Page 12 - FINAL DESTINATION

G B TAYLOR
rest of the room, were not covered in dust and dirt. Also, there was a scent in the room that brought back memories. The old kitchen smelled a lot like the basement in the frat house from college.
A no trespassing signs. The rough garden outside. The distinctive smell inside. No wonder the owner didn't like people in his cow pasture.
"Mom, your childhood home is now a pot farm," Neil said to the box. "Are you sure this is where you want to be?"
The box didn't say no and besides what else would he do with her? Still, since the house was not truly abandoned, he reconsidered leaving her urn inside where the pot growers might find it. Perhaps, outside under the tree would be best.
It was then he heard the clatter of a diesel engine coming from the front of the house.
"Oh, shit," Neil said as his pulse quickened. He made his way across the creaky floor into the living room and to the front windows. Through the dirty panes, he saw a large pickup stopped by the cows beyond the fence. A wiry older man was climbing up into the bed of the truck loaded with bales of hay. He was calling out to the cows, even though they didn't seem to need any encouragement to come get fed.
Okay, just sit tight, Neil thought. The man will feed his cows and go away, and then I can get the Hell out of here.
He was just getting his pulse rate under control when he saw the man stop in mid-heft of a bail. He was looking over at the fence. Neil got a cold feeling as the man hopped down from the truck. Through the underbrush, he couldn't see what the farmer was looking at, but he knew it was the torn piece of shirt and blood droplets.
The man jerked his head up to look at the house. Neil took a step back from the window. He was sure he could not be seen in the gloom, but the man's gaze made him feel exposed.
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