((Yes, I know it's not July...but I'm looking forward to better months. hehe))

The hot July sun beat down on the withering grass of the Copperton Estate and Rachel Copperton as she sat cross-legged on the hitch of her trailer in cut-offs and a pink t-shirt. It was about eighty degrees out, but there was no shade to be found as it was almost noon. Raymond was on Rachel's lap, napping and receiving a friendly and comfortable stroking of his hair. A loud bang coming from her mother's house signaled Rachel that Raymond was about to take off for another napping spot. Sure enough, his cute little eyes snapped wide-open at the first sound and he raised his head to look back at the house his owner's mother lived in as the door popped open and the woman appeared at the screen. Rachel tried to comfort him by scratching his ears, but it was no use; he jumped off her lap and took off, hissing the whole way. Frankly, Rachel didn't blame him for turning tail; sometimes she was scared of her mother, too.

There was no smoke coming out of her mother's house, but it was obvious one of her mother's experiments had gone wrong as her mother stumbled to the ground outside her house, coughing and sputtering and waving her hand about. How that helped was beyond Rachel, especially since she had a cigarette in that hand, but she let it go. 'Course, it could have just been her mother's smoking finally catching up to her, too. No such luck, unfortunately. She was breathing easier now - and taking another puff on the cigarette.

After a moment, she turned to see Rachel staring at her.

"Well, what do you want?!" she demanded miserably after a moment. She flipped Rachel the bird and went back inside, slamming both doors as she did so.

Rachel sighed and turned her head away from the pitiful house. This was ridiculous. She was going nowhere fast and her mother clearly wasn't dying any time soon. The first job she'd actually managed to land (at a diner in the city) she'd had to sneak away from home to get too, and then her mother had scared off her customers and then scared her manager into firing her. Then, of course, she received a beating. She didn't dare use her powers against her mother, though; maybe she was too battered for that. She'd heard about battered women; maybe she was a battered daughter. She sure as hell felt like one.

Her thoughts were disrupted, though, by the sight of someone coming onto the property from the other side of Rachel's trailer. She didn't know the person, but it wasn't surprising that someone was intruding. There was no fence and people often forgot that there were actually individual properties here instead of one big junkyard in this part of the city. That's what her life was, too - one big junkyard, and her mother operated the crane with the manget attached. She watched the person curiously, though, not saying a word or moving from her position.

Where ever he is, Charlie's elsewhere in his mind. He's oblivious to his present surroundings. I suppose it'd be best to say he's sleepwalking. Though he looks perfectly awake, he might even be able to follow a conversation, but he's seeing the stuff of the dream planes right now.

Every few steps he looks back over his shoulder, carefully walking as soundlessly as possible. There's no one there, but the way he's acting, it's as if someone was following him.

Rachel watched the man as he approached. He seemed out of it, like he didn't quite know (or care) where he was going so long as he was moving. He kept looking back over his shoulder like someone was following him, perhaps expecting them to sneak up on him and grab him or something any moment. Rachel glanced behind him and saw nothing. There was no one there. She looked at the man curiously. Maybe he was drunk? Her mother always got that way when she was drunk, too; she'd get all creepy and walk outside. She'd be all harried like she was waiting on someone to come get her and hoping no one did. It would certainly make since. But who would drink this time of day? Then again, men were known to do strange things all hours of the day and night. But who was she to talk about strange? She wasn't exactly normal herself, and her mother...well, her mother was another story entirely.

The man seemed to have a bit of good looks to him. His soft, curly brown hair was certainly attractive and so were his features. He was skinny but had some muscle. There were some markings that looked like they might be scars or something on the man's left wrist, which she only saw because of the way his arms swung when the man walked; she couldn't see the inside of his right wrist, though, for his right side was facing Rachel. The man's manner of dress seemed a bit old-fashioned, but Rachel wasn't sure. She didn't know much about fashion and didn't really watch that much TV. She also didn't typically go anywhere, such was the restrictive nature of her creepy, overbearing mother. But the man seemed confident in his stride despite the nervousness that his actions belied. Clearly, he thought someone was following him. Maybe he really was drunk, or maybe he was about to bring trouble down on the Coppertons. That spelled trouble for Rachel especially if he did, for she'd be blamed and probably beaten - if her mother could get her hands on her, that is. She knew how to run, and run fast - but if she wasn't beaten, she'd be punished in some other way, like the theft and burning of her books or the selling of her TV or something. She could live without the TV and she could always get more books, but she was starting to get leery of the man just looking at him - let alone imagining what might happen to her if she was to end up getting involved in something her mother considerered shady. As if she wasn't shady enough herself, of course.

Then there was the matter of Rachel's oddity. That's what her mother called it: an oddity. Rachel was of the mind that her mother was the source of that oddity, but she didn't dare ask the question. All these things and more ran through her mind, though, as she watched the man approach her property.

George would have liked nothing more than for Charlie to snap out of it. Something about this part of town had always given the ghost who shared Charlie's body the creeps. Charlie might have the heebie jeebies himself if he were in tune with this phaze of existance in space time.

George did his best to try to nag the other awake. It wasn't working so well as it sometimes did. Charlie's mind was far too engrossed by the demon trying to track him in the dream that occupied reality as he knew it.

The demon for it's part wasn't even aware of Charlie. In Charlie's perception of things though, the demon was just about on top of him. He crouched down and took cover in some bushes, that weren't really there either. "Go away." he whispered to nothings.

Rachel just stared at the man. He was apparently trying to hide from something, but there was nothing to hide from and there was nothing to hide in. This man was clearly insane. It was all Rachel could do to keep from grinning madly, let alone busting up laughing, at the poor man with his fractured mind. As it was, her small smile, barely contained though it was, was nonetheless twisting her lips as laughter danced in her eyes. She didn't know who this man was, but she recognized a crazy person when she saw one - and this one was funny.



The TV was displaying a handsome set of rectangular emerald earrings now. She could care less, though. Rachel's mother, after all, was not a woman who like emeralds. Diamonds, though - now those were a woman's best friend. And gorgeous as she was, she deserved diamonds. Her daughter, though - she didn't deserve much more than a jail cell and one meal a day. But that was another matter entirely. She hated kids; why she had to go and have one was beyond her. Of course, when she'd had her, she didn't know much about abortions. She didn't keep up on such things. All she knew was that they were expensive and dangerous. Who knew what doctors put into you when they put you under? Or took out of you, for that matter.

Smoke drifted slowly into and through the air from her cigarette as she shifted her weight, leaning forward on the couch as she was with her elbows on her knees. She used a cane that she didn't really need to flip the channel on the old black and white and saw an old mystery show of some kind - one of those detective shows that never quite goes out of style. Not her style, though, so she flipped it again to see some talk show. They were discussing the latest teen pregnancy rates and why Brittney Spears was aborting a child from someone she'd dumped months ago.

"Bah!"

She used the cane to flip the switch off. As she tossed the cane down, though, she got a sense that something was off. After a few moments, she pulled out some weird apparatus consisting of various crystals of different colors, sizes, and shapes placed around a cracked beech-wood board the shape of a triangle and started chanting some incantations. The further she went, the more excited she got...



Outside, Rachel finally managed to suppress her laughter as curiosity took over and she leaned back against the trailer. She watched the man from her perch on the trailer's hitch and wondered primarily why the man wasn't in a mental institution. He clearly needed to be. What if he hurt someone, or perhaps himself? And how'd he gotten all the way out here, anyway? This wasn't exactly the place most people came to for kicks. Then again, the fast food district wasn't exactly closed-off, either. Hell, they weren't quarantined...but still, it was odd. And yet, so was the man before her.

George continued to attempt to exert control, much to Charlie's annoyance. George moved on to trying to persuade Charlie to at least try waking up so the demon would go away.

Annoyed Charlie decided it was worth trying, if for no other reason than to get George to shut up. George of coarse did his best to exploit the opportunity to regain control of Charlie's body, but the lunatic expected it from him.

The mental combat between the two created enough of a perceptual shift for Charlie to realize where he actually was. No demon at the moment, but there was definitely something off kilter with the world. All his hairs on his arms stood on end. He was sure he was being watched. Paranoid people are always sure they're being watched.

Looking around for a moment revealed he did have an audience of one. Charlie stood up slowly and dusted himself off.

Rachel's mother was a witch. That was a given. But she often used her knowledge of witchcraft to act as a medium. She could not communicate through normal means with a spirit that was already dwelling in the physical realm, though. For that, she needed something entirely different. A wicked, purely evil smile was plastered across her aged, wrinkled face as she put the crystal board away and headed for her bedroom. She had something special for spirits who wandered into the physical world...



Rachel watched as the man slowly looked about and then stood up. He seemed quite normal as he dusted himself off, but Rachel knew better. This man was insane. Perhaps he was only sometimes insane, but he was most definitely insane. Insane people scared Rachel for some reason. She didn't know why; she didn't have a rational reason, like having been beaten or raped by one. She just didn't like crazies. Maybe that was her mother's fault, too. Then again, it was all too easy to blame everything on her mother. Her mother was a total bitch, and that was on her really good days.

"You might wanna disappear before my mother gets out here. She doesn't like strangers on her property."

She was at least trying to be polite; after all, she didn't know if the man was dangerous or not and she didn't want to have to use her powers against him.

Why is it every time Charlie meets a girl she has a crazy mother? (rhetorical)

He just nodded, swallowed hard, and looked around trying to get an exact orientation on his whereabouts. He took a moment to adjust his glasses and then looked north. He could see the back side of the Burrito Barn from here. He shook his head and decided to make his way there.

George nattered in the back of his head about leaving the van parked clear over by Pizza Palace.

"Later." he said as he made his way out of the yard.

Ha! Yeah...like his mother was going to let a useable spirit leave that easily. When the screen door slammed open suddenly, Rachel muttered a foul curse under her breath. Her mother stepped out with some kind of long, twisted branch adorned with various fetishes ranging from fingers and toes (obviously human ones) to tongues and crystallized eyeballs. Most of the fetishes were rather grotesque and the end of the wand had a long, slender, razor-sharp, dual-edged blade attached to it.

"Aha! At last, a spirit! Come to me spirit," she cooed in a motherly voice.

Yeah, Rachel thought to herself, like a mother with a thing for mutilation and torture.

"Come to me," her mother said aloud, "and you shall be rewarded for your servitude."

She started uttering a spell and Rachel moved faster than most people knew how. She wasn't about to get involved, but she also wasn't about to get caught watching if she could help it - not when she was in the direct line of her mother's spell casting, anyway. She quickly put the hitch between herself and her mother's soon-to-be-victim as her mother chanted, pointing the large wand right at the man's heart...

Charlie just laughed. A madman's laugh, but still this was humorous to him. George was annoyed but not compelled by any thing the witch was doing or trying to do. He did wish he was in control of the body at the moment. Charlie's reactions to things were never predictable. Like for example now, he was laughing and making funny faces.

"Charlie, I really think we might want to skeddadle....." He urged mentally.

Yet despite the seeming futility of the spell, it was starting to take hold. An invisible barrier was starting to slowly wrap itself around the spot upon which the possessed body now stood. As her mother continued chanting, Rachel watched the man's back. She couldn't tell what he was doing since she was behind him, but she knew that this probably wasn't going to be good. The tiny hairs on Rachel's arms were starting stand up, as well as the hairs on the back of her neck, though the hair on her head wasn't doing anything just yet. But even Rachel could feel - something - though she couldn't quite tell what it was that she was feeling. But she knew this wasn't going to be good - not good at all...

I imagine the recoil might not be so pleasant. George, the ghost, is technically the property of a rather icky demon, even if he isn't around much. George can feel what's going on, but it's more like walking through a cobbweb and having it cling for a while than anything really dastardly.

As for Charlie, well, he started to run and yell while he flailed at himself. Something started to crawl around on him. At least that'd be what it felt like to him. He didn't run in a specific direction, just around in circles. It would look to an observer, much like the proverbial chicken with it's head cut off.

Rachel shook her head and sighed. Why did these things always have to happen when she was around to witness them? She'd just as soon have not seen this. I mean, the guy might be crazy - but he didn't deserve whatever it was her mother was doing to him. She would have interfered, too, had it not been for the fact that her powers never seemed to work around her mother. Something to do with her witchcraft, probably, though Rachel had never bothered trying to figure it out.

As for Rachel's mother, though, she was still chanting as she pulled out a small glass bottle with a wired flip-top cork. The bottle was completely clear, but only to the naked eye; unbeknownst to Rachel, any spirit trapped inside would appear as a graysish, slow-moving smoke that filled the bottle. Rachel's mother popped the cork open and began the last length of her chanting...

Again George tried to assert control over the body. Charlie was nearly hysterical, and a hysterical Charlie is prone to bad ideas. At the moment Charlie was contemplating how to set himself on fire to get whatever was crawling on him off. George realized that would be bad for both of them.

Charlie continued to flail while he looked about for combustibles.

George wasn't going anywhere, he was firmly anchored in this plane and for the time being in Charlie's body.

Charlie was just going crazy, or rather crazier. Then it occured to the mad man that the source of his discomfort wasn't anything ordinary. Aware suddenly of chanting, it dawned on him, that a witch is a work here. He wasn't exactly sure of what she was doing, but being prone to conspiracy theories anyway, he was certain it could'nt be good.

Charlie sat down on the ground and began to fiddle with something strapped to his ankle.

Finally, the chanting was completed. The spell was finished. The magic had been cast. Indeed, nothing tangible could be seen, but it could most certainly be felt. Something lashed out at the spirit inhabiting the body before Rachel's mother, attempting to wrench it from the body it was possessing - attempting, in fact, to rip it out as violently as possible. The magic began to swiftly wrap about the body like a coccoon, sticking like a spider web to the body and pulling at it like acid trying to burn him alive. A spirit could be used for many things, and Rachel's mother cackled madly as she watched the spectacle before her. Then she saw what the man was doing and got angry.

"No, you DON'T!" she said, starting in a mutter and finishing in a shout. She pulled another, much smaller wand with only a single fetish - a shrunken head - out of a rather large and deep pocket of her dress and aimed at the man. She started uttering the incantation of another spell as the first tried desperately to shred the body before her as much as possible to get at the spirit waiting within...



Rachel wondered what the man was doing now. Did he have a gun? Was he going to shoot her mother? Rachel could only hope. Maybe he was a witch, too - though that wasn't very likely - and was going to enact a counterspell of some kind? Whatever he was doing, Rachel knew that this incident wasn't going to go on much longer...

Poor Charlie. He was such a sensative soul. George wasn't disturbed at all by the spell attempt, Charlie clearly was. "Suffer not a witch to live!" Charlie blurted angrily.

It was a gun, just not an ordinary sort of gun. It was small, plastic and bright orange, as Charlie held it out in front of himself with both hands and took aim.

It might look on first appearance like a toy gun. It wasn't, it was a flare gun. A gift from Mr. Jenkins, who owned the antique shop where Charlie lived and worked. He'd long ago told Charlie to use it on anyone magical who tried to hurt him.

The ammunition wasn't normal flares. Only Mr. Jenkins knew what was in the rounds. Charlie pulled the trigger and the flare went off right above the witch sending streamers of ash, light, and sulphurous smoke cascading down around her. The sound from the shot seemed to echo for far too long, or maybe time was slowing down?

George really wondered about the gun, he'd long suspected Jenkins might not be mortal.

She knew what it was immediately and quickly changed the course of her spell. A total silence suddenly descended upon the entire area and the flare's effects seem to die - only to be reborn as a brilliant flash of light that ended up destroying both wands and badly searing the witch's clothes. Rachel's mother screamed, the only audible sound, as she fell back. Even Rachel, who suddenly stood up without thinking about it - apparently concerned for her well-being, surprising as that was even to Rachel - made not a sound. The gravel where Rachel's mother didn't make a sound as she fell; there was no thump as she hit the ground. As she scrambled to her feet, confused and disoriented, there was not a sound. A massive explosion of sound as the witch ran off toward the city, though, made even Rachel cover her ears. It was like an airplane engine right next to her and she collapsed to the ground again.

When she finally came to her senses again, her ears ached badly. She was bleeding from them a bit and her hearing was muffled, but she seemed to be regaining it quickly. Things did indeed seem to go in slow motion as she rose shakily to her feet. Her mother was nowhere in sight. As her hearing slowly but surely returned to her, Rachel began to realize the TV was still playing in her mother's house. There was a light breeze that picked up every now and again, a welcome thing in an eight-degree climate no matter how much Rachel enjoyed the sunshine and good weather of the summer months. Other than that, all else seemed quiet - but not silent as it had been before. Even the intangible feelings from before seemed to have stopped. The spells were no longer in effect, it seemed.

What was that thing? It was no ordinary flare, she knew that. But there was little smoke and nothing else now, and that smoke was quickly dissipating as the effects of the - whatever that thing had been wore off. Rachel took a deep, shuddering breath as she tried to calm herself. Her heart was racing and her adrenaline was pumping furiously. Sweat was rolling down her face, neck, arms, and the exposed portions of her legs. Her hair was matted to her forehead. She wiped the blood from her ears, which no longer seemed to be bleeding. She brushed dirt, weeds, and gravel off of her. She had some minor cuts and abrasions on her knees. Other than that, though, she seemed to be perfectly fine.

Charlie wasn't sure exactly what had happened. He was pretty shaken and disoriented. He was scared and tired enough to finally relent and let George take over. It was time for Charlie to sleep.

"Good night sweet prince." George told Charlie mentally before Charlie's presence drifted back to dream planes.

George stood up still clutching the flare gun. It still held one round. He was glad he taken up wearing the thing, even if it had often made him feel silly. His cell phone began to ring.

He pulled it from his belt absently and looked at it to see who was calling. It was a text message from Mr. Jenkins. George felt it might not be the wisest idea to stick around to answer it. He made his way towards the end of the driveway, and just as he reached it Jenkins pulled up in his ancient pickup truck. "Charlie my boy, I thought you might need a ride."

The old man, who seemed kindly and jovial to most people he met, gave a nod in the direction of Rachel, as he waited for his passenger to reach the truck and get in.

It was the cell phone that first broke the akward silence. It wasn't long after that a pickup truck showed up with an old man in the driver's seat. He said something to the man about needing a ride and then nodded and smiled to Rachel.

Rachel wasn't quite sure what to make of the whole affair just yet. She had just seen her mother try to do - something - to a guy that was now taking off in a pickup truck with an old man. Probably his father or something. She didn't respond immediately as the old man nodded to her, but she suddenly realized this was her way out. She remembered something about a strange crystal rod on a leather cord that her mother always kept hanging above the front door of her house. Her mother had once said something about it preventing witches from seeing into there, and since her mother never left the place - she got an idea. She'd need to grab Raymond, though; no way in hell was she leaving the cat behind. She could care less about the stuff in her house. She always had a bag packed with changes of clothes and a few essentials - deoderant, soap, shampoo, and so forth - but she was too scared to leave. Now she had both an excuse and a ride.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was running forward. She didn't care that the man was crazy. Better a paranoid schitzo (though she didn't know that's what they were called) and an old man than her truly evil, sadistic, power-hungry, greedy, money-grubbing, do-or-die controlling witch of a mother.

"Wait!"

She stopped just a few feet short of the man and the pickup. She looked at them and gulped, taking a deep breath. Half of her couldn't believe what she was about to ask and the other half was just desperate to get away from her mother. Maybe one day she'd even have a chance at a normal life.

"Can I come with you? Please?"

She offered no explanation, though to the possessed crazy before her it was probably all too obvious that she didn't really need one. Her mother was a crazy bitch on her nicest days - as if she was ever nice.

Jenkins just smiled when she asked him to wait. George sighed when she asked if she could come along. Neither seemed otherwise phazed. Perhaps they had expected this.

She went to get her things from ths house and George turned to Mr. Jenkins, "How many times have you told me about picking up strays?"

Jenkins laughed. "Charlie, You doing it, it always backfires. When I do it's magic. You've been living in my shop almost three years now." He gave a wink.

Again George sighed. What else could he do?

They watched her exit the house and George noticed the cat. "Uh, boss is that going to be a problem?"

The old man shrugged. "Lucien will have to deal with it and be a big kitty."

Jenkins climbed out of the cab to go help Rachel get her things in the truck.

Clearly accepted, Rachel quickly went into her mother's house. She had to get a chair to get the crystal down, which she promptly put around her neck; the cord wasn't excessively long, but the crystal did hang down to about a half-inch below her collarbone. She then went and used her powers to unlock her mother's bedroom and got out the safe box. She pulled out the money there - about $3400, mostly drug money - and went to her own trailer. It took her about five minutes to get Raymond to come out of cowering and let Rachel take him with her.

"You scaredy cat!" she admonished the cat as she finally managed to pick him up and be on her way. Brushing off her feet inside her trailer, she put on her flip-flops and headed out. She tossed her bag in the bed, the money safely in her pocket, and climbed into the cab with Raymond.

"Thank you," she said to the old man, not really knowing what else to say or how to say it.

The relief was clear on her face, though, as she stroked the adorable furball in her lap. Finally, she wasn't going to be dealing with her mother anymore. Finally, at long last, she could do things she wanted to do - like going to college, maybe? She'd always wanted to do art, but her mother thought it was a waste of time. She'd just have to see where this truck led, and not necessarily in a material sense...

Jenkins climbed in after her shut the door and started up the truck. She was now seated between the old man and Charlie/George.

"I hope you like antiques." Jenkins said.

George watched the house and trailer till they faded to nothing int he rearview mirror. " We should maybe stop so I can get the van from behind Pizza Palace."

"Perhaps." Jenkins conceded as he drove.

Rachel remained quiet as the two men talked. She was just a kid, really - nineteen wasn't that old at all - but she was still old enough to recognize the significance of what she'd now done. Her mother, of course, would come after her with everything she had. Her mother was supposedly a fairly powerful witch, and that would cause problems. Fortunately, the charm that Rachel had taken was significantly more powerful than anything her mother could have accomplished, or so she'd overheard her mother being told when she got the thing, and so Rachel was only a little worried that her mother might be able to find her. Primarily, though, she was wondering what would become of her now. Her mother was still alive, unfortunately, and that meant the property was still hers - not Rachel's.

She didn't even know where she'd be living at this point or how she'd earn the money to get supplies for college - for she had every intention of checking out the local college for art classes and such now that she was essentially free of her mother - but at least she no longer had to keep looking over her shoulder. She might continue to do so anyway, at least for a while, but it wouldn't be long before she was finally and truly free...

Jenkins indeed dropped Charlie off to get the van. 'Charlie' seemed normal enough for the moment. No sign of his previous insanity.

Jenkins drove towards the heart of the city. He turned to the girl and asked, "So what will you do now, my dear?"

((Oh, that's just too perfect an opportunity...dramatic catch phrase anyone? XD))

Rachel scooted over when the younger man got out, prompting Raymond to slide onto the middle portion of the seat. He made himself comfortable as the older man asked Rachel what she intended to do now. In truth, she wasn't really sure. She had plans, yeah, but she'd never actually been able to implement them before. Now she had an opportunity to do so. Not only could she go to college, she could get a job! Then she'd have her own money and could pay for her own things instead of relying on simple dinners that were really more of large snacks than actual dinners. She could actually eat out now! She could do so much. At the present time, though, Rachel wasn't sure what all she could do. She was still nervous about her mother coming after her. Rash decisions were not without their prices, it seemed, though this rash decision was one that was actually good for Rachel.

After a long pause, she finally responded.

"Live," was all she said.

"Ah yes, but where? Surely you know, that folks like you and I are not quite ordinary. And the ordinary folk don't always take a shine to us. Sometimes it's best when we stick together, you know look out for eachother."

He reached over and scratched the cat's ears as they stopped at a redlight. Cats usually liked Jenkins.

Rachel sighed. His was a decent question, but not necessarily one that she could answer.

"I just need a place to crash until I can get my life going. I want to get into college, but I don't have any money. Plus, I don't think federal grants pay for dorms."

She suddenly felt as though she probably shouldn't have left, but considering the alternative, she wasn't too unhappy about her decision.

"I have an extra room, but it's in Charlie's apartment." Unspoken hangs the question, how do you feel about possibly sharing crash space with Charlie.

Jenkins turned left and pulled into a burger drive through. "Hungry? I'm mad for milk shakes. Gotta have one." He ordered a jumbo choclate shake, onion rings, and a cheeseburger."

Feeling like treating herself and hoping her host was a generous one, she decided to go ahead and get something. She looked at the menu and picked out a couple of items.

"How about...a strawberry milkshake and some curly fries?"

Yeah, that sounded good. It was exactly the kind of thing that would get her mother angry and ranting about unhealthy things in one's body - which was ironic considering what Rachel's mother sold and did. Smoking was healthy? And drugs like cocaine, heroin, and ecstacy were healthy? Yeah...well, her mother had never been sane as far as Rachel knew - and she liked curly fries and strawberry milkshakes.

Jenkins paid for the food and parked to eat. He has this old fashioned notion that folks ought not multi task while driving. So he pulls over to eat, talk on his cellular, and things of that nature.

He lets her eat in silence and mull over his extra room offer.

Rachel was honestly a little leery of the man. She had seen him for about five minutes before her mother started in on him, so she was wondering about whether or not she'd actually be safe there. Her concern was probably written all over her face, but she hardly noticed as she ate her lunch. She hadn't had any lunch because she was used to just having breakfast and dinner in order to conserve money, so this really was a rare treat for her. It wasn't much of a lunch, of course, but it was better than what she usually had.

"How private is it?"

That wasn't quite how she'd meant to phrase it, but it got the point across nonetheless. She wanted to know if the crazy man named Charlie respected another's privacy. She wouldn't exactly be comfortable having someone barge in on her when she was chaning, after all - especially since she didn't wear bras. Mostly, she just couldn't afford them, but she'd never really found one that was extremely comfortable, either. Bra or no bra, though, everyone needed privacy now and then - especially a woman.

Jenkins laughed. "It's in the attic, right above Charlie's hallway. He never intruded on any of his other roommates. I seem to recall he even used to cook for Callie. mostly he keeps to himself and tinkers with his pianos."

Jenkins made a strange face after saying that. Mentioning Callie maight not have been wise. He wasn't entirely sure what all had happened, just that when she left Charlie went a litttle further around the bend for a while. He thoughtfully slurped at his shake.

Rachel nodded, relieved, and smiled wanly in responsed to the old man's laugh. Then her smile broaded slightly into an authentic grin as she heard the slurping. It was such a simple sound, one so common that most people wouldn't have even given it a second thought. To Rachel, though, it was a sound of freedom.

"Is the attic pretty crowded?"

She knew that her mother was a packrat whose attic was so stuffed with boxes, chests, bags, and miscellaneous other objects that there was barely room to poke one's head into it.

She thought about how weird it would be to come down from her room and find other people there, and then have to leave in that manner. She also thought how embarrassing it would be if she walked down and found Charlie changing or something. She would be really embarrassed...she wondered how she might deal with that. In the end, she decided she would figure it out when she came to it.

"Crowded? Well it's not the entire attic, just part of the attic that got turned into a bedroom. A small bedroom. The antique shop was my great aunt's house many, many, years ago. I think there's just the bedroom furniture and a bookcase in there." Je slorped some more thinking it over. It was possible Charlie had a box of piano parts up there, but it would be easy enough to relocate them.

Rachel nodded again. Bedroom furniture. So there was a decently useable space, then. She didn't need a lot - she'd never had much to begin with - so that was okay. Her bag and her cat were really the only things she had now anyway. Another problem arose in her mind, though, as she was finishing off her fries.

"Is there a bath up there? I don't need anything fancy, mind...just might be a little weird having to use Charlie's shower. Also...how do avoid walking in on Charlie?"

That was true enough. Hell, even if she had to stock up on water to bathe, a tub was more useful than a bed. And the second question, of course, kind of went with the first - the only real reason she'd asked it.

"I don't live there. The bathroom is downstairs. I don't imagine if I did live with him, that I'd walk in on him though. Charlie seems to be a creature of habit, He has a schedule he sticks to. Though when he's at work, or out, you'd have run of the whole place. Charlie doesn't stay home as much as he used to."

(An OOC note: Charlie's apartment takes up the entire second floor of the building. It's not small. It's not large, rather it's comfortably sized. Living room, bedroom, lots of closets, bathroom, laundry room, the room where he tinkers with pianos, and the hallway that leads to the attic stairs. where there is sometimes a piano, and there is always a coatrack and umbrella stand.)

Rachel nodded. It would have to suffice for an answer, she supposed. Once she got the mailing address and managed to get money for school, she'd be on her way. For the start, though, she'd have to find a job. There was a newspaper stand just a short distance away, so she excused herself for a moment and ran to get one. When she got back in the truck, she absently scratched Raymond's head between the ears and opened up the classifieds. She made sure not to obscure the old man's view, though, for he needed that to drive.

"Oh...um, I'm Rachel, by the way."

In her haste to get away from her home, she hadn't remembered her manners. She smiled apologetically and waited to hear her driver's name.

"Oliver Jenkins." He offered. "You might want to apply at the campus bookstore if they still have an ad in there."

He started the truck and drove through historic downtown and all of it's revitalized shops and hit the outskirts of the bad end of town. The antique store is on the fringes of it, thus the barred windows on the first floor. "Saddly this isn't so nice a neighborhood as it was twenty years ago." He expained as he pulled up to the shop and parked." So if you need to go someplace or run erands have Charlie give you a ride if I'm not around to. It's not the safest place to walk around even during broad daylight."

(OOC the not so nice neighborhood is why the shop offers delivery and sells online)

Rachel nodded as she went through the ads, looking to see if there was anything good. There wasn't much, but there were a few entries. She did see an ad for the campus bookstore, which was fine; that would limit her travel time significantly since she could go to classes and then go to work afterward. Then she could call...wait, did he just say Charlie?

She looked up at Oliver, wide-eyed. Charlie could drive? That crazy person was allowed to drive? She couldn't believe it. He clearly couldn't even keep his head on straight, from what she'd seen of the few pre-mother moments Charlie had had to himself, and yet he could drive? Her confusion was all too blatant on her face as he mentioned Charlie driving, and she just looked back at her paper, dumbfounded. She wasn't so sure she wanted Charlie coming within ten feet of her, let alone driving her somewhere...

It's funny this has just now occured to her. Afterall Jenkins had dropped Charlie off and let him drive the delivery van.

Jenkins got out of the truck and Charlie pulled in and parked beside them, Vivaldi blaring from the van's speakers.