Five

Owen dispised journalists. Always had. They had made Lacey, Andy and the children' lives as hellish as they had his, by constantly hounding them. For months after the attack the press had hounded Lacey at the doctor's office and at her office. They called the house all hours of the night and day, begging for interviews.

They went even more crazy when they caught wind of the fact that Owen was staying there. The press camped out on the lawn for two days, until Andy had called the sheriff to drag them away.

A large, serious man in blue jeans, cowboy boots with a gun on his hip and a badge, he was enough to send them scattering on his own. For the brave ones, he slapped some cuffs on their wrists and stuffed them in the back of his vehicle, siting trespassing charges.

They had quit swarming the house, but the calls had increased. Lacey had the telephone number changed and took the kids out of school for a few weeks.

Right when they thought that they could finally get back to normal, they were forced to hole up in the house and hideout. It was worrying and stressful for all of them, but on top of that, Lacey was dealing with a difficult pregnancy and children that were suddenly afraid of the dark, as well as having nightmares.

They feared that someone was outside of their window, trying to get into the house. Andy said that he did not know if it was trauma for what they experienced at the motel, or if it was from the constant harrassment of the press. Either way, it had been a hard time for them all.

Owen had some horrible nightmares of his own. But each night he woke up to Lacey beside him, holding his hand and whispering words of comfort to him.

On nights when she was too sick to come to him, Andy had. Andy would sit there with him on his bed and they would talk about fishing and woodworking, general things like that.

Until one night Andy had asked him what his nightmares where about and Owen had told him every bad memory that plagued him. They had spent the whole night talking, as Owen unburdened himself of the painful memories from his past.

Andy had surprised him by hugging him tightly and telling him the words that he had most needed to hear. Andy had looked him in the eyes and said, “You are not responsible for any of that. You were a child. No one, most especially not us, blames you. Their crimes are not your crimes and you can not punish yourself for them every night.”

Then Owen realized that is what it was. His nightmares were his subconcious mind punishing him for all the guilt that he felt at not having somehow stopped Nate and Dave from all the foul, evil things that they had done.

But after that night, his nightmares went away. He was able to sleep soundly every night. Over time, Andy and Lacey had healed every part of him, until his life with Nate and Dave was like a distant, long-ago memory that he had buried down and nearly forgotten.

Yet over the last few months, ths whole 'ten year anniversary' and 'murder motel' mess had been stirring up some long forgotten memories and bothering him with feelings of inadequecy and guilt that he thought that he had put behind him.

“Owen?”

He turns his head to face Liv, being pulled from his musings by her sweet voice.

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?” Liv asks him again, looking concerned. She move forward to lay a gentle hand on his arm, waiting patiently for him to tell her what was on his mind.

“I'm fine.” Owen says, shutting the linen closet doors.

“Really? Because if you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem like you are.” Liv retorts. “We were having a perfectly normal conversation, then you asked me about my job and I answered truthfully, then you got this weird, pinched look on your face and clammed up, going silent on me.”

“Pinched look?” Owen asks.

“Seriously, that's what you took away from my words?” Liv rolls her eyes. “Yes. Pinched. As in you look constipated, which I assume for you meant that you were annoyed. If not, you should go to the bathroom.”

“I am not constipated.” Owen says angrily.

“Good to know.” Liv nods. “So you were annoyed. At me for answering your question or was it my answer itself?”

“Well I wasn't annoyed until just now.” Owen tells her, growing exasperated. “But for your information Miss Journalist, and trust me when I say that I have no problem imagining you in the role, I actually do not like journaists.”

“Ouch.” Liv places a hand on her heart dramatically, as if in pain. “I get it when people ay they hate clowns. They are creepy. Mimes, you know, I get that too. It's weird having a profession where you paint yourself unnatural colors and don't say a word. Strange. But to not like journalists is odd to me.”

“You wouldn't find it odd if journalists plagued your every waking hour, harrasing your family to the point of misery. Plaguing you and your loved ones, being the thorn in your side that causes constant pain. I don't care very much for the profession, as I equate journalists with vultures. Picking at what little is left until there is nothing more to be given.”

“Damn. Okay. So, all of us that choose to make a living writing.. we just suck? There are no good apples in the bunch? The whole lot is spoiled?” Owen can tell that Liv is getting angry, as she turns to him and glares. “Well, I think that update assholes that run creepy motels in the middle of nowhere are weird!”

With that, she turns on her heels and stomps away, leaving Owen standing in the hallway alone.

Olivia Jordan slams into her room and angrily tosses the towels on her bed, not caring that they came unfolded or fell into the floor. She is so upset, so a few disheveled towels are the least of her concerns.

She walks over and plops down on the bed, falling back to stare up at the ceiling. “I should have kicked him!” She mutters to herself. “That pompous, self-righteous ass!”

He hates journalists? Well, he is an idiot. And an ass. Plus he's just.. wrong. He is a wrong, idiot ass who pissed her off. Smacking her open palm against the bed, she lets out a loud huff of frustration. “Ugh!”

Now granted, Liv does realize that not everyone is a fan of her chosen profession. Reporters can totally be a pain in the ass, she is not denying that. They can make life hell for some people, but what would a quiet person like Owen have done to warrant press harrassment to the extint that he hates the whole profession?

Liv ponders it for a moment, but she knows that he isn't familiar to her. Maybe he is a local hero or something and the town newspaper man has beat the story to death by overusing it. She has seen that too many times to count in her few years on the job.

She is young, she supposes, only being twenty-six years old. That certainly makes her a baby around the office, but she feels that seven years on the job should garner her at least a modicum of respect, but it hadn't.

That is why she cashed in her five weeks of paid vacation time that she had built up over the years and traveled to a motel that she had seen featured in a travel magazine. The place looked really nice and the article raved about it, so she decided to drive the five hours to stay there.

She has booked her room indefinately and has settled the bill in full. That is one of the few perks in being alone. No extra expenses, so after all of her bills are paid, she puts the money in her savings account, which has grown to be quit impressive over the years.

Liv is pretty far from her home, being that she currently lives and works in Chicago. But she had been in dozens of places before that. Her father was a Pharmaceutical Salesman, one of the best in his company, so they sent him many places for work.

He took her with him when she was a kid, 'homeschooling' her on buses, planes and in cars. In the seventies, it seemed that as long as she could read, write and count to ten, no one cared that she never attended school.

Her dad, Heath, would not leave her at home alone with her mother. Her mom had issues with her emotions, having wild mood swings and uncontrollable rages. Other times she would lay in bed for days, forgetting that Liv wa even in the house with her.

After her dad came home once from a five day trip to find a six year old Liv in the same close that he had left her in, living in a filthy house and eating try cereal and drinking water from the toothbrush cup from the bathroom, since that was all that she could reach.

She had not had a bath or been fed a proper meal in days. She was scared to death and once he walked in, she would not top holding him and crying. He hadn't left her alone again, until she was fourteen. Then he left for good.

He took her to her grandparents, her mother's parents, that lived in Milwaukee. He said that she was getting to old to travel with him, that she needed to go to a real school and make friends. He told her that she couldn't stay with her mother, because she was 'getting the help that she needed'. Liv later found out that meant that she had been checked into a psyciatric facility.

She was happy to stay with Pop and Gram Tatum, but she could not wait for her Dad to come back. They were so close and she missed him so much whenever she was away from him.

If only that feeling had been mutual. Apparently he didn't mind being away from her, because he never did come back. He called her once a week for the first two months, then the calls twindled to once a month for the next three months, then no calls at all. Their relationship now consisted of cards on her birthday and Christmas.

He divorced her mother while she was in the mental hospital, then remarried. He was now the proud father of two sons and a daughter. The oldest was nine, which meant he wasted no time in having her after he dropped his family like a hot potato, if he had even waited at all.

Her mother, Reva, had finished treatment and been released with a couple of medictions to combat the disorders that she had been diagnosed with. She informed the family that she could no longer be a mother, so she wanted to put Liv up for adoption.

Pop and Gram immediately signed the papers to adopt her and she was legally theres. Her mother moved away and started a new life without her as well. When she had come back for Pop's funeral, she had remarried. When she came back for Gram's, she was so pleased to announce to the cousins and distant relatives that she and her husband were expecting a baby.

She called it a miracle, getting pregnant in her late thirties, since they had 'tried for years'. Ironic, that the woman who couldn't be a mother to a practically grown teenager was so happy to start again with a baby. It wasn't being a mother that she had objected to.. it was being Olivia's mother.

Olivia had been nineteen when Gram died, leaving her alone in the world. Nineteen years old with no one in the world that loved her. Oh, she wasn't an orphan by any means. She had two living parents, two step-parents and a bunch of half siblings running around. But she did not have a family. She just had herself.

Herself and her job. Moving to Chicago to escape the pain of her past, she found a fresh start working as an intern at an infamous newpaper. Her grandfather had been a journalist all his life and it was a long time friend of his that hired her.

She worked for him as she finished school. Being homeschooled all her life, she had not felt the need to go to high school. Her grandparents had let her take this test and get her general equivolency diploma at sixteen. She had a diploma before she had her drivers license.

Liv had signed up for college classes, going into literature and journalism, like her grandfather. He had been so proud of her, helping her with all of her papers every night after the evening meal, as her grandmother sat across the room from them knitting blankets and sweaters.

Liv feels a tear roll from her eyes as she remembers those wonderful nights. God, does she miss her Grams and her Pops. Owen might hate journalists, but Liv never would.

Journalism had saved her life, giving her a purpose at a time when she didn't think that she could go on by herself. When all she wanted was to curl up in a ball and lose herself in despair, she would have a big story that needed reporting.

She let being a journalist become her world, her obsession, as she fought to be the best that she could be. She had a legacy to live up to and a memory of a loving man to make proud of her. She had no doubt that Pops had been smiling down on her, looking over her shoulder on every story while her Grandmother sat across from them smiling fondly.

That is why she had reacted so badly to his words. It was stupid and dramatic, she sees that now, but in the moment, it felt like he was disparraging her Pops, who is pretty much what she equates journalism too. Pops was journalism in her mind, the two being synonomous. To not like one was to dislike the other, which in her mind was an offront.

Her logical side told her that Owen did not know her Pops, he did not mean to offend her by his remarks and he meant no harm. She was just an overly-emotional woman with deep rooted abandonment issues and strong attachment disorders to a profession that most people do not appreciate. Owen was one of many that hated reporters.

Sitting up, Liv tells herelf to forget all about Owen. He wa just a good-looking guy that he ran into. They had a nice moment, but clearly he was not meant to be a part of her life, so why dwell on it? She needed to move on and get to work on her book.

She moves over to the desk, where she has set up her portable typewriter. She had just gotten settled in her seat and pulled out her notebook where she had written down her character names and all of her ideas, when there was a knock on the door.

Sitting it down on the desk, she stands up and moves over to the door, calling out “Who is it?”

“Owen.”

Liv pulls the door open and stares at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was that he had come to say. When he says nothing, she huffs. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”