by L. L. Muir
The acid in her stomach had little to do with her drink. She imagined faces rising out of the swirling liquid only to be dragged back under the boiling current. First Jessica’s, then her father’s, then Blair the Creep’s. She closed her eyes and imagined an old Scotsman being dragged to a red-bricked Hell by dark shadows that came out of the box he’d been sitting on.
But that wasn’t fair. He’d tried to warn her. Too bad he hadn’t said, “Get your arse over to the bank and get your money out right this minute.”
Yeah. Too bad.
He’d warned her, though, that he couldn’t see the future, so she couldn’t just sentence him to Hell like that—even if it was just the Hell in her imagination.
In her mind, she put him back in his booth, sipping coffee and eating waffles. The image took a little of the vinegar out of her.
She was just going to have to ask for help. The Child Welfare people were her only choice, really. It wasn’t as if she could ask Blair nicely, or call the police on him. But it would play out just as it would have at the café; the police wouldn’t take the word of an underaged runaway over the word of a manipulative adult.
Fernando and Blair were just alike. In fact, the CWS people had taken the Blairs’ side before. They probably wouldn’t listen to her now. And they’d never believe she’d saved that much money in under two years.
Her thoughts had gone full-circle again. She was back to hopeless, and her cheeks warmed up with a fresh batch of tears.
She spun and faced her table, searching for a new idea. Soon she found herself forming the number 4312.72 in spilled salt, so she turned back to the window.
A blond guy headed into Fernando’s alone and she wished she could warn him away from both Jessica and the food. If it wouldn’t dip into her precious money, she’d make a picket sign just to cost the Garzas a little of what they’d stolen from her.
Skye glanced at the salt numbers and acknowledged she’d been robbed of more than that. Mugged, is what she felt like. Assaulted and left bleeding in an alley. Her entire life was just a puddle of blood and she was left sitting in it.
The afternoon light bounced off the café door as it opened again. The blond was free. Good for him. But he didn’t look happy about it. He looked furious.
Jessica or Nando? Which of you said something stupid?
Maybe they would suffer without her there to smooth the customers’ feathers when those two employed their long-standing policy of “the customer is always wrong.”
The blond wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, he stood looking up and down the street, then back at the café doors, as if he were tempted to go back inside.
Don’t do it.
Eventually, the guy considered McDonald’s.
That’s it, buddy. Anywhere is better than Fernando’s.
He looked up and down the street again, then finally walked kitty-corner toward Skye’s sanctuary. She had to admire his swagger. His smooth stride in those black jeans. The wide shoulders beneath his gray t-shirt. The way he swung his hair out of his eyes. Eyes that stared right through the window, as if he could see her.
Her heart jumped and she turned to face the table once again. She brushed the salt to the edge and into her other hand, then dumped it on a brown tray that, out of spite, she’d refused to let the cleaning crew remove. The white pile sat there, screaming that she’d wasted a whole shaker’s worth, so she covered it with a napkin, then two more.
The blond walked in. He was tall, wide-shouldered, and probably not more than a couple of years older than she was. She loved shag hair. And it was nice to forget her disaster of a life for a minute and enjoy the scenery.
He turned back toward the door and took one last look at Fernando’s. Then he leaned back, rolled his shoulders and headed for the counter, out of sight.
She wondered if she’d get another glimpse of him when he left. Then she wondered what he might think if he got a glimpse of her…
Looking like crap!
She scooted off the seat and dove into the restroom. She blew her nose, then drenched her face with cold water. She patted her bangs dry and fluffed them with her fingers. She needed a brush—
Her bag! It was still in the booth! So stupid! No wonder everyone was ripping her off.
She smacked the door open and took a few steps before she realized the blond sat at her table, facing her but not looking up. Her drink and the tray of salt were gone. He fidgeted with his straw, ignoring the drink and food on his own tray.
Was he waiting for her?
His gaze never left his straw when she walked over, or even when she dragged her bag from the seat across from him.
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled. “I can move.” He dropped his straw on the tray and started scooting out.
“You’re fine.” She pulled the strap over her shoulder and watched him from behind lowered lids.
“Okay. Thanks.” He scooted back into the booth and picked up the straw again.
She’d washed her face for nothing. He never raised his gaze above her belt, like he was as distracted as she’d been until he’d come along. No way had he noticed her through the window.
She went to the counter. The lunch from Richard wouldn’t last her all night, and her car was out of snackage. As she stared at the backlit menu, she couldn’t even remember ordering the Coke she’d sipped on for hours.
“Sorry I tossed your drink, ma’am. I thought you were gone. I’ll give you a new cup on the house.” The boy’s hand shook as he punched in her order. She probably still looked scary, with red eyes and wild hair from running her fingers through it all afternoon.
“Don’t worry about it.” She moved aside to wait for her food. In the short time it took for them to call her number, her mind had already gone back to her current list of troubles. Her appetite vanished, but it was too late. The food was paid for. She needed to save every calorie she could—calories cost money. So, like a robot, she carried her tray around the corner, to take her usual seat, and choke it all down.
Only someone was still in her spot.
She took a seat in the solitary booth lodged between the ladies room wall and the exit. With all that had happened, she thought a bit of feng shui would be in order—her back to a wall, and all that. She welcomed anything that kept Fate from catching her off guard again.
Skye held off looking at the blond for as long as she could stand.
His hands were shielding his eyes and his mouth was moving. For a second she thought maybe he had his own ghost, but it looked more like praying. She thought that was sweet...until his hands came down and he slammed the table on both sides of his full tray. He shoved the food away and eventually looked around.
He noticed her watching him and grimaced, then waved his fingers as if to say, “My bad.” His eyes were red. They even looked a little watery. She couldn’t tell if his cheeks were wet.
Sweet but disturbing.
He turned sideways in the booth and stared across the street at Fernando’s. Like she had. What had they done? Stolen from him too?
She wouldn’t be surprised.
Fernando’s parking lot started to fill for the dinner rush. An ancient pickup truck—which might have been more blue than rust, but it was too close to call—pulled in with a homemade camper shell on the back. When the truck doors opened, two adults and seven kids of various sizes poured out. Missy wouldn’t come on for another hour, so Jessica would be handling that lot solo, unable to pawn them off on Skye as she usually did. Or else Fernando would have to send a cook out, with Jessica crying into the towel bin.
It almost made her smile.
What she wouldn’t give to go back to that morning, about five minutes before Mr. Jamison made his appearance. She’d tell off Jessica, get fired and collect her paycheck, having already emptied the common jar into her duffle bag. Then she’d run across the street to get everything she owned and head out of town.
She could have been halfway to Salt Lake.
But the ghost had
come. Invisible clouds swirled above her head and she hadn’t stayed at the café as the old man advised.
If she’d stayed, what would have happened? Mysterious bad guys would have come for her? But the fact was her biggest trouble came from staying put instead of following Blair into the bank—not that doing so would have worked out any better. The tellers would still have given him the money.
No one seemed to be swarming the café looking for her, gunning for her. She’d watched for a couple of hours already. No one had approached her car in the parking lot, and that was the only thing of value she had left.
No one menacing or suspicious-looking had gone into Fernando’s, except the blond.
Except the blond!
She looked over at him. He was looking at her, frowning. He looked back at the café, then back at her. Had he noticed her watching the place?
It seemed like minutes, but their eyes locked for seconds only. She didn’t know what he’d figured out, but his frown went away.
She didn’t know why she smiled. She couldn’t help it. Maybe she was just relieved he wasn’t scowling anymore, that he had cheered up. And he smiled back, as if they were sharing the same joke.
It was fleeting, but she enjoyed a moment of believing she wasn’t alone in the world, that someday it wouldn’t be a stranger looking into her eyes and feeling the same thing she felt, at the same time she felt it.
He looked at her hair, her jeans, her sneakers. Then back at her face again and smiled bigger.
Uh, oh.
She lowered her eyes and hoped he wouldn’t come over. But he was scooting out of the booth! Any other time she’d be flattered, but not when he’d had that epiphany on his face, like he’d found what he’d been looking for. Not when he’d come out of Fernando’s angry, like he’d lost something.
Not when she’d been warned by her fairly reliable ghost that trouble was coming. It always came in threes, didn’t it? The Garzas, Blair, now this guy.
She looked beyond him, over his shoulder, and widened her eyes. When he turned and looked behind him, she slid out of her booth. She was already on her feet when he looked back at her again, but she didn’t wait to see his reaction.
She hit the door running and didn’t look back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Henderson, Nevada was never a buzzing town, except for rush hour. That day, every home-bound car converged on the intersection between Skye and the café parking lot where she’d left her Corolla. If she made it to the lot, she’d still never get out of it without him catching up to her, no matter how fast she ran. Her doors would lock, but would he break the windows to get to her?
Her only hope was to get inside that café. Richard would be gone, but the others would help. They had to.
She ran between cars and heard his loud footfalls behind her. He kept yelling for her to wait, but she ignored him.
Her duffle caught on a mirror and she stalled to free it. Luckily, another car cut him off and he had to go around.
This can’t be happening!
She ran up to the café window and knocked on the glass. Surely the guy would do nothing if people were watching. Those drivers, focused on getting home, may not come to her rescue, but people on foot might.
She skipped sideways toward the door and pulled, but it wouldn’t open.
Jessica stood on the other side, holding tight. She leaned toward the crack between frame and door and enunciated, “Go. Away.”
“Jessica, let me in!” Skye pounded on the glass. Surely someone could pull the little monster aside. “I’m being followed!”
Jessica shook her head and leaned forward again. “Go away, or I’ll call the police.”
Skye looked past her, through the film, and saw the dad from the old pick-up. He plucked a child off his lap and headed for the door.
Skye looked behind her. Too late. Blondie stepped onto the curb.
“Skye! Wait!” He walked toward her with his hands up, as if he meant no harm. “I just want to talk to you.”
The glass door moved toward her and she stepped aside. The dad walked out and stood between her and the blond.
“You’re scarin’ her, boy.” He stepped forward and put his hands out like he was prepared to stop him with force if necessary.
Skye would have run into the café, but Jessica stood there with her cell to her ear. Her smirk said she was calling the cops.
The dad was holding his ground, and the young guy was trying to reason with him. She didn’t stay to listen but took off down the street. When she neared the corner, the young guy hollered, “Skye! Come back! You’re in danger!”
Damn straight I am. From you.
She turned with the sidewalk and ran into the side of a Somerled stand. A bushel of peapods flew off the opposite end. She should have been expecting it because it was always there. She’d pointed out its existence to Fernando a dozen times, but he refused to buy fresh produce from the white-clad farmers. He claimed his wholesalers gave him better prices, but Skye knew the real reason. Fernando wrote checks to Restaurant Supply, but the Somerleds insisted on cash. And the only cash she’d ever seen pried from Fernando’s fingers was a twenty dollar bill with a little pink mark.
“So sorry.” Skye hurried over to help scoop up the peas.
“No harm done.” A woman in white robes took Skye’s forearm and lifted her up. “I’ll get this. You’re in danger. I think you should run.”
Skye didn’t need to be told twice, and she didn’t stop to wonder how the woman knew what had been going on around the corner. She was out of there. And she hoped those intuitive Somerleds would delay the blond even more so she could circle the block and make it back to her car.
Nearing the next corner, she glanced back. The blond hadn’t made it to the Somerled stand and wouldn’t know she’d doubled back. She turned forward in time to see a wall of white as she slammed into it. Arms reached out to steady her and she looked up.
Two Somerled boys dropped their hands from her and stepped back.
“You’re in danger, Skye. We’re here to help you.” The shorter one gestured toward a van parked at the curb, its side door slid open with the help of a third boy inside. Another Somerled sat in the driver’s seat.
Old Mr. Jamison had told her help was on the way, hadn’t he? Maybe the old man had been a Somerled before he died and he’d sent his people to help her. That’s what their cult mission was supposed to be, wasn’t it? To help people?
Skye took some deep breaths. “I just need to get to my car. There’s a guy following me. If you wouldn’t mind stalling him as long as you can—”
“I’m afraid you’re in more danger than you realize. We can get you out of here and come back for your things when the danger has passed.” The taller held out his hand for her to take. There was a ring of dirt around the edge of his sleeve.
The blond came around the corner and stuttered to a stop. He glared at the boys beside her. “Get your hands off her!”
The Somerleds from the produce stand ran up behind him, but stopped when they saw the van and the boys. The woman who’d helped her before shook her head hard.
What did she mean? Don’t get in the van, or don’t listen to the blond?
“Hurry. We aren’t allowed to fight him. You must come now!” The tall one grabbed her elbow and tugged.
The driver sat calmly behind the wheel watching his rear-view mirror.
The blond started forward again. “Don’t listen to them, Skye! They’re the danger!”
The tall one let go of her, widened his stance, and braced himself.
Hadn’t he just said he wasn’t allowed to fight?
The shorter one pushed her out of the way and they both stood their ground while the blond ran right for them.
The latter looked at her. “Run!”
My car! I just have to get to my car. All the nut-jobs could duke it out without her. She just needed to get away.
With her duffle bouncing around her like a ball on an elast
ic string, she fled as fast as she could. But it wasn’t the duffle bag she had to hold tight to, it was her purse that still held the last couple hundred dollars to her name.
She felt for the purse strap and it slipped off her shoulder, hit her ankle, and bounced to the side. If she was smart, she would run on without it. But she couldn’t stand to lose what little she had left. Besides, the Taser was in there too.
She stopped, backtracked, and bent over the purse. From inside, she dug out the Taser and flipped the switch before she dared look up.
The first group of Somerleds stood back near the corner. The woman held her arms out, as if restraining her group from interfering.
The blond was wearing himself out fighting the other two dressed in white. He shoved them back over and over, but from her vantage point, it looked more like they were herding him toward the van. Still the driver sat and watched.
Then it dawned on her. They didn’t want her.
No one ran after her. No one even glanced her way. The van hadn’t been waiting for her after all, and the robed boys smiled like they were about to get just what they wanted.
She was sick; she’d just helped them lure the cute guy into a trap. She couldn’t just abandon him, so she pulled her purse strap over her head and started back with the Taser in hand.
I’m as nuts as the rest.
The driver noticed her and hollered something to the others.
The short one turned. “We’re helping you. Go! Run!”
She shook her head and raised the Taser. “I changed my mind. Leave him alone.”
A fifth guy in bright white robes came out from around the van and held his hand toward her, palm forward, like he was stopping traffic.
Air whooshed from Skye’s lungs and she landed on her butt against a stucco wall ten feet away from where she’d been standing. She struggled to inhale.
The blond started for her, but they had him all lined up in front of the van’s opening. The new guy held his hand up for the second time. The blond’s legs lifted as he flew through the air, into the van, and crashed against the far wall. The two fighters grinned and climbed in after him, and the van pulled away as the door slid closed.