[For Steinbeck, it seemed like his life was cut in half. There was the Steinbeck of the past, the Westerley native, a cheerful but dark soul whose appetite for violence and bloodshed somehow didn't overshadow the nice, pleasant life he had with family and friends. And then there was the Steinbeck of now, who had turned to dark extremes and found solace in faith and strange ideas of roots and earth and vengeance. Somehow, connections between the two remained, and more often than not, they came in the form of people.]
[And one of those people was a young girl he thought he'd never see again. And yet, as he was passing through the streets of Westerley, he had stopped in shock, because he had suddenly seen that young girl just pass right by him in the crowd. The long black hair, those deep eyes...it couldn't be.]
Alice? [He blinks. It can't be. It's been so long. She's older now, it can't be her, and yet...he turns around, quickens his pace, raising his voice to get her attention.] Hey, Alice...hey, Alice, turn around! Is it really you...?
for Alice
[And one of those people was a young girl he thought he'd never see again. And yet, as he was passing through the streets of Westerley, he had stopped in shock, because he had suddenly seen that young girl just pass right by him in the crowd. The long black hair, those deep eyes...it couldn't be.]
Alice? [He blinks. It can't be. It's been so long. She's older now, it can't be her, and yet...he turns around, quickens his pace, raising his voice to get her attention.] Hey, Alice...hey, Alice, turn around! Is it really you...?