It’s been two hours since her disappearance. Her phone has thirty two missed calls, fifteen massages, and a half dead battery from internet searching. The girl with raccoon eyes and perfectly done hair is still in shock. Her “whose the stunning bride. .. this one! ” T- shirt is as out of place as she is.
The three searches have come up with the IRA. From both sites she’s either part of a banking family or Irish terrorists. “It would be so cool, if they mixed. … oh we can invest your money in building. …err think the city nect dir will have a big project after we blow up downtown.” A girl’s thoughts can get vicious.
She had rolled into a new place. A town where she’s a stranger. Forgetting she’s a stranger to herself. First step get rid of t-shirt. The Goodwill store is the first stop.
After a chit chat, a girl can find a nice place and drink by the night at the Cat’s Cradle. This is her new life fraught with danger and adventure.
“Hell, yeah! I can do this. Beatrice Donovan would! I can be anything I want now.” Defiantly she walks past the “No Touching the Girls” sign. She will take this town.
Every trainwreck has a start: