stop this train.

Installment 1, to be continued:

She loved to take risks. Silver pumps with brown knee-highs; drinking just one more shot of vodka, sans chaser; flying standby to Las Vegas, Nevada one Friday night.

There she was. Middle of the hotel lobby with that combination of clothing that seemed so unlikely, so effortless, so her. Her lipstick was a bit smudged from kissing that guy Joey at the nightclub. One of her fake nails had fallen off and lay beside her foot on the red carpet of the Day's Inn Las Vegas. Her hair, stiff with hairspray, sat in a contented blonde mess on her shoulders.

Her eyelashes were gracefully situated on those big blue eyes - half-open, half-closed - and seemed to blow in the momentary breeze that came through the sliding doors as Jewel entered.

She had come to visit Jewel, but as the tall girl entered the lobby to meet her friend, her mouth dropped open and let out a shrill scream of horror.

The police were already there, too afraid to move the lovely girl. Such a lovely, young girl. Only now that young body rested cold on the floor. No more breath slept in those lungs. The last bits of life seeped out of her skin.

Earlier that night, she sat in the back of a taxi, silent, tapping her fake nails on the door handle beside her. She had phoned Jewel three times already, to no avail. But she tried again. This time she decided to leave a message:

"Hey Jewels, it's me. So I was thinking, what if I met you in Vegas tonight and we party a little too hard like last time? Good idea? Good. Because I'm about to check into my hotel. I'll be out at that place we went to last time, Angelo's, so call me. Peace, baby."

Jewel didn't check her voicemail until midnight.

By that time, it was too late. The whole mess had already started.