EbenField

[Beebs]

Prologue

We're not entirely sure why it happened, but it did...

Samantha Jennings stepped carefully down the night's desolate Mountain View Road, faltering at the sight of a run-down building. The flashing neon sign above the entryway gave not a business name, but the mere word "Motel."

The woman's flowing blond hair contrasted the evening's darkness, and she turned back to face a man behind her; her dilated blue eyes almost pierced right through him. The man stood in front of a black car with darkly tinted windows, wearing a work suit and chauffeur's cap. He looked around to make sure the mysterious woman was truly asking for his attention. She nodded.

"So this is it then, ma'am?" he questioned, giving a puzzled look and scratching his head. After a moment of silence, he moved over to the trunk of the car, pulling out a simple tan suitcase, and rolled it along as he went to meet with the woman. He glanced around at the dank surroundings of the old street and thinned his eyes.

He continued, "You sure you should be staying in a seedy place like this, Miss Jennings?"

"I'm sure," Samantha responded, serenely smiling back at the man. She observed the small inn briefly, noting a turned over patio table in a gated area by the leaf-filled pool of the motel. "This is where it all happened."

"Where all what happened?" the driver asked instinctively.

The woman looked back at her soon-to-be residency, and smiled once again. She simply replied, "The future."

The stunned chauffeur paused his words and gave his employer a confused glare. He looked down at the ground for a moment and when he returned his expression was now content. "Very good, then. I shall bring up your things when you're ready."

"Yes," she said with a smirk, "very good, then."

E B E N F I E L D

Season One[/center]

[Beebs]

Chapter One

A strange occurrence on June 22nd, 2008.

A clock mounted on an office wall continuously ticked away, the only sound present in the silent room. Three men were sitting awkwardly, but none of them spoke a word.

A man in his late twenties sat in a chair across from and to the right of the a wooden desk glanced up at the source of the noise with his dark blue eyes, seeing it displayed 6:30 P.M. and he let out an impatient sigh. He wore a black dress suit and tie, which had been disheveled by the day's events. His slicked back dirty-blond hair began to become untidy too as he fidgeted in his seat. He sat his arm on the chair's rest and his fingers began to nervously tap away, coinciding with the monotonous clock.

Another man who sat to the left of him was growing quite impatient as well, although his face did not display it. He was around the same age as the person beside him, but unlike the suited man, he was dressed far more casually, in a set of simple bluejeans and a green t-shirt that was covered in faded stains. His brown hair was ruffled and his green eyes stared at the man beside him, causing much discomfort which made him restless in his seat.

Across from both of them sat an older gentleman with grey hair and matching eyes at a desk, whose hands were pressed together in thought. His eyes continuously darted between the younger men and he slightly groaned in frustration, leaning back in his leather chair. The plaque on his desk read 'Mayor Tom Greenberg.'

Finally, the silence was broken casually by the senior man, who began in a droning voice, "Well you two are just going to have to work something out."

The duo simultaneously sighed and shuffled in their chairs uneasily.

The suited man breathed heavily in annoyance and shook his head softly. An disbelieving grin grew on his face and he released a short chuckle. "Oh believe me, if I could I would," he said smarmily.

"Oh God, Jake, don't play so innocently," the casually dressed man said in disgust.

Jake's voice elevated in volume as he replied, "If you you just listen to reason--"

"Don't pretend I'm the unreasonable one here," the other man interrupted with a shout.

"You are Cameron. We each have a legal claim to that land," he retorted, putting his hand on his forehead.

-INCOMPLETE-