Page 1 of Fires Creek
“Fuck off, Jesse, I don’t want to hear it!” I slammed my fist against the counter, and popped the cork out of my second bottle of wine.
“Rivvy, babe, you’re not thinking straight. Calm down, we can talk about this,” he stammered pathetically. God, he was such a creep . This mother fucker actually thought I was oblivious to the fact he was having an affair at the same time I was watching my mother die. Prick.
“Get your shit, and get out!” I shouted, shoving his bag in his face and storming out of the kitchen, locking the bedroom door behind me – bottle of wine, still in hand.
I heard the front door slam a few minutes later, and his stupid hybrid car sped out of the driveway. God, I can’t believe I was actually going to marry him. I took another swig from the bottle of cabernet. It would really be better in a glass, but I was beyond caring.
Flopping onto the couch in the corner of my room, I flicked the TV on, only to be met with the Colgate smile of some realtor that called himself ‘Link Tyler, Realtor for the Stars.’ Wow, thank you, Link. I will be sure to sell you my soul. Realtor for the Stars, my ass.
The ad continued and snippets of property previews filled the screen.
I was about to click the remote and go to bed, when the most beautiful, old farmhouse that I had ever seen flashed across the screen.
Rustic fences scaled their way across fields of well-maintained paddocks.
At the end of a long, winding, gravel road sat the huge log-built homestead.
A large chimney adorned the rooftop, and a thick cloud of smoke billowed out across the ranges.
Trees in various shapes and sizes, ranging from deep green to burnt orange, lined the property.
It looked so cosy. The camera scaled across the acreage, showcasing the huge river nearby, the surrounding properties, and the mountain ranges that laid nestled behind the farm.
Cattle lowed in nearby paddocks, and the camera panned to a scene of horses galloping across the plains.
“Not to be missed, the infamous Ashwood Manor. If you’re looking for adventure, head on down to Fires Creek and check out this pristine property!” came the overly optimistic tone from our buddy, Link, as the ad blared over the TV speakers.
Without taking a second to process what I was doing – or consider that 9:45 pm is probably not an appropriate time for business calls – I dialled Link’s number, and in my drunken state, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
My eyes felt heavy as I woke up, still on the couch, and rubbed the grit of sleep from them. A wet, stained piece of paper with poorly scribbled gibberish was plastered to my coffee table.
Link blah blah. 750k. Fires Creek. Carter something.
Fires Creek?
What the fuck is Fires Creek?
Who the fuck are Link and Carter?
What have I done?