<span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #BF4000"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">Michale Lawrence</span></span></div></span><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="https://media-cache-cd0.pinimg.com/236x/4b/de/c4/4bdec4b643af08f361568747629d8ac1.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/>Michale had been a mess for a while, showing up to work drunk and the like. Ever since Sarah went missing, he hadn't been able to hold himself together. Not many people cared, he was still a stranger to them. He had only been in Colton for three years, and still the people around were only polite. He had made quick friends of Mary and Sarah, and they would often go on adventures together--usually hunting trips and camping. Sarah was a good shot, but maybe he just liked Sarah enough where she could do no wrong. He didn't know. All that he knew was she had been missing for two months, and he had seen how those kinds of stories ended. She wasn't coming home, he accepted that and promptly found the bottle to ease his hurt.<br/><br/>He had really liked Sarah, was pretty sure he loved her. She had turned him down, of course. It didn't surprise him, but he had to give it a shot. He was sure she would have loved him eventually, or maybe someone else would have come along that captured his attention better...though he doubted it. He hadn't even been able to go to the gas station Mary worked at, not wanting to see his pain reflected back at him. He had been avoiding her for a few weeks now, preferring the company of anything that could numb his mind. Maybe he would go see Mary, they usually toked together--though Sarah tended to shy away from the stuff. Nothing made him feel better like a bit of green.<br/><br/>Currently he was making his way down the road in his beat up, white Chevy. His air conditioning was out, so he kept the windows rolled down, the wind whirling through the truck. The thing had various colors of paint splattered all over it, some paint supplies and a ladder in the back, and a gun rack sitting behind him. His radio was blaring, but the music fell on deaf ears as he numbly drove down the dirt road. Suddenly cops came up behind him, lights flashing and sirens blaring. He pulled over to the side, wondering if he was going to get pulled over but they only passed him leaving a trail of dust in their wake. He thought it odd that there was an emergency so early in the morning, but perhaps Ol' Mrs. Seymour finally croaked. Being 90 years old in a town like this was a common occurrence, one he hoped he didn't become a part of.<br/><br/>It didn't take long to come up to whatever the fuss was about. Police were blocking off a section of the road and there were two white vans. He spotted Betty Richardson's car and then he spotted her standing with Deputy Phil Markovic. Betty looked pale and stressed, along with a little agitated and Phil didn't look much better. A smell was in the air that was similar to rot and it was only made worse by the heat. Michale pulled over to the side, parking his car and then stepping out of it.<span style="color: #BF4000">"Hey, what's goin' on? How am I supposed ta get ta work with all y'all blockin' the dang road? What happened?"</span>