYAN LINDHOLM

A breeze blew across the field with a scent heavy with the lilacs fleeting bloom as the sun dipped below the western horizon. At her mention of being a police officer, he brushed some non-existent crumb midchest from his white button down shirt. Sliding so easily back into the teasing banter they shared so many years ago. In hindsight now, the night they shared was inevitable even if the fallout from it was unfortunate. It was nice to be greeted so warmly after they parted on such fragile terms.

“Come on now Bachman…do you smell the scent of a disillusioned and underpaid a city employee, or are you just keeping tabs on me?” Not wanting to mindlessly ruin another shirt he unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled it up his forearms before he went about inspecting and tugging every once and a while on a hose or a cap.He was grateful this car predates the integrated computer system because at least now he had a chance at helping.

  His hand stopped on the battery terminal and eyes lifted to catch her drop the word hero. The teasing tone his voice held a moment ago left as the moment turned more serious. “I suppose I’m long overdue for it.” Letting a pause settle between them before he asked, “Uh-what happened before she died? Light’s start going off? Did you lose power?” Bringing the back of his hand brushed some hair that danced across his forehead leaving a faint dark smudge on the skin. Shifting his eyes back to the car he asked as pulled, “What has you back in Pickaway?” He was too curious not to ask.

      A SOBER SECOND was caught unbalanced. The wind whistled across, a sweet harmony with the trees and the bees, it was nature at its finest providing setting for the two. Yet, within the core of one character, there manifested a script in which Alyssa was held accountable for the intoxicated flavor of a bitter past. The moment shared between the pair was meant to be cherished until romance was polished, but in the moment of teenagers with heat and tightened chests, she ended the night with her heart full as well as broken. It was a reaction that followed she never apologized for. Here she stands with him pretending as if the incident never occurred, when in reality, there was a fragile break between. 

“Of course I have been stalking you on social media.” She playfully commented, a delightful, honey sweet smile painted across the canvas of a woman who actually never once searched his name on the Internet. Alyssa never sat in her single room apartment, on her computer, to Google a former classmate. In the world of success miles away, she partook in a life where she forgot about her past. It was an egotistical action to call, but it was one necessary for her to succeed. To think she is back in Pickaway Creek would have had her college self laughing with the taste of a Cappuccino on her lips. “No, Lindholm. Your vehicle is a big giveaway.”

His response to her previous teasing had her nibble on her lips, her attention lowering as a flush embraced her hollow cheeks. She should be careful with her words, for every author should be, but, most importantly, when in this town, everyone had to be careful, for a haunting past lingers. Clearing her throat, she only perked her shoulders with her palms pressed on the edge of the vehicle when the discussion diverged, “There was a weird rumbling sound, and then there was a jolt that had me stop. This car should really just be put down to sleep.” Averting her chocolate hues back on him, she thought why she returned to Pickaway. Her parents never called. No one was sick. Her cousin, Jackson, did not need her, for they have seen each other no long ago. Why did she come back? “Jackson called.” She simply stated, cautiously, but no lie obvious to detect. “I couldn’t stay away from him forever.” She then brought her sweet smile, wanting to fall back to their former behaviors so desperately, “And maybe I came back to see you, my friend.” She doesn’t want them to be on fragile terms, but she knew they were.

[bachmanhq-blog]

“Stranger Things” Sentence Starter Pt 1

“You’ve been playing for ten hours?!”

“We talked about this! You can’t take shifts when I’m working!”

“I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like you have superpowers, or something.”

“Yeah, except I can’t fight evil with it.”

“It was a one-time…..two-time thing.”

“I’ll climb through your window, I’m stealthy. Like a ninja.”

“Mornings are for coffee and contemplation.”

“My mom thought I was on debate team but really I was just screwing girls in the back of my dad’s Oldsmobile.”

“You know, kids are mean. They laugh at him/her/they, pick on him/her/they, make fun of his/hers/their clothes.”

“What did I just say? One at a damn time.”

“No, I won’t. I don’t get scared like that anymore.”

“Yeah, all I know is she’s scared to death. I think she might have been abused or kidnapped.”

“Think he could be hurt? Maybe he walked away?”

“What you think I didn’t check my own house?!”

“Hey, what did I do? What did I do?”

“Galaxies and the universe and whatnot, she/he/they always did good with that. I always thought there was enough going on down here.”

“It’s alright. You sit tight, whoever it is out there I’ll tell them to go away real quick.”

“Sorry again for almost turning you away back there.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“How about every time you get something right I take off a piece of clothing, but every time you get something wrong….”

“Are you crazy!? My parents are here!”

“Was this your plan all along? To get me alone in my room and get another knotch in your belt?”

“I barely even know what’s going on with you. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no. You can’t do that to yourself. This is not your fault.”

“I know it. I can feel it, in my heart. You just have to trust me on this, okay?”

“I’m just being realistic, ___!”

“Did you run away? Are you in trouble?”

“She/he/they said no and yes. Your three year old sister can say more!”

“We should tell your mom.”

“Is that real?! Sorry. I’ve just never seen a kid with a tattoo before.”

“You’re saying that that’s not weird?!”

“All I’m saying is it’s an emotional time.”

“Oh, come on. You’re wasting your time!”

“Yeah? Well, cops are good at finding. Stay here.”

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you? Who - who are you in trouble with?”

“Bad? Bad people? They want to hurt you? The bad people?”

“And there was something else, I don’t know. It was - it was some kind of animal. I don’t know.”

“No parents… Big house…”

“A party? It’s Tuesday..”

“Obviously his/her/their stupid plan failed.”

“No way, ___ would never rat us out.”

“Yeah, it’s fun. Come on. Just trust me, alright?”

“This is ridiculous! I’m so sick of it!”

“You shouldn’t like things because people tell you you’re supposed to, okay?”

“I need this phone and I need two weeks advance. And a pack of Camels.”

“I promise. That means something that you can’t break. Ever.”

“I want you to feel like you can talk to me. I never want you to feel like you have to hide stuff from me. I’m here for you.”

“I heard he/she/they were drunk as a skunk and did it on a ten dollar bet.”

“Telling any adults would put us in danger!”

“What kind of danger? ___, what kind of danger?!”

“No, no, no. We’re going back to plan A.”

“Really? Want to check up my ass too?”

“You don’t think I want to see you?”

“Maybe I’ll trade you in for the younger model.”

“Because I don’t want to go by myself. ___, it’s not rocket science. Just tell your parents your staying at my house tonight.”

“We never would have upset you if we knew you had superpowers.”

“What is… friend?”

“A friend is someone you would do anything for.”

“Spit swear - you never break your word. It’s a bond.”

“Friends… they tell each other things. Things that parents don’t know.”

“We can’t park in the driveway! The neighbors might see.”

“You can be like my guardian. Make sure I don’t get drunk and do stupid things.”

“Is that a new bra? Really?”

“Is that supposed to impress me? You are a cliche, you do know that don’t you?”

[bachmanhq-blog]

JOHN-PAUL WYATT

Pulling over to the side of the road, John-Paul stepped out of the car. It was a bit unlike him, to help a random person. Not that he didn’t want to (at least, most of the time), it was just that he knew nothing about cars, and he was so incredibly awful at dealing with people he didn’t know. But, this poor person was stuck on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere. Well, not nowhere exactly. It was, after all, in the way to town. But, it felt like nowhere, in the aspect that hardly anyone took this road. JP himself only took it when he went to visit his parents, like he had been doing today. But, apparently someone else took this road as well, and he wasn’t going to let them stay deserted. 

Walking up, he recognized her. Alyssa Bachman. When they were much younger than they are now, they were friends. But, as many people do, they drifted apart. It happened, and John-Paul was used to it. After all, that was all old news. But, that didn’t make him feel any less awkward. He couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted her to recognize him. He had changed a lot since he was younger, though his incredibly thick glasses were always a dead give away. Though, his horrible stutter was gone, so maybe there was hope yet. “You need help with your car?” he asks, with a very sheepish smile.

      THEIR HOUSE was, in technical terms, a one story home; though, the Bachman family concluded that the best way to preserve all space in the structure was to convert the spacious attic into a bonus bedroom. The family was constantly eager to improve their home with upgrades, and they have, in total, painted the facade four times. Currently, the front is a beige color that Alyssa was fond of since it settles well with the red door as well as dark brown fence that borders their well-kept lawn. To say their home was perfect was not far from the truth. It was lost in a far road that only a few would take from work and school, and it was a surprise when driving by. The scenic nature came first, then forgotten trailers passed, then this home enters your vision to introduce the rest of the more modest homes. For a while, Alyssa was embarrassed about her parents’ desire to always one up their home’s image, but as an adult, she understood the lust. 

For them to not upgrade their vehicle, though, was strange. As much as she respects the fact that her father intends to conserve the value of the vehicle, she finds it difficult to comprehend as to why they have not purchased another vehicle to use more than this danger ride. Rolling her neck back, when a voice stepped into conversation, she turned her attention to the new company, and it was his eyes alone and those glasses that made her recognize who the man was. John-Paul Wyatt. He was a dear friend before, but when she began to gather the sense that he preferred the luxury of an abundance of friends, she took that as her sign to let him go, for she could never compete against the other kids. Swallowing down her nerves, she only laced a sweet smile over her lips, for the incident was long ago. It was time to be more mature, and she needed to shrug off her silly rationals from her young self. “John Paul? I cannot believe that it’s you.” She was tucking in her phone into her back pocket before she stepped closer to him to acknowledge him better. “It’s Alyssa, you do remember me, right?” Tilting her head to the side, she only chuckle softly, for she had not changed much aside that her hair was no longer as bouncy with curls as before. At the age of nineteen, she discovered the hair straightener. “But, yes, please. I do need help.”

[bachmanhq-blog]

archive moodboard for @vinvangone

“The sky is the ultimate art gallery just above us.”

[bachmanhq-blog]

“Do you have any secrets?”

ACCEPTING: RYAN LINDHOLM

IN CONTEMPORARY SOCIETY who doesn’t own a secret? valuable to purchase: secrets are an asset of society, to an individual, that will be of great trade of interest in the near future. for many, a secret is all one can afford for a connection. alyssa bachman was an owner of a secret that littered pain and solitude within the four walls of her bedroom in new york. hours upon months would be spent inside the room, in her bed, with hunger no longer a disturbance. she was a concern to her friends as many would knock on her door with no answer to welcome. many would call throughout the days, yet her broken heart never gave strength to answer. she was silent. she preferred to suffer alone. 

she was only a mother for thirty-seven hours. after those hours, she lost her daughter due to medical complications. when doctors attempted to explain the scientific, the young woman stared blankly ahead to a desolation that was in reach. she was about to be a single mother, but that opportunity was taken away too soon. too painfully. she kept that fact to herself for so long. her friends would congratulate her via text message, she would receive phone calls with voicemail messages to ask what the baby’s name is, and all were just additional tragedies. how does she explain that she went into labor only to walk out with no child at all? 

alyssa was hesitant to glance over toward ryan, for she has been told before that her eyes tell the truth. if that was fact, then her eyes would be reading the tale of how she locked herself in her bedroom for eight months until the morning sun kissed her freckled cheeks again—until she spoke to a publisher on her first novel. it was the novel that was the therapeutic approach of her sanity. in that novel, she spoke about her struggle of the temporary title. she spoke about her lost opportunity; losing her first love. “i don’t have any secrets,” her voice was soft, trembling over parted lips, “i’m an open book.” pick up her bestseller novel, and one will know everything about her. all her secrets. 

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“What did you see that night?”

ACCEPTING: LOWELL WOLFF

THERE WAS SILENCE. in that moment, the seconds on the clock could be heard: each tick-tock just a burden. the pounding against her chest echoed. her breath was an addition to the burden. her hands fiddled against her lap, a nervous habit when questions attacked the thoughts she would have preferred to keep locked. but, the question was asked, and with only them, she knew she could be honest. she knew that fear was welcomed when company was forgiven with friendship. wolff was a friend; she knew that and trusted that.

“i thought it was the common commotion of city dwellers.” she began, a tongue swiping over her lips as her freckled cheeks was hidden with her dark hair falling over, for she was ashamed to look at him. “perhaps my neighbor had their television speakers on. all i knew was that the sound was not regular. there was something different about it.” drawing in a breath, her shoulders became tense with the memory recollection. “i could not sleep that night. there was just something pulling my limbs. something was present. the next thing i knew, i was purchasing tickets to travel back to pickaway.”

[bachmanhq-blog]

RYAN LINDHOLM

   Heading down the rural stretch there had been a hundred things running through his mind; so much so that he barely made room for the car pulled off to the side of the road as he sped on by. However, something clicked realizing he’d seen it before hell he even been in it; granted it had been many years. Looking into the rear view mirror he caught the silhouette of a girl woman he once knew. Applying his breaks he turned the truck around. He knew the red Mustang from anywhere: it had to be Alyssa Bachman. Pulling off into the tall grass he exited and made his way towards her just in time to hear the plea.

   Even her voice sounded exactly the same which caused him to smile whimsically. Clearing his throat in case she missed the sound of him coming he stepped to the side of the vehicle, “Hey…Alyssa. Welcome home.” It wasn’t until he stood face to face that he recalled their very last conversation; an awkward exchange to say the least. Standing with the backdrop of a sunset she looked as lovely as he remembered. Realizing he was staring he removed his gaze, and  peered down at the engine; it was then he recalled to speak, “Well I’m not Dad, but I can take a look if you want.”

     THE OPENED TAB on her device was of a Google search of the closest auto mechanics nearby. She could have relied on memory and called a mechanic her father was keen of, but she was not certain if the shop was still active. She would not want to call only to be notified that the business has been lost to competition. Just as the page loaded, though, she heard another vehicle approach which only had her tense up. The small town hospitality has been long forgotten in new york, for people in the roaring city kept to themselves. She also knew that if her car broke down in the city, no one but an Uber driver would know how to help. 

     When hearing her name, she determined that the voice that has spoken was definitely one she was well acquainted with. Drawing her attention upward, a smile evolved over her features; it was Ryan Lindholm. For a moment, she was concerned that a twisted stranger would pull up beside her, for there was fear in the town since she was young, but she was also realistic enough to conclude that such mischief were not as common as films portray them to be. Instead, people run into friendly faces from past memories. Ryan was someone she knew better than most, and he was somebody that she avoided, for a moment, and it’s an apology she owes. He has not changed much: his eyes still absorbed a gentle hue, and his smile was written with the same appeasement as their adolescent when a joke broke out between them. 

     “Ryan Lindhom is a police officer?” She questioned, a brow quirking with surprise. The profession would not have been her first guess, but it wouldn’t be her last either. In a way, the occupation was befitting for the man. Man—no longer just a boy. Before she was lost in memory lane for too long, she ducked her attention to the engine, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “You would only be my hero if you helped me.” A smile sprawled across yet again, and Alyssa averted her chocolate orbs back to the tall blonde.

[bachmanhq-blog]

LOWELL WOLFF

                   I T was almost like someone was looking out for him. he needed this. he needed to be around someone who didn’t only bring up the memories that followed him like shadows. he smiled a bit easier when she spoke. his hand letting the car door shut, he gave his service weapon a pat, out of habit, to ensure that it was secured correctly before he went toward her. “ i didn’t know you– when did you get back in town?” the better question was why was she back there? if he had any sense at all, he would have told her to run and never come back. but he felt too selfishly and saved caution for another time. “and, what happened with your car?”

SHE HAS YET to run into former classmates due to her busy schedule of running errands for her parents, and it was a splendid addition that the first person she runs into was one she was actually fond of. it only encourages nostalgia---why did she leave her hometown to blend in with the community of new york? “i arrived two weeks ago, to be exact; though, i am still settling back into the motion of a small town.” standing in front of him, she leaned against the 1985 ford mustang gt that her father gave to her on her eighteenth birthday to attend the local community college, but, of course, she rejected the gift when she confessed that she would be attending cornell university. “i was about to turn out when the car just broke down on me, and i just don’t understand cars enough to fix it right now.” nibbling on her lesser lip, she pats her car before directing her focus over to the open hood. “please tell me you can help me.”